by Domino Finn
"Cool," I admitted. "But I'm a little out of practice."
He swiped the air again and a humming air hockey table appeared in its place. The plastic puck drifted on the play of the air without a hint of friction.
"Now you're talking," I said.
"Cool! Okay, every time you get a goal, that's a sip. And if you accidentally score on yourself that's a five-second chug."
"Let's try it without the drinking, Kyle."
He swallowed and faced the table. "Whatever."
For a few unbridled minutes, I forgot about everything else. It felt good to turn my brain off and crack one piece of plastic against another. I mean, despite the fact that Kyle was absolutely killing me, I was kinda having fun.
"That's ten," said Kyle, scoring the winning goal. "Don't feel bad. I play the AI a lot. It's pretty relentless."
I shrugged it off and reset the score markers, readying another game, but something about the statement was getting to me. This was a physical air hockey table but our entire reality was digital. Was the AI just an invisible opponent? Or did some NPC actually stand in the room making shots? And for that matter...
"Hey, Kyle?" I asked, feeling the weight of minutes ago return to me. "Are you like me? Are you... dead?"
"Totally," he answered. "I've been in Haven a little over a month. It's not too bad here. I can play Call of Duty all day long if I want to. Well, I kinda did that in the real world too, but you know."
I stared at him. I really didn't know.
"Hey," he said, "I'm not gonna pretend I have tact or anything, so you mind if I ask how you died?"
I grimaced. "Car accident on my way to work."
He smiled and nodded. "Oh, another car crash victim!" He tossed his paddle down and walked around the table to give me a high five. "Welcome to the crash club, bro! What happened?"
I found his mirth on the subject a little endearing.
"Icy road," I said. "Stupid truck. The usual, I guess."
He nodded. "Similar thing happened to me. I ended up wrapped around a telephone pole."
I wasn't sure if it was bad form to show my disgust at the mental image of his death. I changed the subject. "Don't you miss it? Your life?"
He shrugged. "I mean, I miss my friends a little. But they were assholes."
"Your job?"
"I was on the six-year plan to graduate. Almost done and not really sure what I was gonna do. In a way, Haven figured all that out for me."
"I can see that. I just... I don't know. I can't help but think I left things unfinished. The video game we were developing."
"You're a gamer? Awesome, bro! Let's set up a fragfest right now."
My face went flat. "You just told me you play all day. I think you'd wipe the floor with me."
"Yeah, I would. I'm better at shooters and bar games than MMOs, it turns out. Big surprise."
I scratched my head. "You mean, the MMO?"
"Haven. That's the one."
I surveyed the common room again. It was large, moderately luxurious, and comfortable. An ideal bachelor pad, if a bit lacking in character. My eyes settled on the electric-white front door.
"Hey, Kyle," I said, forgetting the immediate amusements, "you mind showing me around? Outside, I mean."
"It's a straight ren fair out there, bro."
"That okay with you?"
He sighed. It seemed like he didn't leave the house a lot, but he put on a brave face. He chugged his beer, burped, and said, "I can show you whatever you want, roomie. Just be warned: it's medieval out there."
"Like, violent?"
"Nah, man. There's just no TVs or technology like in here." He strolled to the door with me and opened it. A sheet of pure white welcomed us. "Once you're out there, you're in the game."
I clenched my jaw, worked up my courage, and stepped into the light.
0090 SimCity
The transition outside wasn't seamless. The entire world faded to black for a second and reappeared. Kyle Grath spread his hands dramatically as we zoned.
"Welcome to Stronghold."
We now stood outside the front door as it closed. Despite Kyle's gesture, I found myself staring back at our home.
It was a small clay dome, tan, with a few opaque ornamental windows. The building was too small to have possibly contained the generous space we'd been in. The rounded structure was twenty feet in diameter and a little over ten feet high. Identical houses lined the block in both directions. Different color clay, different color doors, differently styled windows, but otherwise identical.
"Hey, bro. You're missing the view."
