I broke out of the shuffling crowd and headed for the crier, not entirely eager to encounter the criers‘ AI again, but in a dark-enough mood that I half-welcomed the conflict. She locked eyes with me. “For all other inquiries use the east entrance! Here to complete The Mayor’s Request!”
Taking the hint, I pushed my way angrily back through the crowd and toward the east end of the building. Yet another line awaited me, shorter than that to turn in the quest, but moving much more slowly.
Inch by inch, I made it to the building and then inside, until I was standing in the vestibule of a small office with five desks at which uniformed officials helped adventurers. Most conversations seemed to end with annoyed-looking players leaving through a hallway leading back to the west and rejoining the players hoping to return the mayor’s quest.
One player, though, was having none of it, and was busy berating one of the officials. “I’m not here to play your stupid little game! I’m not here to listen to your excuses! You tell me where he is right now or so help me!”
I froze upon hearing the voice, but couldn’t believe it until the man turned in frustration and strode away down the western hallway. I knew that profile. I knew that voice— especially angry, as it was then. It was my dad.
Fear flooded into me, only serving to further stoke my anger. What was he doing here? What was he thinking? How dare he bring all his shit here into the one place I had thought I could escape him? Turning before he could see me, I pushed my way through the line behind me and back out into the square. Why couldn’t he just leave me alone? Why couldn’t everyone? Why did everything always have to be such shit?! I cast Ether and stalked through the crowd, hoping that the mist from my spell would hide the angry tears welling in my eyes.
Upon reaching the river, I turned north, not wanting anyone to be able to track me, and, since the crowds were thin, I broke into a run. Running away from my dad, running away from Mac and her stupid friends, running away from the clash of emotions tightening my chest.
After only a minute, I was panting for breath, but I pushed angrily on, my breathing turning into ragged sobs. I stumbled, and was forced to come to a stop. My stamina bar blinked red at 1 point. I kicked the side of the building I was now leaning on for support. First my character, then the quest, and now this. Why were things always so screwed up? I turned back onto the street and set off at a quick stomp, impatiently willing my stamina to return.
After several minutes, enough of it had for me to run, and so I ran again, alternating running with angry storming.
I held on tight to that anger—there seemed to be an endless supply of it anyway—and stalked all the way to the northern gate, fighting against the incoming flow of players. A small voice deep inside me was aware of how ridiculous my tantrum was, and an even smaller, sillier one hoped that I was at least making an impression with my stony face and my stormy eyes, but I let my upset push both considerations aside and continued running. Every time I felt tired, I would recall my dad’s face, or “Namara” laughing with her friends, and the anger, embarrassment, and loneliness, would flare again, sharp and hot.
Before long the forest loomed ahead of me, and text warned me that I was entering a PvP area. Not interested in running into anyone, unfriendly or otherwise, I set out through the trees at an angle from the path. I wasn’t able to sprint under the canopy, and so I finally allowed myself to walk again, anger turning cold and bitter. You know what? I thought. Screw all of them. Let him chase me! In this world I’d kick his ass. Let them laugh at me. I’d show them. I’d show all of them!
Grabbing a branch off a tree, I slammed mana into it. It immediately exploded. I let out a dark laugh and let the slivers of wood fall to the forest floor. Of course I would screw it up. The next one fared better, although the result wasn’t great. The wand I created was +1 MP. Scorning my creation, I threw it to the side and grabbed another branch along my path. I wasn’t going for quality anyway. I just needed to expend mana.
By the time I stopped to make camp, my anger had all but drained and was giving way to a desolate depression. I had made hundreds of wands, though none of them were any good. I had gained one rank of Flow, along with several ranks of Static Casting and Static Flow, and was satisfied to see that my stamina bar had increased from a maximum of 10 to a max of 50, owing to the 5 points of Constitution I now possessed from running. I figured it had been wise to delay assigning the bonus points I’d received from leveling, since it was so easy to gain points while your stats were low. I was distantly glad to see that the Stamina Regen rate turned out to be a lot faster than that of my mana.
