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Tokens and Towers Chpts 4 and 5
🕑 Added 2021-11-01 15:12:49 +0000 UTCChapter Four: Just My Luck
The urge to take a victory lap had never been higher. Screw my life back in Portland, Oregon; to hell with my middling fantasy back catalog wasting away in the digital wasteland or yellowing on the shelves of a used bookstore; and to all the readers who had let me borrow their headspace to tell my stories, thank you and good night—I’m signing off!
It really had come to that point.
Whatever this place called Genera was, it was something new, something exciting, and if I had three days to get to the tower I could see looming in the distance, then I would be there in two.
After all, what was the worst that could happen?
<To access your digital wallet, swipe left; to access your inventory list swipe right. You may add items to your inventory list through trading, purchasing, and looting tokens.>
“Swiping left and right? Sort of like one of those dating apps, right?”
Lily never replied.
“I guess we’ll just call that one an inside joke. Now…” I took a look at the gnome bodies, still not certain why the first enemies had been gnomes. Whoever designed this game world, or whatever, really should have picked a better set of baddies for the tutorial...
Lily’s voice came to me again, interrupting my inner monologue.
<To loot, approach the object, person, or thing you would like to loot. A window will appear. You can send the items and tokens they possess directly to your inventory list from this window, you can also examine the item, and you can wear it. Unless you have a token that expands your inventory list, you can only hold seven items at a time. This will change once you reach level five.>
“A token?” I asked. “Is this more crypto shit?”
<Please, approach one of the bodies.>
“Don’t mind if I do.” I stopped in front of the nearest dead gnome, and sure enough, a window appeared telling me that he had a clove of garlic (were there vampires here?), a tarnished necklace with a phallic centerpiece, listed as a Tarnished Necklace Token, and a set of basic clothing, listed as Basic Gnome Clothing. “Basic, huh?”
The gnome wore a tunic accented by leather strips of armor and black boots. It wasn’t the most appealing clothing, but it looked like it would get the job done, and it beat bashing bad guys with my member swinging about.
<If you choose this clothing, it will automatically adjust to your size and appear on your body. You may also put it in your inventory list, where it will appear as a token.>
“But I should probably be wearing something...” I shrugged. “Let’s give it a try. But before I do, does wearing something count as an item in my inventory list. You said I can only have seven, so just double-checking.”
<No, it does not.>
“What if I keep things in my pockets?”
<No, this doesn’t count as well. Please note, most of the clothing in Genera doesn’t have pockets.>
“But I could alway get a manbag or something… sorry, just trying to figure out the parameters here,” and how I can game the system, I thought. “I guess if I’m going to be slaying my way toward the tower, it’d be better to do it with clothing on rather than freeballing.”
The window appeared before me:
Item name: Basic Gnome Clothing
Armor Rating: 3
Perks: None
An online reviewer had once called one of my books basic, which had annoyed me to no end. Nothing wrong with being basic, I thought as the clothing appeared on my body, magically adjusted for my size. The pointy red hat also took shape on my head, even though the gnome hadn’t been wearing it.
“Not going to need this…” I tossed the felt hat away and continued looting, stopping in front of each gnome and discovering that they truly had nothing aside from tarnished yet phallic jewelry clearly worth nothing (or so I assumed) and garlic cloves.
This got me thinking.
“I’m supposed to eat, right? Stupid question, I know. But… am I?”
Even though I wasn’t hungry at the time, it made sense that I would need food at some point.
<Yes, you will need to scavenge, purchase, or hunt food. You can store it in your inventory list. Food will not appear as a token, but you can get a token that allows you to have a separate digital food pantry.>
I ran my hand over my beard stubble and once again looked at the tower in the distance, the fall foliage creating a perfect frame of orange and red around the enormous structure. “I’ll need to figure that out. Tell me more about these tokens. I just want to make sure I understand what’s going on here,” I told Lily as I started off toward the tower.
<Tokens allow you to modify your user interface, learn new things from spells to attacks, and artificially improve certain aspects of your basic stats. Every item you have is represented by a token. For example, if you put your axe in your inventory list, it would be listed as a token. The only items that don’t exist as tokens that take up space are food, tokens that modify your user interface, and physical cash. Tokens exist on Genera’s blockchain, and they modify the very DNA of the world. Since you now exist in this world, they modify your DNA as well.>
“Weird, but… I guess that sort of makes sense.”