I turned and Kyle melodramatically flaired again. "Welcome to Stronghold."
Okay. I could see his point.
Our neighborhood was on a low hill with the rest of the town sprawled below us. Whereas the inside of our house was modern, Stronghold closely resembled ancient Rome. Scores of mercantile establishments and impressive buildings as far as the eye could see. Stone-lined streets, occasional parks and squares filled with crowds of people. Statues, wells, columns. It was a sea of white and tan with painted accents of red, purple, blue, and yellow.
Not a beer pong table in sight.
A few faraway structures dwarfed all others. An accurate replica of the Roman Colosseum on the eastern side of town immediately drew my interest. As I scanned to the west, I admired a ruinous tower sitting along a riverbank. Behind it ran the grand city walls.
"What's the population of this place?" I asked in awe.
Kyle smiled. "Like, pretty big. You're in Hillside, one of the player neighborhoods." He dragged his fingers through his shaggy hair. "Come on. I'll show you what you need to know."
He started heading to the foothills but I pulled him back and pointed at the tower. "What's that?"
"That's Dragonperch," he said flatly. He started to walk away again but I held him firm.
Kyle's casual disinterest was underselling the place. Sure, the tower was in disrepair, but it was by far the tallest structure in the entire city. Taller than the Colosseum. Twice as high as the gargantuan city walls, and I'd never seen higher walls.
"Oldtown," he explained, sweeping his hand across the land on the far side of the river. "That's original construction, there. Two thousand years ago, it made up the whole city. Now it's completely abandoned. Some adventurers stroll through it like a graveyard, but there's no quests or loot or anything to be had. It's a dead zone."
He was right. Everything was crumbling. The roads were more debris than clearing. "Two thousand years... How's that possible?"
"It's just game lore." He chuckled. "I spent my entire education ignoring history. The Fertile Crescent. The Fall of Rome. The Reformation and the Renaissance. Now I'm dead and they hit me with an assload of new legends to memorize. Raw deal, right?"
I'd noticed the game clock kept the same year as the real world. Haven's lore seemed a rewriting of the Gregorian calendar. "Did you?" I asked. "Memorize the lore?"
Kyle recited what he knew about the tower without feigning interest. "Dragonperch is all that's left standing in Oldtown due to its powerful origin magic. That same magic secures it with formidable wards. The tower's completely locked down. No one can enter. Everybody's tried."
My eyes scaled the dusty stones two hundred feet up. A weathered statue of an armored knight stood on the roof, boldly reaching for the sky. He held a lance that glistened in the daylight.
"Who's the big shot?" I asked. "Did he found the town or something?"
"He saved it. A thousand years later, in the Dragon Wars."
I turned to him. "The Dragon Wars?"
"You sure you wanna hear this stuff? Dragons are pretty lame."
"Dude, how awesome would it be to ride a dragon?"
"Whatever. I'll take an AH-1 SuperCobra over a dragon any day of the week."
I rubbed my eyes. It was obvious Kyle wasn't big on D&D. "What about the Dragon Wars?"
"The usual." He flared his eyes dramatically. "Ancient beasts e
ncroached on the peaceful land established by the great cities. Dragons fought back and very nearly destroyed Stronghold." Kyle pointed to the statue of the knight atop Dragonperch. "Magnus was the first man to harness a dragon as a mount. He taught the people to fight back."
He held up his hand to stave off my excitement. "But before you get any ideas, this is just standard lore stuff. There aren't any dragon riders. Hell, there aren't any dragons. They all went into hibernation or something. These legends are just stories, man. Background for quests and stuff. There's plenty of time to get into it later if you want."
Kyle appeared bored by my pressing questions and eyed the green parks north of us. I was kind of let down by the whole hibernation thing myself. Anyway, it was obvious he wasn't the best person to ask about this stuff and I could probably learn more with a little light reading. I'd catch up on game lore some other time.
"You are the worst tour guide ever," I said with a smile.
He laughed. "I'll tell you what. How about you actually let me show you around first?"
