by P A Wikoff
Asber stood up and started to dance a little jig as he continued, now moving on to weapons. “We have plank shields, and stabby dags, slow bows, and sheep-herding staves—or more like sheep hurting, if you are doing it right. Am I right?”
Astounded by the pile of gear he was pulling out of his jacket, I had to ask. “Is that some kind of magic trick or just part of your class?”
“What now?” Asber asked, caught off-guard by me interrupting his little routine. “Huh? Oh, you mean this? As a merchant, I get a holding pocket.”
“How many items can you fit in there?”
“About this many,” he said, pulling out a final rock slinger.
“That’s impressive.”
“This is nothing. You should see the Class A merchants. They have holding carts.”
I rummaged through the pile. It was mostly filled with torn and/or patched fabric, alongside very used weaponry, which was borderline broken. Everything smelled musky or moldy.
“This stuff is junk. How much do you expect to get for this?”
“Junk?”
“Yes, junk. This cape has seven patches in it. No, wait, eight.”
“You know what? You think you’re too good for my goodies.”
“Your ‘goodies’ are ‘baddies.’”
“How about they’re no longer for sale,” Asber said, while stuffing gear back into his magic pocket. “I have a right to refuse service, you know.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you, but this one has an actual spider’s nest in it.”
“What? Let me see.” Asber came in close, with one eye cocked. “That’s nothing a little fire won’t cure.” He pulled the leather skirt out of my hand. There was a loud tearing sound.
“Now you must buy it,” Asber demanded.
“It’s a skirt. A woman’s skirt.”
“Not necessarily. Romans wore skirts. So did the Scots.”
“This is not a pteruges or even a kilt. It has flowers embroidered on it.”
“Gender is nothing more than one setting in the creation screen.” He wagged a finger as an attempt to gender-shame me into submission.
“I don’t care. I am not wearing a skirt.”
“No matter. You broke it, you bought it. One experience point, please.”
“I am not giving you anything.” I looked myself up and down, wondering where I would even store such currency.
“If you can’t pay, then you must go into debt. There is no way around it.”
Just then, a lantern next to the bed lit up, and judging by his wide-eyed expression, Asber seemed taken aback by it.
I shook it off as a glitch, or a game flaw, and nothing more.
“Okay, you can keep the skirt. Take it and go.” He urged me toward the door by applying pressure to my shoulder.
“I said I don’t want it.” That was a quick change of heart. Was there some significance with the lantern? If there was, I wasn’t going to miss it unfolding—not when he was so adamant about me leaving.
Ducking under his arm, I made my way back towards the bed.
“Maybe I will browse your stuff. I mean, I am only in my undergarments. Plus, you did say I could go into debt, right?”
“I’ll give you a complete set—whatever you want—but I need you to wait outside for a bit, okay?”
This was quite a different tone than before that light started flashing. I suddenly had the upper hand, and I didn’t even know why or how or what I was going to do with it. But I did have it, that much was clear. “What’s the hurry?”
“I will explain later.” Asber tried to seem calm as he jammed his gear back into his endless pocket.
I quietly observed him, as sweat beaded on his forehead. Man, he is really packing it in there.
“Okay, see ya later, friend,” Asber said.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Asber stopped for a stone-cold second and gave me a horrible glare.
This told me that I’d made the right choice in staying.
“My deal expires in about a minute.”
“I am fine with that.”
“Okay. Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.”
“But you didn’t warn me.” If he had, I would have known what he was so freaked out about.
“I just did. That was the warning, when I said, ‘Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.’”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t count. You can’t say you warned me by saying you didn’t warn me.”
At this point, Asber nearly had all of the gear cleaned up. No wonder all of his stuff was worn and torn to shreds. He didn’t fold anything, just shoved it all in where the ‘pocket don’t shine.’ “Consider yourself warned.”
“From what??” This conversation was like reading a caution sign written in invisible ink—completely worthless.
Through my peripheral vision, I noticed the lump of a person where one wasn’t moments ago. It was lying in the same bed and position I was in when I had awoken. The only thing different was that he appeared to be fully clothed.
What in the world… “Did you undress me while I was waking?”
“Spawning,” Asber corrected.
“Excuse me. While I was spawning? Is that why you’re in my room?” I scolded Asber, grabbing on to the flamboyant scarf that rested around his neck.
He held up a finger to his lips, trying to shut me up.
“You’re not a friendly bedside merchant, you’re a sleep thief.” I twisted my fist, wrapping up more of his garment in my clenched hand.
“No, no. I was…merely conducting a little business when…” Asber stammered, having difficulty speaking.
We both stopped mid-argument, as the person lying in the bed abruptly opened his eyes…
Chapter Eleven
Super Smash Bros.
T hings were starting to get weird around here, and if I wanted to get some real answers, the only way was to see this thing through. I knew how betrayed I had felt upon finding a strange person in my room. I could only imagine what I would have done if there were two of them squabbling at my bedside. My plan was to keep cool and play along for as long as possible. A chilly little penguin wearing sunglasses—that was me, cool as hell. If things got rough, I would love to throw Asber in front of the hover bus. Or better yet, drive that bus into him a couple times.
