Each tree was a king, with leaves moving in the wind so high up that I heard nothing, even as I watched the dance of their massive limbs. It was an eerie quiet. I didn’t know if the simple enormity gave me a sense of insignificance or if it was something else entirely, something magical, but I was hesitant to walk through its shady threshold. I felt that both the mute stillness and dark would consume me, and, at the very least, I would never be able to find my way out.
“What is this place called?” I asked, trying to keep a level voice as I strained my neck to see the top of the nearest tree looming over me.
“Tir’Nadrun,” Faun said. “The City of Crying Leaves. It was Tir’Drun, simply The City of Leaves, not so long ago.” She carelessly waved her hand over her shoulder to punctuate the offhanded trivia.
That’s interesting, I thought. It seems the designers have put a good bit of thought into the lore for this game. I wonder how fleshed out these mythical languages are . . .
Both from genuine curiosity and as an effort to delay my entry into the foreboding mass of trees, I tried to get my guide to explain a bit more about her land. “Tir . . . Does that mean ‘city,’ then?”
“Yes, Si1ence, that is what it translates to in the common tongue,” she answered, sounding enthusiastic that I was taking an interest. “And ‘Nadrun’ is a combination of ‘na,’ meaning ‘crying’ and ‘drun,’ meaning ‘leaves.’”
“Ah, I see. So . . . what caused the name to change? It doesn’t sound like a happy name.”
She looked away from me for a moment, seemingly wistful.
“It is no longer a happy place,” she said, her voice distance but not quite a whisper.
Horan, who had been standing patiently nearby while I played twenty questions in an explicit attempt to delay his return to the Temple, rode closer.
“There is . . . unrest here now,” he offered. “The Temple used to be a hub of peace and unity for this zone, but now it stands divided.” He paused briefly to give Faun a chance to take up where he left off, but she was looking solemnly at her feet. “There are those who wish to wrest the control of this land away from its rightful leaders. Many of them have taken up arms and occupied certain parts of the forest. There are many entrances to the wood that cannot be used by the common folk now for that reason. Those of us at the Temple would have gone in to vanquish the enemy ages ago if it were feasible, but they are great in number and scattered all over. If we go to take care of one group of them, it is likely that others will get wind and come in to take the Temple while we we’re away. Nasty business.”
“Oh,” I said. “That really puts things in perspective. I knew there was some unrest, but I didn’t realize how . . . extensive it was. So, you’re saying that these hostile parts of the forest are controlled by this Gray Favor group?”
His eyes widened. He seemed surprised that I had even heard of the group, which certainly added to the sense of realism. A lot of games don’t bother with minor details like this, but his reaction was all too human. In most games, the NPC Horan would simply nod and acknowledge what I said, not taking a moment to show his surprise that I already knew about something. If the man truly was an NPC, as I suspected, then his AI was top-notch.
“So, you have heard of them?” he choked. His surprise did seem a bit overplayed, now that I was taking the time to analyze it.
“Yes, Faun told me shortly before we happened across you.”
“Ah, well, yes, to answer your question. The Gray Favor occupies a great deal of the hostile areas of the wood, but they are not all the dangerous beings who dwell there. There are many lesser groups that have taken advantage of the chaos to lay their own claim to certain bits of land. Some of them are not worth concerning yourself with, but there are a few that would give our primary enemies a good fight.”
“Let us not speak of this for now,” Faun piped up. “It saddens me to hear this talk, and now is not the time to be sad. We are returning home and should only speak of happy things until we are forced not to.”
She looked to me with pleading eyes. I nodded my head, and Horan quietly led the way inside.
“Halt,” someone shouted from ahead. We had not been among the trees for more than ten minutes. “What business do you have here—oh, hello, Faun. Sir Horan . . .”
Two figures that looked like some sort of woodland guardians emerged from a dense cluster of leaves. They resembled your typical Wood Elf, which made them a little taller than a Hobbit, but not as pudgy-- usually devoid of body hair and with pointed ears. Both were designed to look no older than twenty.
Each guard wore a top made like Faun’s outfit, but their clothes exposed most of their toned chests, only reaching up and hanging over one shoulder. Covering their legs—only above the knees—were loose-fitting leafy shorts. They almost looked as if they were ready for sports, not war, with a sense of whimsy about their clothing at odds with their weapons.
They carried daggers in their belts and bows of a dark wood were slung over their backs. It stood to reason that their clothing gave them a wide range of mobility, but archers usually covered themselves in leather to protect themselves as much as possible without compromising that mobility. Unless the leaves of their clothes were enchanted, those shirts and pants were not going to be protecting anybody. Perhaps they relied on the underbrush to hide them and all of their battles were carried out while under cover.
Still, their dress seemed to have issues, even with my casual glance.
These guys weren’t even wearing wrist protection for shooting their bows. If this was the real world, they would get flayed by their own weapons. I was a beta tester after all, and that went beyond admiring Faun’s physical perfection.
“I have beta testing input!” I shouted.
Horan’s mouth was open. He was about to greet the two young men but stopped at my sudden outburst.