I thought to gather wood for a fire before realizing that, without Mac around, there wouldn’t be any fire. I didn’t want to dwell on that fact though, and so I gave myself a project instead: searching for the perfect branches to make higher-quality wands.
As I wandered among the broad trunks, I began to see that there was definitely a difference between the branches. Some types of trees just seemed to have more mana flowing through them, and some individual branches on those trees had more mana flowing still. Resolving to make up for the lack of quality in my previous wands, I carefully gathered a dozen of the best branches I could find, discarding each as I found better.
Once I’d returned to camp, I settled my back against a tree and set to work. As the evening wore on, loneliness began to outweigh the rage that had filled me, and I began to feel pretty silly. My dad couldn’t make me do anything here, and it was fine for Mac’s group to do their own thing. She didn’t owe me anything.
Plus, she had all the food, as well as the means to light a fire.
Glad that I had something to focus on instead, and a warm robe rather than the roughspun clothes to wear, I worked until the sky darkened, and then I slept, twelve new wands stacked beside me.
Chapter 11
I was jolted awake by the cracking of branches and the thud of footsteps in the dark.
Instantly alert, I scrambled to my feet and searched the darkness. Ether actually helped to increase my night vision, but not at any great distance. At a certain point the swirl of mana just became an indistinct wall of static, with objects fading into the background noise. Still, I was able to see the man in the light of the torch he carried.
I sized him up quickly as the stupidity of my decisions crashed down on me, bringing a cold sweat to my skin. It didn’t much matter how he sized up though, since I was Level 3. If he decided to attack, I had one shot—just one—and that was more likely to fail than not. Flow was stronger now, but could still only drain people with 2 Intellect or below…
What sleep I’d managed, as well as the adrenaline coursing through me, finally swept away the last vestiges of my foul mood and left my head clear. How could I have left the city—left Mac!—so precipitously? My pulse raced as I backed toward the tree behind me.
Human Stranger — Level 11
???
The man was taller than me, and the leather vest he wore drew attention to powerful arms, broad shoulders, and a well-muscled chest, with accompanying fur showing through the unlaced V. My heart became confused as to why it was pounding, and I quickly shifted my gaze away. Myriad fears warred inside me, some more familiar and more deeply rooted than even the new “mortal” fear I had to cope with here in The Boundless. His free hand was open though, deliberately held to show that he had no weapons, and so the familiar fears quickly won out over the more exotic.
“Ho, traveler!” he called, stopping about ten feet off.
“Ho!” I ventured shakily, unsure of where to look. He smiled, and even in the firelight I could tell he was handsome. Very handsome. My eyes lowered to the ground, and for a few excruciating seconds I couldn’t do much more than glance at him. He was just so…
Green text—he’s an NPC, a part of myself asserted blandly. A doll. Why should you care what he thinks of you?
New embarrassment won out over old, and I pulled myself together. It was so easy to lose track of what was
real with this level of simulation and this level of AI. I put aside my self-conscious worries, though doing so left an opening for the mortal-flavored fear to return. He might not be a real person, but he could certainly hurt me. “What can I do for you?” I asked nervously.
“I apologize for startling you, friend. I am Mjorn. My caravan has set up camp nearby, and I wished to offer you our hospitality.” He gestured to the leaf litter I had made my bed. “We can offer you a real bed and,” he grimaced, “to be honest, we could use your aid.”
Was this the start of a quest? That seemed likely, and so I relaxed.
“A bed sounds wonderful!” I told the man, eager to get my first quest and, frankly, eager for other reasons I couldn’t quite bring myself to examine. “What can I do to help?” My previous nervousness around the man began to melt away, his friendly offer doing a lot to put me at ease.
“That can wait for the morning. For now, come. Join us at the fire for some music and laughter!”