<Once you receive a token, it will be stored in your inventory list until you use it. They are tradable and purchasable, and if you die, the character that kills you gets all of your tokens. As previously stated, user interface tokens, which allow you to customize your user interface and do a variety of things, won’t take up space in your inventory list once they’re active. Some tokens, especially ones that modify your weapons or certain magic spells, can only be used once.>
“So they are like cards?” I asked aloud, trying to remember how the fourth season of the anime Hunter X Hunter worked and failing miserably. They lost me there. “Maybe not cards. I’m just envisioning them like that, cards that have certain abilities tied to them that you can keep or trade.”
<They are tokens.>
“Yes, like cards. Wait, did you say blockchain? Genera has a blockchain?”
<The tower is the stem for this blockchain, the root. You will learn more about this when you reach there. To demonstrate how a user interface token works, I will gift you a token. Please raise your hand.>
I raised my hand as if I were trying to be called upon by my incredibly bosom-y second grade teacher (shout out to Mrs. Robinson!). It was only after my hand was in the air that I interpreted that she wanted me to actually turn my palm around.
As soon as I did, a small, glowing orb appeared, the outline of a fiery dragon tracing around it. What was listed as a Luck Token appeared in my inventory list, and intuitively was added to my basic stat sheet, the token now grayed out to indicate it wasn’t actually taking up space in my list.
Luck Token - A Luck Token allows you to add Luck to your basic stat sheet. To increase your Luck, gain more levels, utilize accessories, or other Tokens.
Race: Human
Name: Randy Lionheart
Level: 2
Tier: Fresh Meat
HP: 13/13
MP: 5/5
Intelligence: 9
Perception: 7
Stamina: 6
Strength: 8
Dexterity: 11
Defense: 4
Stealth: 2
Luck: 0
Health Regen: 10% per hour
MP Regen: 20% per hour
Skill Points: 0
Armor: Basic Gnome Wear (+3)
Weapons: Axl Rose
Accessories: N/A
“Just my luck,” I said, wishing someone were around to compliment me on my wit.
<Your basic stats can change with each level. Later on, you will be able to craft tokens that can modify your basic attributes.>
“Makes sense, makes sense…” I returned my gaze to the tower, feeling fresh to death without a care in the world, a million crypto bucks just burning a hole through my digital wallet. I’d done a lot of stupid shit in my life, and dumping my last advance and what I had left in a lukewarm IRA into Harmon Tokens was probably one of the stupider things.
Sure, laugh at me and the poor financial decision I’d made, but I really thought it was where things were going to go, and on one hand, I was right. Cryptocurrencies continue to be used and adapted toward modern banking systems, DeFi a thing of the present future. But it was also the breeding ground for a lot of schemers, and an even higher number of suckers like me.
But now things were different.
I had always been a bit of a Mad Lad (example: I almost got a YOLO tattoo as a tramp stamp on a dare but was not YOLO enough at the time to YOLO that hard), yet now I had the chance to do something utterly insane and be rich at the same time.
I mean, shit, I had already hacked my way through a nest of gnomes, and I had finally got my first level. I had quickly adapted to using an axe like I was related to Paul Bunyan, and I was now set to grind and loot my way to the top of a tower. From there? Who knew? I’d figure it out along the way, and it beat wasting away for the time being back on planet Earth.
All I needed now was a bit of luck, literally, and a few more answers before I started off.
“Can I die?” I asked as I turned back to where I had picked up my axe earlier. Sure enough, the weapons I had seen were gone. One glance down to Axl Rose and I knew I’d made the right choice. Such a handsome axe…
<Yes, Randy, you can die.>
Not exactly the answer I expected…
I followed the pathway before me, one that looked navigable enough.
“So the gnomes could have killed me?” I asked.
<Yes, and then you would have died.>
“Where would I have died? And no need to get existential here, I’m just trying,” I ducked under a limb, “to understand the ways of the land. Would I have died here or where I’m from?”
<You would have died in Genera.>
“What about Earth?”
<I’m sorry, I don’t believe I know what that is.>
“Ah, I get it, I get it,” I told Lily. “That’s the rub, isn’t it?”
<The rub?>
“If I die here, I die in the real world. Classic LitRPG trope, or any portal fantasy, for that matter. But it works, right?”