“Input? How do I report things for beta testing?” I continued. “Beta testing?”
The others watched me silently.
I cleared my throat dramatically. “Okay then . . . Well, let it be noted that the characters in this game are not dressed appropriately for their jobs. Faun’s great! I’ll make excuses for her all day long. Her body and just . . . everything about her is amazing! Don’t change her at all!” I glanced over to see her blushing. “But these forest guards, or rangers, or whatever they are—they’re practically naked. How’s that going to protect them? That doesn’t say ‘realistic’ to me, which I would think would be a big part of any ‘fully immersive’ experience.”
The boys were exchanging confused glances, much like my traveling buddies had earlier during my attempts to break the fourth wall.
“They aren’t even wearing wrist protection for shooting their bows. They’re going to hurt themselves,” I said.
Each looked at his wrist, then touched the bare skin with a hesitant touch. They were now blushing like Faun but for a completely different reason. Seeing them, I suddenly felt a pang of regret for openly insulting them, even though they were just supposed to be characters in a game. The AI was really selling itself to me.
“All right, then,” I shouted. “That’ll be all from me for right now.” I looked back to the guys. “Hey, that’s not your fault—what the fuck?”
Their outfits had already been changed. They had nothing in which to carry an extra set of clothes, having no containers bigger than the little fanny packs strapped to their belts. Now they looked battle-ready, covered head to toe in glossy, boiled leather, much like my own. Forest-green cowls draped from their heads down to rest upon the shoulders, which were capped by little protective brown pads. Their torsos were fit with a leather mail almost exactly like mine, but more breathable, and their legs were covered with slim green pants which were hugged at the shin and thighs by similar padding that was found on the shoulders. In an instant, they had become both harder to see and harder to hit. Both of them no longer looked confused, but satisfied and confident.
They looked l
ike fighters.
“Did you—”
I was interrupted my Horan, who suddenly did not seem to notice that I had been talking. “Greetings, lads! Everything staying quiet on this end of the wood?”
The young men saluted him. “Yes, sir,” one said. It was the one who had challenged us. “Nothing unusual to report here. It is a welcome surprise to see you. Let us accompany you to the city.”
The city. I had not expected to see a city in the middle of this huge and menacing forest. I thought that we were only going to a temple, but I should have known better after Faun’s initial description of the place. It was clearly meant to be more than a simple place of worship.
Faun educated me as we went, explaining that the city surrounding the Temple of Leaves was still called the Temple of Leaves, or Cul’Maryn. She said that if I wanted to refer to the Temple, as in specifically the building, I just say ‘the Temple’ and everyone would know what I meant.
So, the city known as Cul’Maryn was just as impressive as the woods in which it was hidden. Trees had been shaped into the game world’s equivalent of apartment buildings reaching so far up that they trailed off and disappeared in a sky of leaves. Nowhere could I see that a tree had been harmed in the construction of any of these structures. It was as if this was simply how these trees grew.
Cloth curtains were draped over tree hollows, some parted to invite outsiders or to let light in, while others were closed with what appeared to be privacy vines tied across them to discourage entry. Vines themselves were another prominent aspect of this woodland society. While there were those used to bar entry into one dwelling or another, there were others that bulged as wide as the trunks of the trees they latched onto, spiraling up and away. Many of the people I watched were busy going about their daily routines, using these massive, veiny tendrils in place of stairs. I watched the people climbing one of these unconventional support beams, and with each step their foot would sink down into its fuzzy skin. It looked like walking in shag carpet, if sich a thing existed on this world.
I hoped it didn’t. Some things had no place in the universe.
All the windows I saw were just as enchanting, if you could even call them windows. Each tree was riddled with scores of hollows. The larger ones were obviously used as entryways, while the smaller ones, closer to the size of a fist, were plugged with glass orbs. The sunlight twinkled down through the canopy and cast these orbs in a mild glow. I could not see into them but was sure that any curious observer could be peeking through one from within and spying me easily enough.
There was no uniformity to the place at all. It was literally as if there was a dense patch of forest and then—poof—it turned into a bunch of buildings one day. There were no more roads and no signs to tell us where we were or where we were heading. I tended to think of each tree as a group of dwellings, like a self-contained group home, but with the elegance of a soaring forest and magical whimsy.
The only thing that did not quite seem to fit was the miles-long stone wall that presumably surrounded the entire settlement. It was constructed of overlapping layers of massive stone bricks, like one would see in an old English castle, overgrown with vines and shrubs. Small trees had even popped up in a few spots along the barrier’s outer edges. Faun had told me that this wall was enchanted, but I detected no such magic as I effortlessly passed through. Apparently, whatever spells were cast upon the structure decided that I was no threat. I didn’t know whether to be flattered or a little insulted.
Horan seemed to know where he was going, and that was good enough for the moment. He led us and the horses through and around the pack of trees, making turns left and right as if on a whim. Many heads followed us as we wound our way around the city. I thought it was rude of them to stare at Faun, even if I hadn’t taken my eyes off of her the whole time that we had been together. But soon I realized that she wasn’t the one attracting all the attention. It was me.