I unhanded Asber the “merchant” hoping to appear as calm as possible while the new player stirred.
“What should we do?” I mouthed, without letting a peep sneak out.
Asber silently mimed zipping up his mouth, locking it with an invisible key, then placing that key in his wonder pocket, with a pat.
It was a long, cold minute, which felt more like ten. The anticipation was killing me.
We both flinched as the spawned player quickly got up and pulled out a small club from his side, feeling its weight in his hand. It barely looked like a weapon; more like a beat stick. Above his head floated a name, “SmashKing.” Next to his name, in chevron brackets, read “
I leaned in to Asber, “Is that his name?”
“It seems so.”
I couldn’t help but wonder why I was denied the name Sephiroth, yet this guy could have a dumb non-fantasy name like SmashKing. Maybe I was wrong, and the restrictions had nothing to do with keeping with the fantasy theme at all. Perhaps it had to do with people fighting over celebrity names.
“Why don’t I have a surname? His sounds cool.”
Asber grabbed my hand and held it still. “That’s his gang.”
“The Destroyers? Intense.”
“Yeah. Well, the name holds up. So I’ve heard.”
“Why isn’t my name up there?” I tried looking up and swiping my hand above me.
“Because you didn’t finish the goddamn tutorial.”
“I swear on my bike…” I cut myself off when I spotted something fairly obvious. “Wait…how come you don’t have your name showing, either?” I asked incredulously.
There was
a long, silent pause…
“I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you know?”
“Because I also didn’t finish the tutorial,” Asber whispered.
With my mouth agape, I shot him a look of utter betrayal.
“Shh, he’s coming,” Asber said, trying to distract from the impending assault of questions that I most definitely had for him.
I didn’t know what Asber expected to happen or why he seemed so frightened, but if it came down to it, my allegiance was with this guy who had a club with which to smash and destroy.
SmashKing walked right up to us and nonchalantly asked Asber, “How much will you give me for all this crap starter gear?” without even paying me any mind.
“Which pieces?” Asber responded, scanning SmashKing’s gear with a raised eyebrow.
“All of it. Except the club,” SmashKing said.
While they talked, I studied the newcomer, trying to size him up. Based on his appearance, he had invested a lot more points in Strength than I had, maybe all of them. Plus, any gear was better than what I started out with, yet his looked very basic and not very protective. It wasn’t anywhere near the high-quality items the character creator had displayed on the class selection racks.
“How about three XP?” SmashKing countered Asber’s offer, which I totally missed.
“I’ll give you ten if you put in a good word for me with the old gang,” Asber said.
“Nope. Just the three XP.”
“Alrighty.”
SmashKing grabbed his chest and pulled the frayed tunic straight off his torso. He didn’t have to take it off the traditional way by pulling his head through the holes and trying to untie the clasps in the back. It was as if it melted off his body, turning into a flowing ghost fabric before reforming into his hand as a solid once again. He then handed the item to Asber. Piece by piece, his gear disappeared off his body in the same fashion until he was as naked as I was.
After Asber had all the items stowed in his endless pocket, their hands embraced in a strong clasp.
A red “-3 EXP” image floated above Asber’s hand and a green “+3 EXP” above SmashKing’s hand before both quickly dispersed into the air like mist. The transaction was complete.
That seemed simple enough, but I wondered why they weren’t trading gold. Wasn’t that what it was used for?
While they were making their exchange, I spotted some strange markings on both of their forearms. The marks looked like some sort of ink tattoos.
I glanced down at my arms. Wouldn’t you know it, I had similar tattoos of my own, in the very same spots. Caressing my arms, the marks stretched and moved along with my skin. They were unlike the laser etchings people decorate themselves with back home. This was old-world pirate tech. All the same, these were very real and very permanent.
Under my left forearm was a series of numerical values set between two pillars—a black 26, a blue 42, and a yellow 24, along with some other intricate, unknown symbols. Over my wrist, there was a green circle with a 300 underneath it. My right arm seemed a little more complicated but in the same vein as my left.
Before I could say or ask anything about it, SmashKing had already gone out the door.
There were many possible outcomes I had imagined for when SmashKing awoke, but what I had witnessed was not one of them. I was all amped up and ready for an all-out brawl, and when there wasn’t one, I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed.
“Another satisfied customer,” Asber said.
SmashKing looked barely content, but that was neither here nor there.
I lightly tapped Asber on the shoulder with the back of my hand. “What was that all about? How did he know you were a merchant?”
“Believe it or not, I have quite a reputation around here.”
“I bet you do. A bad one,” I said under my breath.
“What did you say? I didn’t catch it.”
“I said…I want some answers. No more games,” I lied.
“Tsk, tsk. Language.”
“I can use it like that! I am referring to your little mind games, not this literal game world we’re standing in.”
“Just give me a minute. Then I will give you a crash course in everything I know, if you’re nice,” Asber said, walking towards the window.
“Well, how about if you’re not nice, I’m going to get my first player kill,” I countered, nearing the end of my rope, which I was mentally tying into a noose.
