by Rae Nantes
"You're all a bunch of larping weirdos!" I shouted.
"Halt!" A voice cried out from the edge of the clearing. It was a woman on horseback. She was adorned in red and white robes; pink stars lined her sleeves. With her, two similarly dressed riders were at her side. "What is the meaning of this? Captain Thomas, why is there a civilian on the cabin?"
"Priestess, I do not know," the gruff man said. "She's crazy, we think."
"Ma'am, please," the young guy pleaded with me. "Get down from there."
"No!" I yelled. My mind raced for a plan, any solution to get away from this group. Running wasn't an option, and I knew I was out-geared for a fight. All I had left was my cunning. "Priestess, lady!" I called out. "These guys were trying to kill me!"
"No we weren't," the taller man said. "We found you eating our food."
"Don't believe to their lies, priestess!" If there were a divide among their alliance, I might've been able to drive a wedge into it. A perfect plan. "They are the crazy ones!" I looked down at her, hoping my desperation could reach her.
In return, she lifted her hand at me with her palm facing up. I was confused by the gesture, but then I felt it. My entire body began to vibrate, and I started to feel lighter. It was easier to hold my weight against the tower, so much that it felt like I was lifting myself off from it. I was floating away from it! My helpless body struggled to find balance, and I flailed around like a cat as I floated away from the stonework, into an open area, before finally drifting into the grass.
Was that magic?
"What the hell kind of game are we playing?" I asked as I struggled to my feet.
"Young lady," the priestess said. "Where did you come from?"
I dusted myself off. I was defeated, and I knew it. "I started at the shore."
One of the riders whispered to her. She nodded him away. "So you are one of them."
I tilted my head at the accusation. I didn't know who they were, but it sounded important, so I took the gamble. I crossed my arms and planted my feet in the grass, as any hero should. "Of course I am!"
"Arrest her."
"What? No. No!" My eyes darted around at the group who were converging on me. "I'm not one of them!” It was too late. I was tackled and pinned down and taken captive. The handcuffs were cold against my skin. They brought me to the priestess as if she were the arbiter for my crimes, and I looked up at her with eyes of spite. "Fine. Kill me. This game is lame anyway."
She offered a smile, pointed her hand at my face, and snapped her fingers.
Chapter 2
The New Arrival
An unfamiliar ceiling, red and beige, sophisticated designs that tiled across from wall to wall. I eased up and wiped the sleep from my eyes. The soft, luxurious bed squeaked under me as I shifted around.
Where am I?
I looked around for an answer. It was a bedroom fit for a princess, like a fancy inn or a five-star hotel from the middle ages. A dresser on the other wall held a mirror flanked by unlit candles. The window was left open and let in pale sunlight and a breeze that rustled the curtains. I yawned. How long was I asleep? Did that lady kill me? Is this where I respawn?
I pushed the heavy comforter off me and dropped myself onto the carpet. My feet were clean. How did they get clean? I was naked. Why was I naked?
I looked for my tattered gown before my eyes rested on the chair. Pairs of clothes were neatly folded and on top was a card with handwriting. "For the lunatic."
Free items were always welcome, especially clean ones. Black underclothes, brown pants, white shirt, brown jacket, black boots. Not particularly fashionable, but it was to be expected of cheap starter gear.
"Am I a guest of honor or a prisoner?" I asked myself as I dressed.
"Neither," a voice said. The door squeaked open, and a maid walked in. She was short and young, wore a black and white dress with ribbons in her hair. "If you are ready, please follow me, madame."
She led me through what I soon learned was a mansion. Rows and floors of rooms, decorated with sculptures and art and plants that I've never seen before. High ceilings and cinnamon potpourri. Candlelights and stained-glass windows. Paintings and bronze busts of old mages, or rather, different versions of the same wizard – the bearded old fart with the star on his cheek.