<I don’t know what LitRPG is, my apologies, Randy People do not die in Genera, they become part of the synthetic reality.>
“That’s like me saying I don’t know what existing on Earth as a homosapien is. But nevermind. I was just hoping for something a bit more…?”
My next step took me off guard. I had reached an opening in the trees, one that showed signs of rain, the ground slick. What I wasn’t expecting was for my foot to instantly be sucked into the mud, the surface of the muck morphing into tendril-like fingers and tracing up my leg, grabbing my crotch.
“Hands off!” I shouted as I tried to swat the mud hand away with my axe. By this point, the muck had overtaken my other foot, the surface bubbling and devious, crop-dusting me with a sulphur-like stench.
Wham!
A muck-ridden fist shot out of the mud and slugged me in the face, hard enough that things went black for a second.
I blinked my eyes awake again and tried to ward off another muddy fist attack, now submerged up to my waist, panic setting in as I quickly remembered what Lily said.
If I died here? Would I die in the real world? Was I already dead? Was I part of the synthetic reality that Lily had mentioned? Was there a Heaven? What if God was one of us? Just a slob like one of us? And for that matter, who would bore me more with my impending post mortem lecture, Sartre or Nietzsche? Were those dudes even in Heaven?
“Lily!” I shouted. “Lily, I… I need your help!”
<I’m sorry, Randy. I really wish there was something I could do.>
Rather than curse Lily for watching me die, I started to kick my legs back and forth to little effect.
I was shit out of luck, the muck now climbing my happy trail, running its muddy finger inside my belly button, smoothing its way like a salacious peanut butter up my body and looking to give me a pair of titty twisters. More bubbles, more sulphuric pops, the world closing in, my next manuscript destined to never be published.
I didn’t stop fighting.
My arms tiring, my legs practically useless, I tried my damnedest to kick the quickmud’s ass, failing miserably, working myself up to a point of exhaustion when I suddenly heard a new voice.
“I can help you.”
I looked to my left to find an elven man with pale dark skin, black hair slicked behind his ears, creepy runes for pupils and sharp features, the makings of either a villain, an antihero, or albino drow cosplay gone terribly wrong, especially with his his glowing rapier sheathed at his side.
How long had he been watching me? And why did he look so sinister? Either way, he was my only resort.
“Yes, please!” I shouted to him.
“And in exchange?” the dark elf asked, his voice cutting through the sound of boiling noxious mud as it moved higher and higher, now at the shoulder level. He had a slight European accent, one that I always wished I’d had and one that would have been perfect for a Bond villain.
“I…”
My eyes went wide as I glanced to Axl Rose, my weapon nearly completely submerged by this point. I searched my brain for anything tradable. I had some basic gnome clothing, but surely the dark elf didn’t want that, not in the spiffy Dunmer outfit he’d put together with form-fitting armor accented in an illuminous metal I’d never seen before.
“Luck—!” I blurted out.
“Luck?” he asked, his eyes narrowing on me.
“I have a Luck Token. Just got it. I can give you that?”
“Luck…” He crouched for a moment, the mud moving even higher, now at the point that it had reached my chin.
“It’s yours, just… just help me out of here!”
“Agreed. Transfer the token first.”
“Wh-what!?”
Some of the muck spilled into my mouth, the taste bitter and earthy.
“Transfer it,” I heard the dark elf say firmly.
It was instinctual by that point, my hand moving beneath the mud, inventory list appearing, the tab that listed my inventory suddenly open. Lily’s voice came to me as I made a gesture to select the Luck Token.
<Transfer your Luck Token to Lothan? He is a new intake, like you.>
“Yes! Yes! Transfer it, transfer it!”
Lothan the dark elf examined the token for just a moment, the orb with the fiery dragon twisting around it illuminating his pale face. “It’s always nice to make a friend.”
With that, the dark elf turned in the direction of the tower, leaving me to sink to my death.
Chapter Five: Clovis the Spellbook and the Mad Lad Fight a Hangry Kobold
The muck seeped into my nostrils, as I officially stopped squirming, awaiting my final thoughts.
I shed a single tear for the books I would never write; thought briefly of my ex-wife, Chelsea, and how things could have been different; wondered for a millisecond if I was officially dying in the isolation tank back in the real world. I thought of all the crazy shit that had happened up to this point had taken place in the brief moments before I expired, perhaps something triggered by the DMT my brain released upon my death; I remembered my dead parents (I’ll be joining you soon!); and wondered why Lily, my companion AI, was leaving me out to dry.
