by Pdmac
The anesthesiologist, a pretty blond woman in her early 30s, leaned down and smiled sweetly at him. “We’re just about ready. I’m going to give you some relaxing juice. When you wake up, you’ll be on your new adventure.”
His heart racing in nervous apprehension, he nodded and felt a warm sensation as she pushed the drugs into his system.
“He’s under,” she announced. “Give him another twenty seconds and you’re good to go.”
Twenty seconds later, the lab technician at the control board placed a hand on the conversion switch and began a count down. “Ten… nine… eight… seven… six… five… four… three…two… one… zero.”
As he flicked the switch, the team of medical and technical personnel froze in place as they focused their attention on the numerous screens and beeping machines.
The heart monitor was the first to register complaints when the pulse dropped to danger levels. Yet no one reacted with concern. It was when the monitor flat-lined that they left their posts and crowded around a young man at the game terminal.
“He’s in,” he proclaimed with gusto. “All systems normal. We’ve got another one in the game.” He pumped his fist for added emphasis.
An audible sigh of relief filled the room as the tempo slowed to a relaxed routine.
“Get the body down to deep freeze,” Hans commanded. “We’ll decide what to do with it later.”
The first thing Karl noted was the mist and he shivered at the unexpected change in temperature. That there was a mist was logical as this island was called the Misted Isle. They told him the mist usually lifted by mid-morning. Right now, it was thick and heavy, hiding anything a few feet away.
He did a quick assessment, noting that he had physically changed. He had been lean and strong before. Now he was muscular and taller… with blond hair that came to his shoulders. His left hand held a buckler and in his right hand was his broadsword. The question now was where was he and what was he supposed to do? They told him he’d find out as the game progressed.
Lifting his hand with the sword still in it, he pressed a finger in the air, calling up his stats screen. Locating the map icon, he pressed it and found the little red flag indicating his location.
The island was in the shape of a curved hand with the extended fingers as the starting promontory. The bridge to the next island was on the opposite thumb side of the island. What lay between was a series of rivers, forests, mountains and bogs.
He felt his stomach grumble and knew he had to eat. It had been more than a day since his last meal. Studying the map, he saw he was close to a town called Marbeck. All he had to do now was orient the map and be on his way, which was impossible as the mist obscured everything.
Sword and buckler at the ready, Karl slowly and cautiously made his way in the mist, discovering that he was on a well-traveled dirt road, which seemed odd as the map had him at the very edge of the island. He was even more surprised when he nearly bumped into a large medieval looking gate of dark wood and iron hinges. Exploring to his left and right, he learned that the walls surrounding the gate were made of smooth drab-grey granite. How high they rose was another matter as all he could feel when he tapped his sword as high as he could reach was stone.
Returning to the gate, he probed the solid wooden gates and after a minute of searching for an entry, gave up, banged on the door and called out.
“Hullo. Anyone there?”
When no reply came, he pounded on the door with the pommel of his sword.
“Hullo. Anyone home?”
He was about to pound again when a small sliding window scraped open and a pair of irritated grey eyes stared out.
“Whaddaya want?” the voice demanded. It was a man’s voice, hoarse with age.
“I’m a traveler looking for a place to eat and rest.”
“Go away. Come back when the mist is gone. Won’t open the gate until then,” he grumbled then slid the window closed.
“How long is that?” He banged on the gate again, causing the window to jerk open.
“I said go away. Gates won’t open ‘til the mist goes away.”
“How long is that?”
“How should I know? Do I look like a damned weather wizard?”
“What place it this?”
The eyes glowered at him for a moment. “Marbeck, ya damned fool. Now go away.”
Again the window slammed shut.
Acknowledging that at least he knew where he was and accepting that he wasn’t gaining entry until the mist cleared, Karl walked over to the side and sat down, leaning against the stone wall, his sword across his knees. He then focused his senses, penetrating into the surrounding mist. He heard the pounding of the surf and wondered how high above the ocean the town lay and whether the view from the walls was invigorating.
