by Rachel Ford
Take your hands off me, knave!
And
* Wheeze *
He decided to go with the wheeze.
The old man nodded sympathetically. “Don’t talk. You’ll be alright in a minute. Come with me. I’ll get you to safety.”
He had only two options this time – to refuse, rudely, or accept, chivalrously. Misused and overused Old English was a pet peeve of his, so he hesitated. Finally, with some misgivings, he chose, “I am most deeply in thy debt, good sir.”
He ducked under the scaffold with the old man and dodged a passing rider. They raced for an alley between a row of thatched homes. Guards and raiders crossed blades all around them, too lost in their own fight to notice the pair.
They reached the dark alley, and the old man paused and drew a dagger.
Shit. Jack glanced around for some kind of weapon, but his bound hands made fighting back difficult.
“Shouldst thou desire, I will free thine hands, good knight.”
Jack grimaced. Marshfield Studio games were famous for two things: terrible dialogue and release-time bugs. Well, three things. Somehow, despite the obvious flaws, they still made incredible, immersive games, arguably the best on the market. “Right. Uh…get thee to work, then.”
The old man severed the rope at his wrists, and Jack felt his muscles relax. “Dang. That…feels good.” He hadn’t actually been tied up, but he still felt the relief of being freed.
“Make haste, friend, lest Lord Vilhelm sic those wild dogs he calls soldiers on us.”
“Lord who?”
“Lord Vilhelm, the vilest tyrant to ever plague a land.”
“You mean, the guy on the white horse?”
“Aye, that be Lord Vilhelm, the vilest tyrant to ever plague a land.”
Jack frowned. He’d just seen a cutscene – a three and a half minute long cutscene – about how bad Iaxiabor was, so he rather doubted the prig on the horse could be worse. Plus, he was a little annoyed at the clumsy transition from old English to pirate speak. He was definitely going to have to note that in his testing feedback. He wondered if he should be making a list or something, and if so, how?
“Let us away, friend,” the old guy said.
“Right. Where are we headed?”
He waved his arm in a vague forward direction. “Yonder.”
Super helpful, old guy. Then, he figured he should probably find out who the old guy was. “What’s your name?”
The old guy had already taken off running, and now he called over his shoulder, “We will talk more when we reach safety.”
Jack rolled his eyes at the forced air of mystery, but he followed anyway. Well, I guess you’ll stay ‘Old Guy’ for now.
Old Guy took him through a maze of alleys, and once or twice they cut through homes. A woman screamed, and an old man tried to wallop them with a walking stick. The fighting in the streets only worsened. Buildings burned on the horizon, and civilians and guards went at it with a vengeance.
They ran through the segment of the game that would serve as a tutorial for players stuck with headsets or controllers – the learn to walk and run, learn to crouch and climb, bits.
Jack had to laugh at that. He felt a little smug thinking about it, if he was being honest with himself. There was no training process involved for him, no committing buttons or gestures to memory. This was second nature. You didn’t stop and press a button to climb a ladder in real life. You just did it. You grabbed a rung and hoisted yourself up. Your brain knew what to do, no extra steps involved. Which is how the VR unit worked too. His avatar in the game responded exactly like his body did in real life. It was uncannily real.
The more he played, the deeper into the world he got, the more immersed he felt. He didn’t even care about the cheesy dialogue anymore. He was in an honest-to-goodness medieval world, with guards and death and danger lurking around every corner. He could feel the heat of flames, and the coolness of breezes. He could hear the whinnying of frightened horses and the laments of beleaguered civilians. Hell, he could even smell shit in the open streets.
A touch of realism too far, maybe. But still, this place was about as real as it got. It was the closest he’d ever get to time travel.
So the old guy could talk however he wanted. Jack didn’t mind.
They’d reached an old, dilapidated building at the outskirts of the city. Old Guy ducked inside, and Jack followed. The interior was dark and grimy, and a torch hung from an iron hook and burned on one of the walls, casting a dim, flickering light through the room.