“What?” I asked a group of elves who had stopped several tiers up a nearby tree. They resumed their activity the moment I drew attention to them. Faun was smirking, but she didn’t say anything, only looking back at me from the corner of her eye.
At first, I thought my clothing might be making me look like an outsider, but I decided that was unlikely since the ranger attire—which, by the way, I had apparently somehow conjured into existence for every single male ranger in the city—was similar to my own outfit. There were differences, sure, but not enough to warrant this sort of staring.
Another thing was that just about everyone I saw, save for Horan, appeared to be of the woodland elf variety. Perhaps that was drawing the attention, but I still doubted it. Even though my stubble amounted to more facial hair than most of their faces combined, that wasn’t worth the turning of so many heads.
I had another sudden urge to find a mirror and get a good look at my avatar. Maybe I had an ugly face tattoo. I rarely used those kinds of decorative decals on my characters, but I had not created this avatar that I was experiencing the world through, so it was entirely possible that someone had put something eye-catching on my face.
We came to an abrupt stop.
“Horan!” A man was standing in front of Horan’s mount, stopping it from moving forward. “I believe you have something for me?”
There were more men now—eight, to be specific—who had come out from around the myriad of concealing trunks nearby. They were standing in a warped circle around us, cutting off every route large enough to allow a horse comfortable passage. Some stood straight with their arms folded, while others assumed more casual poses. All watched us intently, and I just knew that this might end up getting hairy.
“What are you talking about, Amren? Nothing in my possession belongs to you.” It was clear in the man’s voice that he knew exactly what Amren was talking about and was merely asserting his stance on the matter.
Amren growled, and I leaned to the edge of my horse as far as simulated gravity would allow me to so that I could see if this angry man was part wolf or bear. He was neither, but nor was he an elf. He was a man like Horan and me. I looked around and realized that half of the troupe of clowns accompanying him were also normal men, as best I could tell.
This guy didn’t look very menacing. I mean, he was shady-back-woods-trucker-level intimidating at best—big, but not too big. I was confident that any of us could have taken any of them one on one, but being outnumbered three to one gave me a pause.
“I’m talking about that horse,” Amren said.
I suddenly realized that he and all the others were looking at me. Even Horan glanced my way for a second.
“You do not own that horse.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, friend. I’ve paid for it, you know that. Why have you not given it to me?”
Horan looked to me again before responding. “I dropped your money off at the bailiff’s office. I sent message that your offer was declined. Did you not receive it?”
“Oh, I received it, but I won’t accept it. I want my damn horse back.”
“Sleeper’s mine now, Amren. You can’t take a horse back once it has been trained for military use.”
“I paid you extra as compensation for—”
“I don’t give a damn how much you paid! My answer is still no, and that’s the end of it, Amren.”
A rock flew from behind one of the tree-scrapers to the right, catching Horan on the cheek. Faun gasped as her friend fell to the ground, and I was suddenly surrounded by scores of grabby hands trying to remove me from my mount.
I leaned one way and allowed myself to be pulled from the saddle in an attempt to give the false impression that I was cooperating. Such were tactics common to my rogue characters. A set of hands yanked me to the ground and left me lying there forgotten.
This was a fairly minor dispute, and to fight and kill any of these men would likely invoke more rage than allowing them to overpower me and steal Sleeper. If I was going to fight back, I needed to be careful and not harm a
ny of them too much. A few broken bones and teeth would be fine, but it would likely be committing a major crime to slay or severely injure one of them outright.
The men around my horse turned to look toward the front of our line as Horan and Armen were going at it, fist-to-fist. I saw Faun in my periphery setting to work on the men herself, but I could not clearly see how that was going for her. I kicked myself back to my feet, harnessing agility unknown to my mortal form, and locked my arm around one man’s neck from behind. He spat and choked as I pulled him toward me, the back of his head pressed against my chest, his heels digging into the rich dark soil of the forest floor.
The others standing around Sleeper turned to watch us then as their friend started to flail around in a panic and grab uselessly at my arm. I took a moment to appreciate that this was a grown man here, at least in his late thirties. His arms were thick, but like a guy who’s outside working all day at hard labor. He wasn’t a guy I’d want to come up against back home. But here, my arms constricted around his airways, and they were comparable to his. I flexed my bicep purely because of this newfound appreciation I held for my avatar and this virtual environment.
Two of his four pals took a half-step forward as their friend gasped and sputtered. His face was quickly turning red. I knew I had to release him before too long or there would be irreparable damage. I was counting on their biology behaving in ways closely resembling the outside world. Years ago, back when I was half-assedly taking karate in high school, my sensei told me that you could chokehold a man and make him pass out without any lasting effects. If you held him for about ten to fifteen seconds longer, he would suffer brain damage, and if you choked him for longer than that, he would die. I knew a lot of games did not take this into consideration, and when a player choked an NPC, that NPC would die immediately. I was betting, based off what I had experienced so far, that the developers of this game would have taken more consideration of this. With that in mind, I kept squeezing until he stopped flailing.
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