I nodded. "Deal." We headed downhill.
Hillside was all residences. Neat, curated, quaint—it reminded me of a real-world housing association. As we strolled along the road I spotted a ragged man, thin as a skeleton with a long scraggly beard and wild eyes, sprinting toward us. He stopped right in our path and hopped up and down over and over again without saying a word.
He wore nothing but his starting loincloth and pink wool socks.
"Oh, hey Phil," said my roommate. He turned to me. "This is Phil."
I watched the man hop several times, an expression of wild excitement frozen on his face. "Good to know."
Kyle chuckled. The wild man didn't seem to acknowledge us, though. He continued bouncing up and down.
"That's enough, Phil!" barked a guard in the distance.
Phil made a strained grunt and moved on, ready for the next passersby.
"I'm not even gonna ask," I said as we continued on our way.
"Probably for the best."
I eyed the guard who had intervened. He wore simple clothes. A short green tunic. Sandals. His armor consisted of a small mail hauberk and a woven straw helmet. He did have a sheathed sword on his belt, though.
"The city watch," said Kyle. "They don't look like much, but you don't wanna get on their bad side."
"What do they do?"
"It's more what you can't do. Players can't fight in town, so the city watch has absolute authority. They usually don't need to do much of anything except tell you to move on. If they do, you should listen."
Saint Peter rounded a corner. "Now, now, Kyle. You make it sound like the city watch doesn't serve the residents. They're here for your protection."
My roommate straightened and nodded.
Saint Peter looked me over. "Glad to see you getting a feel for the city. Did you find your new home accommodating?"
"Yeah, actually," I said. "Except I didn't see a toilet."
"Yes, yes. There's a bodily function or two we didn't deem necessary for Haven. Residents would only find ways to cause trouble with them."
I arched an eyebrow and thought of Phil. "Griefers in Heaven? That's not exactly the ideal model of religious selflessness."
He nodded. "This is certainly Heaven, of a sort, but it's not your Christian template. Sure, we use the same trappings, but we accept all types. Part of the goal of the beta is observing how different groups interact and determining if we need to enforce segregation of play styles. We want everyone to get along, but we're also realists. You can't truly be happy if it's guaranteed, can you?"
I shrugged. The question had probably given many philosophers pause.
"Anyway," said Saint Peter, "do let me know if you have any troubles. I must continue my rounds." He headed off.
Kyle chewed his lip as he watched him go. "That's weird. You don't see the white robes wandering around very often."
"You think he's watching us?"
"Did you give him a reason to?"
"No," I said. "I was just kidding."
He nodded. "I bet it's because of the wipe yesterday. The white robes probably just want to make sure everything is starting up as expected."
At the base of the hill, the land opened up to large public spaces. Tree-lined parks with benches and people tossing balls around. Some men sparred with gloves, others walked tightropes strewn between trees. The area was a hive of activity, only uncrowded because of the amount of free space.
I passed in silent wonder, awed by the diversity.
"Dude, this is just the Foot," said Kyle. "It's not much more than cosplay central. Reattach your jaw to your head, 'cause you ain't seen nothing yet. Trust me."
I wasn't sure if it counted as cosplay anymore, but it was an apt enough description. Groups and loners all partaking in countless interests, hobbies, and pastimes, many in gaudy medieval dress. The allure of Haven was becoming clearer to me, even if my roommate wasn't big on fantasy. I watched players in roped-off sections of dirt using weapons against training dummies. It looked fun.
"I thought you said there's no combat in town."
"No weapons, even," said Kyle. "In designated training areas you can practice for funsies, but you don't gain experience from it. It's more to give you a sense of what you can do. I don't bother."
I wouldn't have minded getting some tips from the city watch on spear use myself, but I was eager to see the rest of Stronghold. Lining the blocks of open park along the far road were individual buildings with public storefronts. The river that ran past Hillside and the Foot twisted behind the shops, creating a quaint, but busy, mercantile district.