She brought me to the lowest level. Marble floors lined a vast hall, lit entirely by huge chandeliers. Here, lines of desks and scores of robed people to man the desks sat waiting, shuffling papers and dipping quills in ink. It felt like I walked into a bank.
"Have a pleasant stay, madame," the maid said.
"Wait, what am I supposed to do?"
She sighed and pointed at a machine in the far corner. "Grab a number, then go to the desk with that number. Then ask."
"Oh. Okay, thanks." I still had no idea what game I was playing, but it didn't look fun. Maybe this was just the starting zone, like a lame way to do character creation or skills. I walked over to the machine, pulled a paper number from the roll, and walked to the corresponding desk. "Ex-excuse me," I said.
The man stopped scribbling on the scroll and looked up at me. "Sit, please."
I did. "Um..."
"One second," he said. He scratched at his perfectly trimmed goatee and went back to scribbling.
I let my eyes wander his desk. There was a stack of papers on one side, a stack on the other. A basket of rolled up scrolls behind him, and some cabinets with even more documents. I thought he might've been a fantasy desk jockey, maybe even an unemployed larper who was living out his dream job. Then I saw the placard.
Jacob Reyman, Lvl 30 Bureaumancer.
"Great!" he said. "Let's get you started."
"Thanks."
"Now are you a player or a nipsy?"
"What?"
"Are you a PC or an NPC?"
"Uh, PC."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm pretty sure, yeah," I said.
"Open your status screen," he tested.
"I... thought we didn't have screens."
"Players have screens. We don't have screens."
He's an NPC? He was so incredibly lifelike in his demeanor, his movements, his everything. He was utterly indistinguishable from an ordinary player diving in from full sensory VR. I wasn't entirely convinced.
"Don't be shy," he continued, "show me."
"How?"
"Swipe your hand."
I lifted my hand in front of me and eased it across as I would in any other game. Nothing happened. He saw this, gave me a nod, and went down to his scroll.
"NPC," he mumbled to himself, presumably to check off a box somewhere.
"No, there must be a mistake," I said.
"Well until you can show me a status screen, I have to check this off."
"No, I started from the shore and everything," I said. "Isn't that the starter zone?"
"No, the players start in the town square. At least for this region."
"Well, where did you start?"
"What?" he asked with an amused grin. "I didn't start anywhere. I was born and raised here."
I crossed my arms and looked away. "I started on the shore. It's the first thing I remember about this place."
"And before that?"
"I... forgot what I was doing before that."
He put his quill down and nodded. He narrowed his eyes at me, then drifted elsewhere as if searching for a memory. His eyes brightened as if he found it, then opened his drawers and cabinets in search of something. "Yes, I've heard of this."
I was already tired of the whole affair, and I knew my irritation bled through my words. "Of what?"
He shuffled around a bottom cabinet before finally finding a scroll, no different from the rest. "Ah, yes. You’re one of them," he said to himself.
“I am not one of them,” I said.
"We have a list of those who claimed to have lost their memories, typically coming from the shore or the forests. Probably a dozen or so names here.” His eyes skimmed the paper. “Th
e last we've heard of someone starting at the shore was about… thirty years ago, and according to this, that individual was also a nipsy."
I shook my head at him. "Nope. Not me."
"Well, I've heard of people having trouble believing in such. Personality disorders and the like. Don't worry, it's nothing to be ashamed of, it’s an illness like any other, so if you think that you—"
"It doesn't matter!" I barked. "Just list me as a damn nipsy! Or NPC, whatever."
He drew a sharp breath and feigned a smile. If anything, I admired his patience. "Alright, and your name?"
"Alex." As soon as I said it, my heart stopped. Was that actually my name? Was it only by instinct that I replied with this name?
"Okay," he said as he scribbled on his paper. "And since you're here, I presume you're looking for employment as an adventurer?"
"Yes."
"Have you been appraised yet?"
"What?"
"Alright, and that about does it."
"So now what? Do I get appraised?"
"Take this form, go get your stats appraised, choose a class, then skills, then you're free to roam as a free person."