He waited for me to gather my wands, and then led the way through the dark forest.
The night pressed close, isolating us within a pool of soft torchlight. I was vulnerable for sure, but there was a type of intimacy in our solitary journey through the woods. It seemed that a pressure was gathering around us. Nervousness gave way to excitement, and excitement to still more uncertainty.
The walk was short though, and Mjorn was right about the music and the laughter. We heard it before we saw the large fire at the heart of the clearing. Voices, male and female, were shouting lyrics as a man seated on a log near the fire jammed out a tune on a 3-stringed guitar. As Mjorn and I entered the circle of singers, they cheered and raised their cups to us in greeting before diving back into the song. The sight fairly well dispelled any residual fear of attack.
Mjorn gestured me over to a padded blanket that had been laid down between the fire and a log, and I sat hesitantly on it, careful to keep my dirty boots clear. For his part, Mjorn made two mugs appear from somewhere and sprawled carelessly next to me, leaning back against the log and joining in on the song as he offered me a mug. Even his voice made me feel…
Not wanting to seem rude, I accepted the mug, and in doing so my eyes once again darted to that cleft in his vest before hurriedly looking away. I had expected to have the blanket to myself, but there he was, close, and having him so close was dizzying. I resolved to focus on the fire and nursed my drink. I didn’t know yet how I was going to handle being able to drink alcohol in-game, but I did know that “at night in the woods with strangers” was probably not the best time to take my first swig.
Or was it? I kept having to remind myself that these beings were NPCs and not real people. It was so easy to shift to thinking of them as real once the green text faded. On top of that, the busy work of keeping certain other thoughts at bay had me more than a little distracted from the matter. Still, who knew what effects the developers would have included with drinking alcohol?
As one song ended and the next began, the musician caught my eye and nodded to me encouragingly. This one was repetitive and had a simple tune for my benefit. At Mjorn’s urging, I sang along, to the cheers and applause of the other campers. One song rolled into another, and the group’s spirits rose and rose. My spirits rose with theirs as I found my place in the songs and in the approving nods and smiles of my campmates. The ache of loneliness in my chest started to ease.
Mjorn’s company helped with that too. I couldn’t help but to sneak furtive glances at him as we sang. At his lips. At that spot where the muscles of his chest showed through the laces of his vest. At the sheer mass of his shoulders. I tried not to look—tried to sit at the very edge of the blanket to avoid accidentally touching him—until, after singing a particularly rousing and ribald song, I leaned back happily against the log, only to find his arm behind me.
I started, my gaze darting to him in horror, ready to apologize and already pulling away. His green eyes met mine and he gently pulled me closer to him.
Recognition charged through me as though his muscular arm were electrified, inciting such a rush of lightning inside me that I buzzed like a live wire, and blasting past barricades I’d hidden behind for years. Thoughts I hadn't even dared to look full in the face suddenly came into focus, shifting my world an entire 90 degrees. Everything that had seemed so disordered suddenly clicked into place.
As the euphoric haze lifted from my brain, I glanced around the fire at the other campers, nervous as to how they would respond. Fear was my constant companion in these waters, after all.
None of them had batted an eye, or even seemed particularly interested in us, aside from one elf woman with long dark hair, who gave me a happy little wink before returning to the song that had taken its place in the night air.
I sank back against Mjorn’s warm arm and tried to relax, unsure of how I should act, but for once certain of where I should be. If nothing else, I knew the pull, and if he was experiencing it the way I was I didn’t need to worry about providing anything more than my presence. This was real. This was concrete.
The night wore on, the merry tunes began to slow, and the singers dropped off one by one until only the bard was singing, long, sad, plaintive ballads, until even his voice faded away.
By that time most of the campers had left the fire, moving off to the wagons alone or in pairs. With Mjorn’s arm around me, I was afraid to stir, irrationally afraid that moving too fast would make him realize what he was doing and would break the spell. As the musician quit the fire and we were left alone, Mjorn began to talk quietly.