“Oh, really? I would like to see you try, silly, naked man,” Asber said, taunting me with a slight nod.
I’ve had it with this guy. Three, two, one…go!
All of my bottled-up rage that had been building over the past month—everything from being misunderstood, interrupted, censored, flamed online, and punished—exploded out of me all at once. My body moved with form and precision as I leapt forward with a closed fist, just like a trained martial arts actor in the holo-films I watched as a child. I’d never taken a combat class, or even self-defense, but there I was feeling agile and powerful.
In the past, I had had a bit of a temper, though I’d never used violence in lieu of resolving a conflict peacefully. But this time was different; I had an uncontrollable urge to shut up that arrogant trolling mouth of his. It just happened before I could stop myself.
My fist collided with his dumb mouth. I saw the skin on his face smush up, as if in slow motion.
Asber didn’t attempt to block or dodge. He just stood there and took the hit without even a flinch. Maybe he didn’t think I had it in me, or he didn’t care. Either way, I felt relief, like all the pressure from my past was flowing out of me like a volcano.
My pleasure was short-lived, however. I felt a sharp pain on my own face in the same spot where I had struck Asber. “Ouch. What was that?”
“I told you this was a safety room, didn’t I? You’ll only hurt yourself that way,” Asber said, seemingly unfazed by the strike.
Rubbing my face, I noticed that one of my forearm tattoos had changed. The black 26 was now a red 25. I wasn’t sure if my mind was playing tricks on me or if my attack had changed my tattoo somehow.
“Is this my life?”
Asber glared at me with his arms crossed.
“Is it or isn’t it?”
I wasn’t sure what Asber was grumbling about, but I did clearly hear something about “hit points.”
“Okay, you know what? Don’t tell me. I am just going to go on my way and figure it out myself.” I bet he was talking crap about me using the wrong terminology. Life…hit points…it’s all the same thing.
Staring at my left and right arm tattoos, I compared and contrasted them. My right forearm had a bunch of dots linked to corresponding shapes, mostly in groups of twos. One had a grouping of four dots. These had to represent my statistics.
My left arm had what I could only assume was my hit points, mana, and stamina values. Next to a symbol that looked a lot like a potion bottle, there was a tribal-looking path design. Looking back at my wrist, I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what that green circle was. But, all in all, I was satisfied with my other discoveries, so far.
“Aren’t you leaving?” Asber asked, pointing to the exit.
Ignoring him, but also complying, I walked over to the door that SmashKing had exited out of. If SmashKing can venture out there without clothes or armor, so can I.
Before leaving, I turned to have the last word, “Now I know why you’re held up in this safe room. I’m sure every person outside its protection is itching to murder you on sight.”
With a raised finger, Asber began his retort, but I was already gone, covering up his words with the sound of the slamming door behind me.
The slim corridor was drafty and dim, with carpeted walls and wooden-framed portraits every five feet or so. I wanted to admire the wall art, but…
Suddenly my vision was obstructed by menus, action bars, a mini map, a long list of resistances, nonexistent party information, and a chat
window. It was so distracting that I lost all the confidence I just had embarking on this new journey ahead of me. With game screens and prompts cluttering my vision, I reached out with my hands, blindly grasping at my surroundings.
“Welcome to the Craglands. You have gained 1 experience point for discovering a new area,” a popup notification read, blocking my line of sight.
It was like the overlaying visuals were printed on the inside of my eyes. They were even present when I blinked or closed my eyelids.
“Disable menus. Hide display. Just get stuff out of my eyes!” It was no use. Nothing I did made them go away.
It wouldn’t have been so bad except my left eye couldn’t focus on them, and it was already giving me a headache. This wasn’t what I had expected at all. I really wanted to absorb the spectacular visuals, take in the art, and fully immerse myself in this world, without the Graphical User Interface, or GUI, distracting from it. This is the type of thing I hated about games, all the stuff that reminded you that it wasn’t real.
“Fack!” I said, accidentally touching my eye with my finger as I tried to manually turn them off.
This couldn’t be how the game was going to be forever. There had to be a way to change it. With one eye closed and staggering like a drunken pirate, tattoos and all, I pushed myself onward.
A little way down, slumped against the wall, was a medium-sized pile of fur. It had no clothes and looked to have been bludgeoned to death. I turned it over and was startled by the dead-eyed expression of the humanoid creature looking back at me. Its head took up half its body, and the whole thing was covered in dark, stringy hair.
A notification in my vision alerted me that it was a “Bagmy corpse, classification: Monster.”
Someone had already murdered and looted whatever this bagmy thing is or was. Then a thought crossed my mind. How was I supposed to attack, use powers, or whatever fighting meant in this fantasy realm? I guessed I would have to attack that bridge when I came to it, in a sense.
Moving on down the hall, I passed many closed doors like the worst contestant on a gameshow ever, showing no interest in the mystery gift that might be hiding behind each of them.
Soon, I arrived at the top of a wide, winding staircase. The step height was appropriate for my size, but the width looked like it was made for a giant. Perhaps a giant with little feet?