And then he wondered who and how they were able to make this so lifelike. He placed his hand against the stone wall and felt the cold solid resistance of hard rock. It felt real, just like this mist felt real. Was it his imagination dreaming this? Was he in some sort of suspended state where they fed him dreams and situations making him believe it was all real? If only he could have talked to someone who had been in the game and returned. Then he’d know for sure.
He didn’t know how long it was, but his legs were beginning to ache and he stretched them out, noticing that the mist seemed brighter and parts of it began to dissipate enough so that he could make out more of the walls as well as the close cropped vegetation edging the road to his front.
When a bright sun and a broad expanse of blue sky replaced the evaporating mist, Karl again found himself wondering how they created this world that seemed just too real. Pushing himself to standing, he was surprised to discover that the town was almost on the edge of a cliff that dropped precipitously down to the sea. The road he walked began or ended, depending on one’s destination, at the town’s gates. He was admiring the view when he heard movement on the other side of the gates followed by the groaning of the heavy doors as they swept inward.
A crotchety older man with an awkward gait came limping out, took one look at Karl and folded his arms.
“So yer the one wantin’ to come in ‘fore it’s time. Well c’mon. We’re open now.” He turned around and hobbled back through the gates, standing to the side as a merchant drove a wagon filled with pots and pans, and small bits of furniture through the wide opening. “Welcome to Marbeck.”
A screen popped up in front of Karl’s face.
Marbeck: also Maradhur, a town at the edge of the Shrouded Forest. Marbeck (original name Maradhur) was built by the Nevlings, a mixed race of elves and men during the middle kingdom as a trading center and outpost. During the Ocean Wars, the town suffered numerous attacks, changing hands at least a dozen times before finding itself forgotten as the Wars moved on to other islands. Populated by a mixture of races, humans carved out significant portions of the forest for farming and livestock. However, the Ocean War disrupted many kingdoms, forcing migrations of various tribes and clans to other islands to escape the devastation of the War. With the subsequent arrival of the forest gnolls of Normuncrof and the growth of the surrounding forest, Marbeck was left to fend for itself, a forgotten outpost. It is a tight community, welcoming anyone who wishes to become part of a town too tough to die.
Pressing the ‘X’ icon to close the screen, Karl stood to the side and watched as more carts passed by, some driven by men, some by dwarves. Karl stood in fascination, returning a smile when he caught the eye of a merchant. Once the last cart passed through he walked up to the man.
“Why did I have to wait until the mist cleared?”
“Gnolls,” came the reply.
“Gnolls?”
“Yup. It’s obvious yer new ‘round here, otherwise ya wouldn’t have showed up like ya did.”
“Gnolls are pretty dangerous?”
The man cocked an eyebrow and stared up at him. “You funnin’ me? Say, how’d you get here anyway?”
“Long
story,” he replied.
“See any gnolls along the way?”
“Didn’t see a single one,” Karl answered, which was the truth. “Know a good place to get something to eat?”
“Yup. The Crab’s Claw’s got the best seafood. If’n ya want steak, Preston’s Porterhouse got no equal. An if ya want good home cookin’, aside from my own missus, the Widow’s Pantry is the best.”
Karl deliberated between the steakhouse and the home cooking place. “Between the Porterhouse and the Widow’s Pantry, which would you choose?”
“I like my cookin’ with a touch of home in it, so I’d choose the Widow’s place. Mind you, she’s a mite peculiar, but the cookin’s the best and the ale ain’t bad neither.”
“How do I find it?”
The man lifted an age spotted arm and pointed. “Straight on down the main street here. Can’t miss it. It’ll be on yer left. If’n ya get to the other side o’town, ya gone too far.” He slapped his leg and snorted a laugh.
“Thanks,” Karl smiled, thinking the man reminded him of his father who had a penchant for telling lame jokes.