The pedantic side of him wanted to mention that to the development team, too. The widespread use of torches as semi-permanent lighting solutions, in lieu of candles or lanterns, was basically an invention of modern fiction. Torches were a temporary solution, because they burned up way too fast for any kind of consistent lighting.
But having strong opinions about trivial things got him in trouble before, and he wasn’t about to lose literally the best job in the world over a bit of pedantry. So he disregarded the torch and looked at the people.
There were three of them, aside from Old Guy. The first was a scrappy looking ranger-type, with light hair, a long cloak, dark trousers, and a poorly concealed bow. The second looked more like a box than a person. He stood only about three and a half feet tall, but his shoulder span probably matched his height. A long, braided beard obscured most of his face, and heavy mail coated his chest. The final NPC was another human male, who looked a lot like Jack’s default character model.
They all stared at him, and Old Guy said, “Take heart my friends, he is with me.”
“Well met,” the ranger said.
“Welcome,” the other man added.
The dwarf just grunted.
Old Guy checked the windows and secured the door. The torch kept on burning, as strong and bright as it had when they walked in.
Jack glanced away from it. “So, what’s your name again?”
“I am called Eorl the Elder.”
Huh. I guess I wasn’t too far off with Old Guy. “Cool. I’m Jack.”
“Well met, Sir Jack. This is Arath the Ranger, Migli, prince of the dwarven folk, and Sir Jeroy Lenkins, a knight of noble heart and true courage.”
“Uh…cool. Nice to meet you all.”
Lenkins cast a long glance over Jack. “And what is your part in our cause, Sir Jack?”
Four options presented themselves in his mind.
The first was: I know not what manner of cause yours is, but I am in Eorl’s debt. And until such debt is discharged, my sword is yours.
This, he rejected – not just for the super cringy language, but also because he didn’t actually have a sword yet. It would be poor form indeed to pledge his troth on a shaky foundation.
He considered the other options.
Tell me first the manner of your business, and perhaps my sword will be yours.
My time is too valuable to waste on petty concerns, knave.
and
[stare in confusion]
He chose to stare in confusion, and Eorl raised his hands. “Patience, friend Lenkins. I have not yet had a moment to acquaint Jack with our business. But I recognize a true and honest heart when I see one.”
Jack preened a little. “So what’s this all about? I mean, I do kind of owe you since you saved my butt back there.”
Eorl turned to him with a grim expression. “Have you heard of Iaxiabor?”
Have I ever. Three and a half minutes’ worth of hearing about him. “I have.”
The other man nodded. “Few have. For better or worse, his evil name has faded into memory, and memory has been lost to time.
“But no more. The demon wakes. His spirit stirs. He is seeking a way back to our world, to begin anew what he started so many thousands of years ago.”
Jack could choose from two responses, both of which conveyed a lot more surprise than he felt – this was the kind of plot development he’d have had to be asleep to miss.
Forsooth, these are evil tidings indeed!
and
Fie, what manner of madness is this? Let him try. Our world will not be so easy to take a second time, I’ll warrant.
He opted for forsooth. Eorl nodded. “For now, his soul is safely contained. But –”
All at once, the sounds of hooves thundered around the little hut. Someone hammered at the door, and a loud voice called, “Open in the name of Lord Vilhelm.”
“Alas! We are discovered!”
“And surrounded,” Arath added. “We will need to fight our way out.”
Lenkins tossed Jack a sword. “Take this blade, Sir Jack, and pray that you have the skill to use it well. The fate of our world may depend on it.”
In his mind, a thought played out.
Weapon acquired: broadsword
Then, the door burst open, and three guards poured inside. They were armored and carried broadswords, which they swung as easily as sabers. Jack might have complained about the lack of realism, if not for the fact that he could as effortlessly maneuver his own oversized weapon. He grinned instead and dove into the fray.
The guards were pushovers, which made sense, he guessed. This was his first combat experience, so the enemies would be low level. He dispatched the first with a series of three blows. The second was running circles around Lenkins, but Jack jumped in and chopped him down to size.