“So you’re a crafter, are you?” He beckoned to the wands I had made. “And a mage, I assume?” I nodded. “May I see your work?”
I hesitated in handing him a wand, embarrassed at its roughness. “I just started," I warned him. “Still, these are the best I’ve made.”
He whistled through his teeth. “Mana Regeneration. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen this particular enchantment before. What other strange talents are you hiding, my little wood troll?” he teased, handing the wand back. I didn’t mind the pet name, not once he settled his hand on my thigh, which ignited a new wave of sparks across my skin. I ventured to meet his gaze then—he really was so handsome—and before I could think about it too hard, turned toward him and placed my hand on his chest, fingers just barely touching that hair peeking out of his vest.
He looked at my hand and smiled, happy to be admired. “What strange talents…” he drawled again, suggestively.
Emboldened, I turned to him fully and closed the distance between us, scarcely believing as I ran my fingers through his chest hair. How many times had I imagined just such an occurrence, only to immediately shove the thoughts to the furthest corners of my mind? Now that I was here it seemed so natural, as if I’d done it all before.
“Just my talent with wands," I intimated.
With a growl deep in his throat, he pulled me tight to him and locked my gaze with his, holding me a captive of my own expectations as his lips found mine. I melted entirely against him, gripping his hair and moving my body against his. There was no thought. There were only his lips, and the incredible certainty of knowing exactly what he wanted from me. And what I wanted from him. I drank the sensation in, utterly relaxed and yet alive with energy.
He held me in the kiss for what seemed like an eternity, but eventually he shifted and broke contact. Chuckling when I wrapped my arm around him and tugged, hoping he would come close again, he sighed. “I’m sorry, troll. I shouldn’t have done that. Day is fast approaching and there is much to be done in the morning. Come, let me show you to your bed.”
Reluctantly, I stood, and he took my hand, leading me to a large wagon designed as a little house on wheels, the only such wagon of those pulled around the fire. I followed him up the stairs, and he beckoned me into a small room that clearly served as his living quarters, and lit by, of all things, a light bulb! Seeing my surprise, he chuckled. “A little bauble I’ve spoiled myself with. Goblins
do make some wonderful toys.” He reached up and plucked the globe free of the net that had held it, and handed it to me. I touched it, expecting heat but feeling none. I turned it over and over, amazed. It was a simple glass orb, but its entire surface shone with a clear white light.
On this night of nights, however, a stronger enchantment was at work, and even the bauble couldn’t hold my focus. A large bed took up most of the room, and most of my attention.
“Wait. This is your bed?” I realized, flushing with embarrassment and excitement.
“It is yours. No, I insist," he announced, holding up a hand to forestall any further argument. “You are my guest, and I won’t hear anything more about it.” He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me close against him. “Besides which,” he continued, “I enjoy the thought of you in my bed.” Pressed against the thick solidity of his frame, my body ached for his, and the kiss he planted on my neck just below my ear liquified my knees. But then he was pulling away again. He returned the light globe to its hammock and stepped to the door. I followed, and pulled him close again.
“Stay," I implored.
“There will be time for that, troll.” He squeezed me in return and planted a small kiss on my lips. “There will be time.”
And with that, he was gone. He was right, too—morning would be coming soon. I drew the cloth he had shown me over the light and undressed, wistfully thinking of whom I wished was undressing with me. Falling into bed, I slept. My dreams were not… kid-friendly.
Chapter 12
Morning brought with it an energy that was destined to fade—the superficial energy of fatigue—and as I heard the camp start to stir I dressed and ventured out into the brisk morning air. My robes helped keep the chill off, but I still went to the fire to warm my hands, nodding and murmuring hellos to the other campers and keeping my eyes peeled for Mjorn. I was glad my companions around the fire didn’t seem much interested in conversation. I felt adrift among them without Mjorn’s presence.
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