“You seem rather well informed about all this Nova,” G says fiddling with the straps of some leather arm bracers. “Do you know what will happen next?”
I help pull the straps tight on his large forearm as I shake my head no. “I’m afraid I don’t. Most tutorials are very easy and super linear, to prevent the player from killing themselves too quickly and having a bad experience. After all the player comes first,” I glance around the room, where at least ten different people are hiding in corners begging god or crying, and then to the middle of the room where the soap-box wizard is still giving a speech. “But I don’t think the player’s enjoyment is the main drive behind this game.”
“No, I do not think so either.”
“Do we need anything else?” Hero asks tying a leather belt around his waist through the loops on his jeans, its doesn’t quite fit, but it doesn’t look too silly.
“Me and G should probably get a weapon just in case,” I reason glancing around at the near-limitless supply of medieval weaponry. “And you something with range, I don’t like the idea of you running up and stabbing things unless you have to.”
Hero huffs, “I’m not a baby,” but he does start to poke around the arrows and bows, “Can we use stuff that wasn’t part of our class picking thing?”
“Not sure,” I admit twirling a spear around to check its balance, “But worst comes to worst you just don’t have special abilities to use with it, always better to be over-prepared.”
G nods as he picks up a large hatchet, “prepare, over prepare, and then prepare more,” he says as he checks the blade, “That’s the way you survive.” The blade slides back into its sheath with a snap. G efficiently and with signs of previous experience straps the blade to his new heavy leather belt. Seems there’s more to G than just being an old man who doesn’t know what video games are.
“I’m going to take a bow then!”
“You know how to use a bow?” I ask, turning around to see Hero gathering up fallen arrows into a sword sheath, not the most effective thing, but it does get the job done.
“No?” he says, but he seems to be questioning why I’m asking.
“Then take one of the smaller crossbows,” I say as I point toward more towards the middle of the room, “they are easier to use.”
“I can use a bow!” he defends, ears twitching as he holds the bow and arrows close to his chest.
G hums, glancing over at Hero with the eyes of an indulgent grandparent, “Try pulling the string back, son. You pull it all the way back, you can keep it.”
“Really?” Hero asks tail wagging excitedly.
G laughs as he nods, “Pull the string back and I’ll even help you learn how to aim.”
Hero nods quickly and places the arrows down carefully as he readies his stance. I send G a worried look, but he just snorts in amusement and gestures towards Hero, who’s struggling to pull the string back even halfway.
“Bows need lots of training to use,” G explains as he takes the bow from a pouting Hero, “it’s not a beginner weapon.” And he easily pulls the string back in one clear movement. Both Hero and I watch in amazement as he reaches over and selects an arrow, readying a shot on a helmet over 30 feet away. “It takes patience and years of diligence to fire even one arrow,” and the bolt flies, striking harshly against the silver metal. “So, take a crossbow son, no shame in not knowing.”
“That was so cool!” Hero exclaims as I nod in agreement.
“Yeah G,” I say, also thoroughly impressed and very happy that I talked to the old guy earlier, “didn’t know you were a professional archer!”
“Not a professional no,” he laughs an embarrassed green tint to his cheeks, “just a hobby in my youth, surprised I’m still a half-decent shot.”
“If I get a crossbow, you can still help me right?”
G thinks a second before nodding slowly, “They aren’t exactly the same. But I could teach you a few things about aiming and stance.”
“I’m going to go pick one!” and Hero runs off to begin scanning over piles of gear.
G goes to place the bow back down, but I reach my hand out and stop him, “You should have a ranged weapon too G, and with even partial skill it's still an impressive feat.”
“Well, I suppose you’re right,” he agrees slinging the bow over his shoulder, “you going to take a crossbow too?”
“Well…,” I laugh nervously, “I’ve always had really bad aim, so probably any ranged weapon won’t do me too good, but a spear has some reach, so I think I’ll be okay.”
G nods, resting a hand under his chin as he thinks, “Maybe something up close then?” he offers, starting to check a few of the nearby swords, “most of these are poor quality blades, but in a pinch, they will help.”
“Yeah, I’m thinking something like that. I’m not very strong so it would have to be something one-handed that I could use two-handed.”
G offers me a small only partially rusty short sword. I pick up the weapon, twirling it around in the air to get a feel for it. It’s heavy and I’m a bit slow but with a bit of practice, I could learn to use it pretty well. “Thanks G, I think I’ll-,”
“Ding!”