Meanwhile, Migli, Arath and Eorl finished the third intruder off.
“There’ll be more of them soon,” the old man panted. “We need to go.”
With a little disappointment, Jack followed. The introductory combat had whet his appetite for more.
He didn’t have to wait long, though. They’d barely ducked out of the alley when a new force of soldiers found them.
This fight proved a little harder, because the enemy had twice as many as before. Jack took three on at once and took a few hits in the process. It didn’t hurt, but in lieu of pain, he felt a momentary numbness. It was something like the staggering system some control-driven games employed, except instead of mashing buttons in frustration while his character stood stunned in place, he actually felt stunned in place.
He wasn’t sure if he liked that effect, but he dialed back his recklessness a notch – especially as his mind registered the steady depletion of his health meter.
Eorl tossed him a potion bottle when the fight concluded. “Thou has taken damage, Sir Knight. Drink this to heal thineself.”
“That’s…not really a word,” Jack protested.
“Make haste.”
“Okay, but it would be ‘thyself.’ That’s a real word. Not thineself.”
Eorl stared at him, and Jack sighed and popped the top of the potion bottle. A scent like hyacinths hit his nose, and he stared dubiously at the shimmering blue liquid. “What is it?”
“An elixir of healing. Use it to heal thineself.”
Jack cringed but focused on the potion. Gingerly, he lifted the bottle to his lips and took a sip. Then, his frown relaxed. It tasted alright, like blue moon ice cream. More importantly, his health meter returned to full. “Not bad.”
“Come, we must make haste. Lord Vilhelm’s men will be back.”
But it was Lord Vilhelm himself who found them this time. They’d taken about twenty steps when a great procession of horses and men clattered out of an alley. At the head of the cavalcade sat the man on the white horse. He sneered, and when he spoke, his voice carried despite the distance. “There they are. Get them. Kill them all and bring me the old man’s key.”
“Quick!” Eorl shouted. “To the trees.”
“Let us stand and fight,” Lenkins said.
“Agreed,” Jack nodded. What were two-dozen horsemen against a main character, anyway?
“There’s too many of them,” Arath said.
Migli offered no opinion, and the old man ordered them to run a second time. So they ran. Migli outpaced them all and reached the trees before anyone. Arath disappeared into the tree line next, but a steady stream of arrows indicated he hadn’t run off.
Jack ran as fast as he could, but there was no outpacing those two. He’d almost reached the trees when the old man cried out. He turned.
Eorl had taken an arrow to the back. Jack saw him tumble to the ground. He and Lenkins raced over. “Eorl,” the NPC said. “No, we need you.”
Eorl coughed once and then again. “You must go on without me, Lenkins.”
“How will we stop Iaxiabor on our own, Elder?”
“You’ll know what to do.”
Jack, meanwhile, was watching the horsemen bear down on them. “Uh, guys? We’re about to die.”
The gameplay switched to a cutscene at that precise moment. Jack went from standing a few feet away, staring in stupefaction, to kneeling in the dirt, cradling the old man. “You must find a way,” Eorl said. “You have the heart of a champion. I see it in you, Jack.
“You must stop Iaxiabor.”
The horsemen pressed closer, and Jack got a closeup of Vilhelm and his teeth-bared-bad-guy-sneer. “Kill them all.”
Then the view returned to the old man. Lenkins shook his head. “No. You must live, Elder.”
Eorl clasped his hand. “My time has come to an end. My story is written. Yours continues, my friends.”
The horsemen continued to approach, but somehow didn’t seem any closer. Which worked alright, since the old guy didn’t seem to be done talking.
“Find the dagger. You must keep it safe.” Eorl reached into an inner pocket and drew out a heavy iron key. He handed it to Jack. “Remember, Iaxiabor cannot be allowed to return.”
Jack – real Jack, not the avatar he was watching – sighed. He got it. Iaxiabor was the bad guy. Bad guy comes back, bad shit ensues.