Goodbye, cruel fantasy world, I hardly knew thee…
Sad whistling should have been the last thing I heard over the bubbling muck that had nearly swallowed me up, yet it reached my ears somehow, my eyes darting left to find a book floating midair. It was open, its pages in disarray, the tomb bound in leather with gold accents on its spine and a clasp like a book you’d find in Charles Dickens’ personal library. Not only that, a turquoise energy radiated around it.
I assumed it was a spellbook.
“H… help!” I managed to shout. To do so, I had to tilt my head all the way back, the muck filling my earholes. “Help me, book!”
The floating book slowly turned in my direction.
“H-help!” I shouted. “I’m going to die and… I’m too young to die!”
The book hovered over to me, still open in the middle, and as it grew closer I saw more pages hanging out of it, some of them torn, others centimeters away from falling out.
“You’re not young,” the book said in a feeble voice. It snapped shut, nearly losing one of its papers, and started to float away.
What in the fuck? I thought, the muck rising even higher now, some of it getting into my mouth. “Please, help!”
The book stopped floating away and turned back to me. It opened once again. “I don’t know how to help you. I’m sorry.”
“You’re… you’re clearly magical. Do some magic!”
“I’m still trying to figure that part out…” The book twitched as if it were trying to think up a solution. Suddenly, it snapped shut and flew open again, a terrifying beam of turquoise energy spiraling out of it.
WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAMMMMMMMMMMM!
The burst of magical power sent the spellbook twisting backward and straight up as it changed its trajectory, the energy cutting into the muck holding my hostage.
The relief came in an instant, the muck seeping away, down past my shoulders.
A hump formed on the surface of the mud, confirming something I’d already figured out. The muck was alive, hence the fist it had slugged me with earlier, perhaps the reason it had tried to drown me. Whatever the book had done to it had injured the mud to some degree.
As soon as I had my wits about me, I did what any gamer trapped in a magical word and in possession of a pretty badass axe would do. I began striking the muck with good ol’ Axl Rose. Rather than simply slip beneath the surface, the axe actually seemed to do some damage. The muck continued to retreat even after the book snapped itself shut, mostly due to the fact that I was doing my best Bam-Bam impression and pummeling the living mud to death. This included chasing after it as it tried to retreat into the woods, cursing at it, even tackling the muck, and using the wooden throat of my axe to choke it out.
The mud stopped moving, and as it did a screen appeared in front of me and listed just one item.
Instant Muck Token
Allows you to summon muck that will grow until it has a diameter of fifteen feet.
<There are numerous ways to use your token. The easiest way is to just say the token aloud, whisper it, or think it. You can also access your inventory list and equip it from there.>
Definitely something I will need to test out, I thought as I gladly took the token, not caring at that moment what it did. As soon as the token was in my inventory list, the mud dripping from my body faded away.
“That was…” I looked back at the floating book, who still seemed a bit wobbly. “That was insane! Thanks, man!”
“I don’t feel so well…”
The floating book lowered to the ground and turned onto its back. It opened up in the middle once again and laid there like a starfish for a moment, the energy radiating around it waning to some degree.
I crouched in front of the book. “You saved me.” I offered the book my hand, but then realized it wasn’t going to be able to shake it. Instead, I found one of its loose pages and stuffed it in at the front.
“That tickles…”
“You saved me,” I said for a second time as I continued to try to fix the spellbook’s pages. It kept giggling.
“I didn’t want to.”
“What? That’s not the response I was hoping for but you know what? Never mind. I’m still alive, I now have a new token, I have a new enemy—don’t worry, it’s not you—and we have a tower to get to. I’m assuming you’re one of the intakes.”
“Intakes?”
I turned quickly and asked a question into my arm. “Lily, is he an intake?”
<Yes, the spellbook is a new intake, like yourself.>
“I don’t want to climb the tower.”
“Climb, tower, climb, is my motto, book, or at least it is now. Better than the first motto that came to mind, Climbing in the Name Off, you know, based off that Rage Against the Machine Song.”
“I’ve never heard of that band.”
“Then how would you know with the band?”
“Because it’s a song.”
“Touché. I’ll ignore your taste in music for now. Look, according to what I’ve learned already, if we don’t make it to the tower in three days, we’ll die. I don’t know what your companion AI has told you, but that’s what mine said. You do have one, right?”