[Warning player has selected a weapon outside of class allowances]
“Class allowances?” I question reading the warning with a frown, “What can I use then?”
As though responding to my question a new pop-up box appears,
[1/2 weapon masteries chosen, please select a weapon from the following list;
- Fail
- Morning star
- Mace
- Hammer
- Club
- Spear [already selected]
- Pike
- Quarterstaff]
“Well, it would appear we do have some limitations on what we can use,” I say squinting at the glowing screen, “I need some sort of bludgeoning weapon, like a club.”
“That…” G trails off, looking me and up and down, “is a violent weapon choice.”
“I don’t make the rules,” I jest glancing around at the nearby weapons looking for one on my class list, “Maybe it's cause I’m an Acolyte and gods’ like blunt force trauma?”
“Gods?” he questions, “are you a priest?”
“Not exactly,” I try to explain, putting down the far too heavy-to-carry hammer, “but my class is one that is sworn to the gods.”
G hums fishing out a water skin and placing it in his bag, “And which god or religion do you follow?”
“Uh, not sure yet,” I admit opening up my screen just to make sure it hasn’t updated with my “god” yet. My class still just reads Acolyte, so I assume I’m still not sworn to one yet. “I just know I’m playing a class that dedicates themselves to a god.”
“Hmm, maybe you will be able to select later?”
“Maybe,” I agree testing the weight of the mace in my hands, it's weirdly easier to swing around than the sword from before, might be part of the weird magic enforcing our weapon choices.
“I got a crossbow!” Hero chimes, showing off a mostly intact hand crossbow, all of the weapons here are flawed in some way, the trick seems to be picking the least flawed ones. “There wasn’t any little arrows for it though.”
“I’m sure we’ll find some later,” I assure, hooking the mace onto my belt, as a little notification pops up, [2/2 weapon masteries selected.]
“Well, is there anything else we think we might need?” I question, doing one last check of my person and equipment. A backpack, with a spare cloak and a few smaller spare pouches, a new pair of mismatched leather boots, a belt with holsters for my mace and spear, and of course the metal disc pendant.
“No, I believe we are as equipped as we could be, anything else would just slow us down unnecessarily and we don’t know what we are up against yet.”
“So, this is it right?” Hero asks, clutching the strap of his backpack as he looks up at us in his ill-fitting leather chest plate, “we’re going to start fighting things now?”
I send him a reassuring smile, as G pats the kid on the back, “Don’t worry,” I say, “we don’t know for sure we are going to be fighting anything, it’s just better to be safe than sorry.”
He nods, ears still folded down on top of his head, “and..,” he takes a shaky breath, grip tightening further of his bag, “Are we stuck here?”
Silence settles among us, oppressive and judging. That was the question all of us had been wondering, wasn’t it? “Could we go home?” At the moment it seemed a distant possibility, but maybe once we learned more about this “game” we could find a way back. The hope was a burning blazing thing in my chest, even if it was impossible I needed to believe I could, even if I couldn’t go home, I still needed to find Zeke, his absence from my side was growing more and more unnerving. But still, I force a smile for the kid, “I don’t know,” I confess, “but I’m sure everything will work out, and you have me and G.”
Hero glances between the two of us, slowly nodding, “Okay. You can count on me too.”
I ruffle his ears with a laugh as he hisses and tries to squirm away, “Aww, you’re so cute Hero! Thanks!”
“No! No! I changed my mind!”
“What do you mean?” I gasp, forcing a false sense of hurt into my words, “Aren’t we friends?”
He stomps his foot angrily, his tail swishing, “I just meet you!”
“So, we’re not friends?”
“No!” he protests, cheeks red and tail lashing, “I’m just-you know-that’s not-,” he stumbles over his words as he looks everywhere but at me, “Fine we’re friends!”
I smile and give him another pat that he only faintly squirms to escape this time, “I’m happy to be your friend.”
G laughs as he brings his large green hand in between us, “Alright little miss, and you too son, that’s enough.”
“She started it!” Hero points at me, “I didn’t do anything.”
“It takes two to argue,” G reminds with an air of wisdom only the old can carry.
Hero’s ears twitch and his hair puffs up like an offended cat, indignation written all over his face, “but-!”
“I hate to interrupt,” all of us pause and sharply turn. Hero makes a squeaking hiss noise and dives behind me, squeezing himself between the falling apart cabinet and my back. I shift my cloak to better block him and G takes a step forward, moving in front of both of us. I’ve never been so defensive about being startled before, but something in the back of my head urges me to be on guard, I slip my hand into my bag, holding tightly onto the shining circle within.