An arrow flew past Jack and struck Eorl. He cried out and collapsed backward. His hand, with the key in it, fell onto Jack’s lap.
Lenkins glanced up, tears in his eyes. The horses were near now – finally. “Go,” he said. “You heard Eorl. He gave you the key.”
“What about you?”
Lenkins rose and bowed his head, touching the hilt of his blade to it in a way that was, Jack had to admit, pretty badass. “Go.”
Then Lenkins charged the horsemen, and Jack was back on the field, back in his body. A thought entered his mind.
Added to inventory: mysterious key
Chapter Two
Jack was back in the game, and he wasted only a moment glancing around to get his bearings. Arath continued to fire from the forest; Lenkins had reached the throng of horsemen. He was holding his own, and shouting over his back, “Go, get out of here.”
Jack had played enough videogames to know what he was supposed to do at this point: get the hell out of there. He’d met the quest giver, and now he witnessed the tragic death and heroic self-sacrifice to really commit him to the quest.
He’d seen it plenty of times, so he raced for the trees. Arath called, “Go – you and Migli. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”
“Where are we going?” Jack wondered.
“Migli will show you the way. I will try to catch up with you later, but don’t wait for me.”
He turned to the dwarf. So far, Migli had said the least of his band. He grunted more than he talked, and he didn’t even grunt often. Now, he stood there mutely, and two dialogue options presented themselves to Jack.
Lead the way, noble dwarf.
and
You’d better keep up with me, dwarf. I’m not waiting for anyone.
He chose the first option, and Migli said, “Follow me.”
A chime sounded, apropos of nothing it seemed – just a loud, chipper ding reverberating through the world. A thought popped up in his head, not of his own making. Companion added to your party: Migli the Dwarf.
Then, the game froze. At least, that’s what it seemed like to Jack. Arath stood unmoving, an arrow a foot in front of his bow, the bowstring contorted as it returned to its normal position. Migli’s left foot
hovered an inch off the ground, but he didn’t move. Lenkins and the riders beyond the forest seemed to have turned to ice, stuck in whatever position they’d been in a moment before.
“Uh…Richard? I think something’s wrong.”
Migli turned around abruptly. “Don’t worry, the game’s just paused.”
Jack breathed out a sigh of relief. He wasn’t quite sure what would happen to his mind, if the game that said mind was in froze, but he figured it wouldn’t be good. “Okay. Umm, how about a head’s up next time? Kind of scared the snot out of me, Richard.”
“Sorry about that. But this isn’t Richard.”
He frowned. “Okay. Who are you?”
“I’m your beta test supervisor, Jordan.”
“Oh. Well, uh, hi.”
“Hi. I’m taking over from Richard and Dr. Roberts. Well, technically, I already took over from them, back when you met Eorl.”
“Okay.”
“So, I don’t know if they ran you through how this works?”
“Not really.” He scratched his head. The whole world was still frozen around him, except for this weird little dwarf, who still spoke in his heavy, dwarven tones. But was, apparently, an actual person. “So…you’re a real person, right?”
“Yes. Migli’s our supervisor-player interface. Normally, he’ll be AI – just doing whatever he’s programmed to do. But we can take over for him whenever you need us.”
“So…I take it he’s going to be with me for the rest of the game?”
“Yes.”
“Spoiler alert.”
Migli – Jordan – didn’t say anything for a second. Then he said, “I guess. Not much of a spoiler, though. He’s a quest companion.”
Jack sighed. “Alright. So how do I activate this supervisor interface thing, if I want you instead of Migli?”
“Easy. All you got to do is say, ‘Speak to supervisor.’ That’ll ping me, and I’ll take over for Migli.”
“Cool. So, are you in a VR capsule too?”
“Negative. I’ve got a headset, keyboard and mouse.”
Jack snorted. Not on purpose. It just kind of came out. He tried to cover his smugness with a cough. “Ahem. Something in the air. Anyway, so are we like questing together? Or do I just call you when I’m in a bind, or what?”