It was a moment before the book responded. “You mean the voice keeps talking to me?”
“That would be the one. I’ve named mine Lily. She’s British. Isn’t that right, Lily?”
<You have three days to reach the tower, Randy.>
“Did you hear her?” I asked the book.
“No. I ignore mine. It’s not a good sign to be hearing voices. I didn’t go through years of therapy to start hearing voices now.”
“Personally, I love hearing voices. I’m a fantasy writer and the more voices I hear, the better. That’s the best way to channel characters. Create them, and let them speak through you. It can be hard to control at times, but I’m a professional, and I have learned to manage it.”
“You... are a writer?”
“I sure am, Book. Heh. Writer meet book, book meet writer. I can’t make the shit up.”
“Lame. My name is Clovis.”
I ignored the ‘lame’ comment as I went with my next question: “Can I still call you book?”
“I would prefer Clovis.”
“Okay, well, to answer your question, Clovis, I am a writer. Are you a reader?”
“No, I’m a book.”
“Yeah, I can see that Clovis, I mean back on Earth. You are from Earth, right?”
“I’m from Ithaca.”
“Okay, so New York State, which is also on Earth unless we are talking some sort of multiverse situation here. Are you a reader?”
“I’m a book.”
Is he fucking with me?
“I asked you if you were a reader because I am a writer. On Earth. I am a writer.”
Clovis sighed, his pages fluttering. “I don’t know if I believe that.”
“What part about my appearance makes you think I’m not a writer?”
“You’re not overweight.”
“That’s not a nice thing to say about writers.”
“I read a lot of fantasy books and I attend conventions.”
“Fair,” I told Clovis. “What else then?”
“You’re not bald; you’re not wearing a black t-shirt; you have a beard but you don’t have a neckbeard. I could go on.”
“I just try to stay healthy and I have hair, long hair, in fact. It doesn’t make me not a writer.”
“You asked why I didn’t assume you were a writer. I’m telling you.” Clovis slapped his pages together again and shot into the air, the spellbook lowering back to the ground as if he were gingerly floating down onto a hammock. “I’m still getting used to being a spellbook.”
“Clearly. Wait, did you say you read a lot of fantasy?”
“I think I said something like that, maybe. My memory isn’t very good. I also have asthma, a fear of flying on airplanes that I’m still trying to get over, and I get motion sickness. I believe I may have alien hand disorder, but we can circle back around to that later.”
Alien hand disorder? I thought, forcing a smile. “Randy Lionheart. Ever heard of that writer?”
“Randy Lionheart… Randy Lionheart… you mean Randi Darren?”
“The harem writer? No. Not him. Lionheart. Like the heart of a lion. It’s not a pen name either. Definitely has a blueblood sort of old money East Coast feel, but it works. It was also a Van Damme movie.”
“What was a Van Damme movie?”
“Lionheart.”
“Which Van Damme?”
“How many damn Van Dammes are there?”
Clovis giggled again. “That’s a Van Damme good question.”
“It Van Damme is a damn Van Damme good question.”
We laughed together at this, Clovis finally speaking after he had wound down. “I’m sorry, Randy, I haven’t heard of your stuff. I’m not as prolific as some readers.”
It hurt, it really hurt, but I suspected as much. While I had done work for a few independent publishers and sold thousands upon thousands of books (enough to warrant an advance—I’m not a hack, dammit!), most of my stuff hadn’t truly reached mainstream outlets. The closest I had come to fantasy royalty had been the time I ran into Jim Butcher at Gencon a few years back. Sure, it had been the restroom, and sure, we hadn’t said anything to each other, but we ended up using the same urinal, he mumbled something about drinking too much coffee, I almost said hello, and we definitely made eye contact through the mirror at the sink.
“What books have you written?” asked Clovis.
“Ever heard of Kung Fu Fable?”
“No. Sounds like cultural appropriation.”
“That’s fair. Um… The Mana in the White Castle.”
“Pass. I hate puns and play-on-word titles.”
“Um, Mage of Rage?”
“Did you come up with these titles yourself?”
“War Beast?”
“Read one called War Priest once. Liked it enough. Hojo was the best part.”
“Uhhh...”
“What else?”
“It’s no big deal. Clearly, you haven’t heard of my stuff. I’m not going to sit here and list it all out. There’s a lot, Clovis, a lot.”