“Say,” the man said, narrowing his gaze and giving Karl the once over. “You’re one o’ those new folks that shows up outta the blue, ain’t you.”
“Guilty as charged,” Karl replied, unsure of how to address the issue of total immersion.
The man stared hard at him for an uncomfortable moment then grinned. “Well. Good luck.”
“Thank you.” With a finger to his forehead as a wave, Karl ambled away, taking in the town.
Marbeck looked to be an ancient place with a high stone wall that circumnavigated the entire town. Human guards in simple Spangenhelm helmets and carrying crossbows manned the walls, though they seemed to spend most of their time looking wistfully at the bustling activity in the town. The main thoroughfare, bordered on both sides by one long open air market, ran through the center of the town. Merchants, divided into sections by merchandise, hawked their wares in loud raucous voices. The food market contained vegetables, fish, freshly butchered meats, bakers selling hot mince pies, and the overlapping pungent aroma of spices.
Karl chuckled thinking of the marketing wisdom in placing the food market first. Any traveler coming into the town would be sorely tempted to part with coin, especially the still warm bread. His growling stomach demanded food, but he suppressed the need as he marveled at the complexity of the supposedly simple town. No attention to detail was missing. Even the people were unique, distinct and he thought of how long it took to design this place, let alone the rest of the world.
“You look like a man who could use a meat pie,” a voice called out, piercing his musings.
Karl glanced over to a plump baker who held up a tray with small individual meat pies still steaming. The bouquet made Karl’s mouth water.
Despite the overwhelming desire to satisfy his hunger, Karl knew he needed to manage his meager resources and the cost of a pie plus the cost of an ale would be more here than from in a tavern.
“No thank you,” he politely replied.
“Aw go on. Try one. It’s free.” The baker’s eyes glistened with anticipation.
“Free?” How could he refuse when the price was right? As he reached for the pie, his character screen popped up, flashing a warning.
Caution. Baker Chesel is known to put salvia, a hallucinogenic plant, into his pies. Only accept food from reputable vendors.
Karl’s hand jerked back. “Uh, that’s OK. Thanks.”
The baker’s overt anticipation abruptly vanished and his head snapped to seek out other shoppers, ignoring Karl who stood rooted before the merchant’s table.
“If you’re not gonna try a pie, move along. I got a business to run.”
Startled at the man’s brusque manner, Karl meandered away pausing when he heard the baker’s voice enticing another individual. Turning, he saw a tall elf, a long bow in one hand, reaching for a pie then pause as the elf received the same message.
“Whoa,” the elf exclaimed. “Sweet.” Accepting the pie, he bit into it and sighed with contentment. By the time he finished the pie, the elf was giddy, flapping his arms. “Look. I’m flying.”
Once he started ‘flying’ around the street, two stout guards arrived, lifted him up by his armpits and hauled him off.
“Very smart of you not to accept the pie,” a woman’s voice complimented.
He turned to gape at a human sorceress of stunning beauty. Her long flowing raven hair was secured by a single leather strand circling her forehead. Her face was oval and angular, yet smooth, with piercing emerald green eyes that danced with humor. She wore a tight leather bodice accentuating her more than ample cleavage. Her narrow midriff was bare, revealing a toned stomach. A hip-hugging leather skirt ended in the middle of her thighs. Below that, calf-high leather boots gripped her muscular legs. She held a staff with a dragon’s head carved on the top.
Watching his expression, she laughed. “You’re new here.”
“How can you tell?” he replied, taking a deep breath to collect himself.
“Your expression. You’re wandering around here like it’s your first time to Disney World, awed and overwhelmed.”
Karl chuckled. “Am I that obvious?”
“Yes,” she replied with a captivating smile then held out a hand. “My name’s Annabeth.”
“Karl,” he answered, shaking her hand. “Are you a player?”