"This is Front Street," Kyle explained. "The starting shops. You can buy basic equipment and supplies here."
"Like food?"
"Food's free. You can order it at home or eat in restaurants or whatever. Heck, you don't even have to eat at all if you don't want to. I once played a dystopian apocalyptic survival game where if you didn't eat food once a day you would die. That doesn't sound like Heaven to me."
"So what kind of stuff should I buy?"
"Healing potions. Equipment. You know, adventuring stuff." We walked along the storefronts. Kyle pointed out the shops as we passed. "This one's a bladesmith. Over here's a bowyer and fletcher. This is a leather shop. You're not gonna find top-of-the-line stuff on Front Street. Some people call it Noob Alley. That's why we're here."
Seeing the weapons and armor shops, I was flooded with years of memories playing RPGs. One of the storefronts had a pair of clay pots on either side of the door. I slowed as Kyle passed and wondered. I picked one up and smashed it on the ground. Loose gravel spilled out.
My roommate spun around. "What are you doing?"
"Looking for secrets. Relax." I smashed the second pot even more completely, disappointed to find nothing but soil and rocks. I frowned. "Shouldn't there be some loot or at least a turkey leg in these things?"
"Vandals!" cried a woman from inside the shop. "Vandals!"
"Run!" yelped Kyle. He was sprinting down the road before he'd finished the clipped word.
I caught up to him, wondering if my agility gave me an advantage. He stopped only a block away.
"She won't chase us. I just wanted to avoid seeing the hag." We watched from a distance as the old woman shook her fist in the air before turning her attention to the pots. A wave of her arm restored them.
Kyle shook his head. "Breaking pottery. Next you'll be walking into random apartments asking strangers for information. Maybe your video game background will actually be a hindrance in Haven. You really are a noob. Speaking of which..."
He held a shop door open. The wooden sign hanging above was a simple white happy face. I went inside. Unlike our home, the transition indoors was seamless. We didn't need to zone. That also meant the modest shop was contained by its outer dimensions.
Wooden shelves were stuffed to the brim with books and tools. Large pots and objects had been messily shoved into corners,
partially obstructing passage. An empty counter lined the back wall.
"Trafford," called Kyle, "I've got a customer for you."
A weathered shopkeeper emerged from the back room. His white hair stood on end in an attempt to flee his head, but he wasn't balding in the slightest.
"Another one? That's four in as many weeks!"
"That's not true," returned Kyle. "It's been five weeks at least."
"Bah." The mature man turned to me, one of his eyes larger than the other. "He doesn't look like much."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I objected.
"That you don't look like a whole lot. Do I gotta spell it out to ya?"
I opened my mouth to retort but Kyle interrupted.
"This is Trafford. He sees to the noobs in Stronghold. Sets them up with a starting kit, on the house."
"You only get one, mind you," added the ornery shopkeeper. "You come crawling back begging for more, it'll cost ya."
I ignored his comment and surveyed the shelves. "I guess I could use some stuff. What kind of place is this anyway?"
"It's a welcome shop," he hissed.
I stared at him blankly.
Kyle cleared his throat. "Can you set him up, Trafford? I'm planning on showing Talon around town and we only have the rest of our lives."
The shopkeeper chuckled. "Talon, eh? Everybody and their mother walks into my shop and wants to be a legendary hero. The next Magnus Dragonrider. That's what I like about you, Kyle. You have your priorities straight."
"Joining me for a pint at the Wicked Crow this weekend?"
"The Crow waters down their ale!"
"I told you, it's called Budweiser."
"Bah. You know I'll be there anyway. It's my only reprieve from work." The man scowled bitterly and disappeared into the back.
I watched my roommate with inquiring eyes.
"What?" he asked.
"What's his deal, exactly?"
"What do you mean?"
Since the two of them were friendly, I phrased my statement carefully. "Haven't you noticed that, for a welcome shop owner, Trafford isn't very... welcoming?"
Kyle laughed. "Yeah. That's kinda his shtick."