“Randy Lionheart… Randy Lionheart…” he sighed, his form drooping. “I wish I could say I read something, but I haven’t. Did you write under any other names?”
I clenched my eyes shut for a moment.
“Just the one name?”
“I have published something under Angel Farts.”
Clovis shot even into the air and stopped at eye level. He slowly turned to me, the book flapping open, papers nearly falling out. “You’re… you’re Angel Farts?”
“I mean, I’m Randy, the noun not the adjective, but I did write a book under that name. So yes. I’m, um, Angel Farts. It’s a stupid name, I know, but so many of these webserial guys hit it big with names that make no sense, I figured I’d give it a shot. TurtleMe? Shirtaloon? Pirateaba? Nobody103? God there are so many. And don’t get me started on Chinese web novels, that’s a whole can of worms too when it comes to nom de plumes. Anyway. I was Angel Farts, still am, in fact.”
“I KNOW who Angel Farts is. I read Oh, Great, I Fell in Love with a Demon Mimic and Now I’m Going to Hell twice. No, three times. I read it three times.”
“Why?”
Clovis did what I would later come to recognize as his version of a shrug. “I don’t know,” he said, relaxing to some degree. “I just liked it.”
“People like what they like.”
“You are such an okay writer.”
“That’s… not how that compliment is supposed to go.”
“I’ve been meaning to read it again, I try to make it an annual thing, but somehow, I ended up here.”
“Story of my life.”
“You read your own books?”
“No, I mean ending up here.” I turned to the tower in the distance, which was still glowing, still beckoning us forward. “So are we going to climb that tower or what, Clovis? Sure, we’ve got a lot to unpack, but we can do that on the way there. So, are you in?”
“Ummm…” The spellbook twitched, as if he were considering my question. “I guess. What else is there to do?”
“That’s the spirit, Clovis, let’s go!”
****
Clovis floated beside me as I walked, the spellbook occasionally shuffling his pages and grumbling to the point that I figured I’d ask him a question that had been nagging me.
“Why did you ask to become a book?”
We had just reached a meadow, one that had butterflies and other insects in it, an entirely serene scene that made me know for certain that we were going to come to something crazy soon. That’s how it always worked. Lull us into lowering our guard, and then hit us with another horde of gnomes. Bam!
At least this was what I assumed would happen.
“I don’t know if you’re supposed to ask questions like that,” Clovis finally said.
“About race?”
“I mean…” He turned to me. “Do you think it’s appropriate?”
“For fuck’s sake, Clovis. I don’t care what race you are back on Earth, really, I don’t. I just want to know why you became a book.”
“Are you sure? That sounds like something a racist would say.”
“How are we even having this conversation? Okay, that’s a loaded question considering where we are and the circumstances we’ve met under. Let me try like this: how did we go from me asking you why you are a book to talking about who we are back on Earth?”
He made a shrug-like gesture and sighed. “I guess you’re right. To answer your question, I’m a spellbook because of the NieR video game series. I’m just like Grimoire Weiss, except less grumpy. When I was asked to choose a race, I chose spellbook. And… here we are. I’m a book.”
“And I’m a human. So we both chose wrong.”
“You could have been anything and your first response was human?”
“No need to bust my balls, Clovis. I thought the voice in my head was my muse and… you know what? Never mind. I don’t need to hash out my process with you.”
“So you actually said human?”
“Do I look like a human to you? At least I didn’t say ‘spellbook.’”
Clovis nodded. “That was probably a smart thing. I wish I had chosen something cooler.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. A superhero.”
The statement caused me to grin. “We’re in a fantasy world, one with a clear medieval spin on it, which, I’ve got to say now just to get it off my chest: how cliche. Why do all fantasy worlds have a medieval spin on them?”
“They don’t. I can think of several that don’t.”
“Sorry, you’re right. I’m getting hungry, and lately I’ve been getting my ass kicked by the book industry, you know, baggage,” I told him, wishing I had a scabbard or a sling, some place to put my axe so I didn’t have to carry it. The piece was getting heavy. “So ignore me.”
“Do what?”
“Clever. When did you arrive?”
“Maybe a day ago. I don’t know. Maybe less.” Clovis snapped shut and slowly tilted so he was floating vertically.
“Did the sun set?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you kill gnomes when you first got here? I sure did.”
“Kill the gnomes? Why would I kill gnomes, Randy? Gnomes rule.”