“Yes. I assume you are too.” When he nodded, she continued, “When I first came here, I thought it would be easy to tell the difference between us and NPCs. Where you headed?”
The question caught him off guard. “Uh, to the Widow’s Pantry to get something to eat.”
“Good choice. I could use something to eat. Mind if I join you?”
Good God of course not. “Yes. I’d like that.”
“That’s how I can tell the difference, you know,” she said as they headed past the numerous vendor stalls.
“The difference?”
“Between NPCs and us. I’m beautiful. I know that. That’s why I chose this avatar.”
“So you’re saying you aren’t so, um, impressive in real life?” Though Karl watched where he was going, he couldn’t help but cast repeated glances at her.
“Hell no. I’m a plain Jane in real life. Everything about me is average: average height, average shoe size, average IQ. You name it; I’m the poster child for average. To make up for it, I exercised my butt off. I have a great body, but with an average face and average personality, too average for most guys to give a second glance. I’m not butt ugly mind you,” she quickly added. “I mean, I look good dressed up. But how do you compete with those women who are beautiful as soon as they roll out of bed?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he shrugged.
“Of course not. You’re a man. You don’t have to look good. You can be 80 years old and still be sexy. Women? We’re expected to be sexy until the time gravity starts taking advantage of our age and then no one wants to see us naked. It’s just not fair.”
“I suppose not,” he responded, wondering if she had a point to all this. “You were saying about the difference between us and NPCs?”
“I’m getting there,” she said. “The point is that when you saw me, your mouth slacked open and I could see the lust in your eyes.”
Karl suddenly felt awkward. “That obvious, huh?”
“I don’t say it like it’s a bad thing. In fact, I like it. But the point is that while NPCs will respond in the same way, there’s a difference. It’s hard to explain. If I were to flash my boobs at you, I would get an honest reaction. With an NPC I would get an expected reaction. You see the difference?”
“Not really,” he replied, silently praying she would conduct the experiment.
She shifted her eyes at him and laughed. “I know where your mind just went, you bad boy. Maybe later.”
Karl reddened and changed the subject though latching on to the ‘Maybe later’ remark. �
�How long have you been here?”
“A little over a month,” she said, stopping before a four story building wedged against its two neighbors. A small carved sign adorned the front, ‘Widow’s Pantry.’ The windows to the side of the door were shuttered tight. In contrast, the windows on the second floor were wide open. Annabeth pulled the door open and led the way in.
Inside the Widow’s Pantry was a noisy affair filled with elves, dwarves, monks, mages and rogues, all clamoring, laughing, swilling ale and generally keeping the serving girls bustling. As soon as Annabeth stepped in, a voice called out above the din.
“It’s Annabeth. C’mon over here.”
Karl’s eyes slowly adjusted to the dim room as Annabeth weaved around tables, patting friends on the shoulders and high-fiving others before arriving at a table with two dwarves and a lady ranger.
“Who’s your friend?” The lady ranger slyly smiled, letting her eyes slowly roam his body.
Karl had the distinct feeling that she was undressing him and it made him feel self-conscious. He guessed he ought to be offended, but, like Annabeth, the woman was beautiful with thick auburn hair that came to her shoulders. She was dressed somewhat similar to Annabeth in leather bodice, the difference being she wore leggings and a cape, with the hood pushed back.
“His name’s Karl and he’s just arrived.”
“Just arrived?” a dwarf exclaimed, yanking out a chair. “Sit down. Join us.” He waved a hand to catch a serving girl’s attention then called out, “An ale for my friend here.”
“And something to eat?” Karl said.
“And something to eat,” the dwarf loudly repeated.
Annabeth slid out a chair and sat next to the ranger with Karl on her left next to the dwarf.
“This is Raquel,” she said, introducing the ranger. “Next to her is Conrad and next to you is Wendell.”
Wendell peered intently at Karl then chuckled. “What’s-a-matter? Never seen a dwarf before?”