Hearing those words gave me excitement. Classes and skills were the tried and true of RPG fantasy and starting at the bottom of a brave new world was something to look forward to. I smiled. "Thanks," I said, and left for the appraisers.
The entire process was the most Kafkaesque experience I've ever had in my entire life. I showed up with the form from the bureaumancer, but I needed a form F225 first. So I went back to find that, but to get that form, I needed identification. Since I wasn't born in this world, and I still couldn't open my status screen, I had to get an entirely new form - the F213b. That form needed to be authenticated by a bureaumancer no less than level 50, which could only be met with an appointment between the hours of 0800 and 0930, on Tuesdays and Sundays. When I complained, they apologized. When I threatened them, they directed me to go to the temple gardens and find the Lord Priest.
"And that's why I'm here," I explained.
"I see," the priest said. "No identity, no origin, no status screen. Distant shores and untold beginnings," he chuckled to himself. "Very well, I will sign off on your documents."
I sighed in relief. "Thank you, sir. Now I can finally get appraised."
"I'll do that as well. Hand me your paper."
My eyes lit up at the convenience. He might've been an unassuming older man, incredibly tall and perfectly bald, but he was calm and patient and had the voice of a lion.
He took the paper and ran his finger over each section, glancing at me, back at the paper, and again until he reached the bottom. "It is done," he said as he handed the form back.
"Already?" I glanced it over.
Strength: 3
Wisdom: 7
Intellect: 9
Dexterity: 4
Charisma: 10
"You see," he said as I glazed over the paper. "I have... special eyes."
"Is... is this good?" I asked.
"It's great.
"The cap is 10, right?"
"For new adventurers, yes. Beyond that, there is no cap."
How did he even know all this? Did he genuinely have special eyes, or was he just eyeballing it? "I see. Thank you, sir."
"I advise you choose the mage class. From there you can specialize however you like."
"Mage sounds good. I think I'll do that."
He nodded with a fatherly smile. "Then what skills would you like to start out with? Ice, water, fire," he said as he rolled his hand.
"Fire!"
He grinned at my enthusiasm. "A smart choice." He reached over to the nearest plant and plucked off a leaf. "Normally you will need scrolls to learn magic, purchased by whatever means, usable only at a sufficient level."
"How do I level up? I don't have a screen."
"The screens are only for the players. Their progression system is entirely different." He drifted his hand over the leaf, an etching burning into it. "You level up in the same way a martial artist does or a carpenter. An apprentice chef may cook decent scrambled eggs, but only a master can cook a meal fit for a king. Your skills are not defined by your level, but your level is defined by your skills."
"I see."
"The limitation on scrolls is to prevent novice casters from hurting themselves on a high-level spell. The entire system is a careful balance." He held up the leaf, inspected his work, and handed it to me. "Simply place your hand over it, and you will learn your new spell."
I took the leaf by the stem and squinted at the writing. Only a single word was burned in:
fire().
I had seen such a thing before, but I could not recall where. Without worrying any further, I placed my hand on the word. In a flash, the leaf turned to smoke and ash before disintegrating into dust.
"Go ahead, try it," he said.
"H-how?" I asked. I thrust out an open palm, but nothing came out.
"You have the skill, the knowledge, the legal right. You can do it any way you choose, but you must choose to believe."
"Hmm." I looked up at the sky, drew my arms to my side as if I were powering a spirit beam, and thrust it upward. "Fire!" It was as though my arms were firehoses that sprayed out gasoline and my words the spark that ignited it. In a flash, a fireball manifested above us, bathing us in an orange-red glow, before blinking out as quickly as it came. The experience took my breath away.
"Very impressive," he said. "A ferocious flame. Ashma-Cel would be proud. Your trainers will emphasize discipline, but you at least have the basics done." He plucked off another leaf and started to etch into it. "Seeing your skill with my own eyes, I will authorize your immediate advancement to level 5."