“Not the gnomes I had to fight off. They were bastards, entitled weapons-grade fuck baskets,” my statement causing him to laugh. “You like that one? I’m not going to lie, it’s a hobby of mine to scour the internet and the old noggin’ for the best string of curse words I can find. I used to keep a little book of them. Lost it in Portland. Whoever found that book has a literal goldmine of disses, true asshattery at their very fingertips. Too bad too because I was really hoping to put some of those phrases in a book. I digress. No gnomes when you got here? Weird. Did you have to fight anyone?”
“Let me think…” Clovis started to tilt up, a bit of light coming in through the foliage adding a hint of sparkle to the gold. “That’s right. I almost had to fight a dragon, but I ran away instead.”
“A real dragon? You can’t run, by the way.”
“A baby dragon. Maybe it was kobold. I can actually run if I drop down like so…” He tilted toward the ground and landed, the book open at forty-five degrees as he hobbled on the ground. “It’s not very effective.”
“But it looks sort of cool. So… you were supposed to kill the dragon, or kobold, or whatever. You didn’t listen to your companion AI?”
“Companion AI? Do you mean the voice in my head? I’m not listening to that voice.”
“It’s helpful.”
“So if a voice in your head says, I don’t know, ‘kill the bus driver to gain your first level,’ would you kill the bus driver?”
Racking my brain for a counter argument turned up nothing. “I haven’t ridden the bus in a long time but yeah, I guess I see your point.”
“That’s what I’m saying, Angel Farts—”
“—You are not authorized to call me that. It’s Randy, the noun, not the adjective.”
“Is that short for something?”
“Randall, and you aren’t calling me that either.”
“Anyway, as I was saying, RANDY, I’m not going to listen to a voice in my head telling me to kill things and level up. You probably should neither.”
“Is your voice a woman?”
“I’m not assigning a gender to the voice in my head that I’m not going to listen to.”
“So…” It dawned on me what was going to happen here, and likely how this relationship would play out. For some reason, I accepted it at the time, figuring I’d let future Randy get annoyed with Clovis and wish that we had parted ways directly after our first encounter. Little did I know that we were going to somehow click, that we worked well together for some odd reason. I continued my line of questioning: “So do… you know how the system works?”
“No.”
“Do… do you want to know?”
Clovis didn’t answer.
“I’m going to take that as a ‘yes.’ in that case, welcome, Clovis, you are in a fantasy world named Genera that has game elements. This means that you can actually gain levels, which I’m sure you’ll do at some point. The system isn’t so complex just yet, but I have a feeling there will be more to it as we progress. Anyway. Once you gain your first level, you will have access to your stats, where you will see your HP, MP, Intelligence, Perception, Stamina, Strength…” I pulled up my stats to make sure I wasn’t missing anything. “Dexterity, Defense, Stealth and…” There was no way I was going to stop the grimace that spread across my face when I remembered I’d had my Luck stat stripped from me.
Damn you, Lothan, I thought, wondering whether I’d see him again or not.
“That’s it?”
“Yeah, sorry. Um. What else? Health and MP regen. You’ll also see your armor rating, and your current weapon. My weapon is this beauty,” I said, showing him my axe, “who I have christened Axl Rose.”
“Axl Rose. Axl Rose. Not a bad name for an axe. Is that some sort of celebrity?”
I got the sense that Clovis was Gen Z, but rather than shudder and try to figure out the best way to help him navigate life without offending him in some way, I simply continued on: “Yes, Axl Rose is a celebrity. A singer. Of the little band you may have heard of known as Guns and Roses.”
“I think one of their songs was in Grand Theft Auto.”
“Yes, that sounds about right. Thus far, I am, and by extension you are, too low level to really be able to figure out classes and better utilize our stats, but we can use tokens. Tokens can be looted, purchased, traded, or rewarded. Tokens are everything here, aside from food. So if you get something, you can put it in your inventory list and it appears as a token. Like…” I looked at my axe. Sure enough, it disappeared, and accessing my inventory list allowed me to see it there as Axe Token. “Didn’t know I could do that… but anyway. To recap: tokens allow you to do tons of shit, but I don’t know what kind of shit just yet because I’ve only gotten two official tokens not including my axe, and one was stolen from me.”
“Which one?”
“A Luck Token.”
“That’s not lucky.”
“No, it’s not. Anyway, that’s all the stuff my companion AI, a British woman named Lily, told me. I guess since… since you aren’t going to listen to yours, I’ll tell you what mine says.”