“Can we help you?” G asks, voice the perfect mimicry of a grouchy old man who just found an insurance salesman at his door.
The soap-box wizard, gives a small bow, face emphatic but eyes cold, “So sorry to startle you. We are making a team to scout the surrounding area, and we are choosing based on everyone’s classes. So, we were coming to see yours as everyone else has given theirs.”
He was acting the gentleman, but he was basically threatening us. You don’t bring an entourage of ten people with drawn weapons to a friendly chat.
“Practitioner,” G says giving his staff a little shake, “though I’m afraid I don’t know what that means.”
The soap-box wizard turns to a small humanoid next to him, who’s staring intently at their blue window. The halfling player checks something before turning up to the wizard, “practitioners are the nature magic starting class. They have crowd control and trapping abilities.”
I startle and give the halfling a look, did he have some sort of ability that lets him know what other classes do? That seemed very situationally useful.
The soapbox wizard turns back to us with a glint in his eyes, greed.
“Well looks like you got yourself a rather nice class grandpa, you have a spot on the advance team.”
“I thank you kindly for the offer,” G says, voice flat and devoid of any actually kind intent, “but I’m fine staying here.”
The man’s eyes darken, and the flames of his hair dim to embers, “you sure about that old man?”
G moves a half step more forward, straightening his back to tower over the wizard and his followers, “Yes, I’m sure.”
The wizard coughs to hide his half-step back, glancing over at me, “And you girlie?”
I feel myself twitch at the address, my temper flaring. I open my mouth to tell him just where he can stick his stupid lava nose when a flash of steel catches my eye, the armed members behind him shift their weapons, eyes sharp and glaring daggers at me. I snap my jaw shut painfully.
“And you girlie?” he tries again, irritation clear in his voice.
“Acolyte,” I grit through my teeth.
The halfling startles, shifting his gaze to look at me as though I just said I was a donkey. “Really?” he asks.
The flame-haired wizard glances down at him with a frown, “Is that unusual somehow John?”
Wait, John? This guy had the choice to name himself anything and he chose John? Bold move.
The halfling nods quickly, still looking a bit starstruck. “Yeah, boss! The Acolyte is the starting divine class! It’s the rarest option! Less than 1% of players get an Acolyte class!”
“Oh really…?” he asks, gaze shifting back to me with a dark lecherous look. A shiver travels up my back beyond my control. G huffs and shifts to block me from view.
“It’s incredibly amazing boss!” the halfling continues to ramble, “we have a healer!”
“A healer?” and his voice takes a disappointed tone, “That’s what got you so excited?”
“But boss-,” John protests, waving his hands around to somehow better instill his point, “healers are extremely rare! She just needs a few levels and-,”
“Wait.” And John shuts up with a confused look, “Your saying she can’t even do it now?”
“Uh, no boss, not till she levels up, but-,”
“No more buts.” He snaps, “Right now, in this exact moment. What can an Acolyte do?”
“Well...,” and he turns back to his screen, eyes quickly scanning, “Acolyte. Starting divine class,” he reads, sounding like a teacher’s pet reciting the textbook, “self-buffs and….” He glances up nervously, “uh... that’s it.”
The wizard frowns, sending an uninterested look my way, “Then she’s useless.”
I tighten my grip on the disk, “Don’t sound too disappointed.”
He glares at my comment before focusing on the black tail just barely showing past my cloak, “and the kid?”
“None of your business.”
The weapons inch closer toward us. G’s eyes narrow and he raises his staff.
“Wait!” Hero hurries, poking his head out from behind me, “I’m a survivalist.”
The halfling’s eyes light up, “Boss!” he says wildly gesturing towards us, “That’s the class you wanted!”
“The assassin?”
I flinch at the description. Hero tightens his grip on the back of my shirt. I force myself to stand a little straighter, fully blocking him from view.
John nods, scanning his text window, “Assassin is one of the possible level-up options for a survivalist, but even in their starting class they gain huge damage befits.”
The man’s eyes grow even sharper. Dread slithers under my skin but I don’t move.
“He’s a kid,” I protest, even though I know nothing I say will influence them. The moment Hero revealed he was a survivalist everything was decided. These people wanted his abilities, they didn’t see him as a child, but as a tool. And I wasn’t going to be able to stop them.
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