My eyes widened with excitement, and I was still breathless from the spell. "Th-thank you, sir!"
"Be sure to get some rest. Magic draws from your stamina." He handed me the leaf. "Take this to your first trainer. You'll find her at the cabin by the shore."
Chapter 3
The White Lions
I stepped out into the courtyard of the mansion and drew in the brisk afternoon air. The place was alive with people coming and going, in and out of the starting area, but I had not yet seen any players besides myself.
The people were dressed in all sorts of fashion - robes and jackets and exquisite dresses. Some even sported stranger, dare I say, fantasy gear. High collar coats that hung past the knees, skimpy leather armor that looked more like fetish gear, and one guy even had horns sticking out of his wrist plates.
When I walked to the edge of the courtyard, I found the world. Below me down the steps, the port city was filled with houses and shops and taverns, split by the winding cobblestone roads that each held their own army of busy people going to and fro. Beyond the rooftops of this lively city, I saw the ocean touch the sky. Ships were docked in the trading area, some coming and some embarking to a faraway land.
Seeing so much blue and taking in this pure, life-giving air was a stark contrast to the life I've led back home - the bubble worlds of red deserts and thin atmospheres.
Wasn't it? I could hardly recall.
I walked down the steps and into the market, pushing through the lunch crowds to steal a glance of what was for sale. Trade items - linens, cotton, silk, smith's tools. Weapons - bows, axes, swords, and shields. Apparel, food, entertainment, information, guilds.
Guilds! Some recruiters were stopping passersby to advertise openings in their clans or groups or mercenary factions, each offering a steady paycheck to nipsies and experience to players.
I caught sight of the first player there in the market, at least I was sure it was a player, as no person could shamelessly go shopping for armor while wearing nothing but skimpy underclothes. The shopkeepers' faces were glowing red as the girl stripped down for each offered set of armor, both to ensure the fit and to amuse herself with their reactions. Her comrades - some low-level knights and mages - had doubled over in laughter at the sight.<
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Another merchant was having an argument with one of the players. Both were snapping insults at each other about some nonsense – prices, probably – and it looked like they were ready to start stabbing each other. A nearby guard hurried over. His domineering presence alone was enough to shut them both up. I didn’t know what level the guard was, but it had to have been crazy.
“Typical players,” a voice said with malice, almost as a threat. I wasn’t alone. Standing next to me was an older man, balding white hair, eyes squinted with age. This guy was clearly a stage 2 creeper.
“Uh, what?”
“They do this sort of thing all the time,” the old man said. “All the time, all the time.”
“The players?” I asked.
He nodded. “They cheat, they steal, they trespass. They think they can get away with anything.”
This dude was obviously some kind of ist, though I didn’t know which ist he would be. We had racists, nationalists, sexists, but I wasn’t sure what type of prejudice was being practiced here. Playerist? Nipsyist? Whatever the case, I didn’t want to let him know I was a player. That was a level of awkward I was not prepared for.
Yet I did not want to completely walk away. The NPCs of this world were so incredibly realistic in how they acted and behaved, it was mesmerizing. He was so… free. “Do a lot of nipsies hate players?” I asked.
“Huh? Oh.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “I’m probably one of the few with my head on straight. These youngsters haven’t seen a damn thing, not a damn thing, so they don’t know a damn thing.” His eyes turned dark, his smile devious. He snapped his attention to me, glancing around for others nearby – we were in a crowd, but none seemed to notice us. He eased down into a whisper. “You seem like a smart girl. A smart girl, yes. You ought to come player-killing with us.”
“Oh,” I murmured. Getting stabbed by a wandering creeper was not on my to-do list. “I, uh, I’m a pacifist.” I grimaced, for even I knew how unbelievable that excuse was. I looked around for any avenue of escape.
He paused. The color drained from his face. Did he figure me out already? He stepped closer, his eyes unblinking and vacant as he reached into his pocket. I stumbled back. “You,” he uttered. “You are—"