Clovis started floating forward again. “I’m fine with that.”
I didn’t want to question the logic of this, that Clovis would hear from the voice in my head but not the voice in his, but I couldn’t resist: “Just to be clear. You’re fine with me talking to the voice in my head about you, as long as it is not you talking to the voice in your head about you.”
“Mental health is complicated, Randy.” Clovis seemed to perk up, a few of his pages shooting out of his form, the book having to snap shut to grab them. “Something is happening up there.”
The magical book whipped to the side just as a kobold tore out of the underbrush, a wild look in the creature’s eyes. Standing at about my height (five feet eleven and some change, but who’s counting?) the kobold wore a loincloth that barely covered his lizard bits, the reptilian humanoid with thick calf muscles that showed that he rarely skipped leg day, sharp claws, tattoos tracing up his arms, and a tail that looked like it would pack a wallop.
And it did.
As soon as it saw it, the kobold threw itself at me and cracked me in the side of the head with its massive tail.
I don’t know if I was out cold, but I was definitely seeing stars. I hit the ground hard enough to rattle the pair of six-sided die inside my head, and felt a sudden, second wind come on. I was game. I was the Mad Lad, and it was time to enter beast mode.
“Axe!” I shouted, my weapon of choice appearing in my hand.
Frothing at the lips, snarling, smoke billowing out of my ears, I exploded toward the kobold, who responded once again with his tail. Swish! My blade pressed through the kobold’s tail, his body going right and tail sailing left, the kobold absolutely shocked at what I’d done by the time the dust cleared, the two of us hunched over and seething at one another.
A pained expression traced across his face. “You… you fucking cut my tail off!”
“Clovis, you’re supposed to kill that thing to get your first level. Do it!”
“Thing? I’m a goddamn male kobold!” the reptilian shrieked, tears appearing in his eyes. “And fuck you! Fuck you and your spellbook!”
“First, this isn’t my spellbook—”
“I don’t give a McShit!”
Clovis was the first to start laughing, followed by Yours Truly, both of us momentarily oblivious to the kobold with the bloody tale and sour disposition who also happened to have a short sword. (He didn’t try to use it earlier, so I didn’t mention it.) Actually, if I’d had the opportunity to give the kobold some brief combat tips, I would have suggested not jumping into a fight like he’s trying to do a kickflip and relying solely on his tail.
But that’s just me.
“I’m saving that one to the harddrive,” I told him, feeling the Mad Lad within ready to fight yet again. “McShit. I like it!”
“That’s my line!” The kobold swung his sword at me, and I somehow managed to block it. We did the thing where both our weapons were pressed into one another for a moment, the two of us growling, the kobold with breath just about as bad as the gnomes and jankier teeth to boot.
“Clovis… kill… the… kobold! This… is… your… kill…”
“We could just be friends with him,” Clovis suggested, the book now floating off to the left, watching the kobold and me continue to put pressure on one another.
“I don’t want to be your friend. You cut off my tail!”
“Don’t kobolds grow their tails back?” Clovis asked. “You’re pretty much a lizard.”
The kobold ground his teeth as he sent a death glare in Clovis’ direction. “I’m not a lizard!”
Someone had to do it.
Sure, we could have gone back and forth with the kobold for the next few hours doing the old dick measuring contest, but what good would that do? There was a tower that needed climbing, a deadline, and a ton of answers that needed answering.
So I went for a cheap shot.
As the kobold bitched at Clovis, who continued to be, well, Clovis, I used the distraction to my advantage by throwing my shoulder forward and knocking the kobold to the ground. My move would have likely been harder to pull off had the kobold had its tail, but fate was on my side as I used my leverage to bring my axe down onto the kobold.
Several times.
Wham! Wham! Wham!
This eventually killed the kobold, but not without getting both my gnome clothing and my face pretty bloodied up.
It was a dirty deed, but someone had to do it.
****
Clovis floated over to me, and leaned forward with concern. “Jesus Christ, Randy.”
“Mad Lad,” I told Clovis as I caught my breath, strands of my long hair now my face. “That’s what I want you to call me when I’m forced to go into beast mode like that. I’ll explain later. Shit!”
The energy that struck me next was as if a supernova had been downloaded into my body. There was something almost cinematic about it, my arms out wide, the power pouring into my body as if I was suddenly possessed. I felt my muscles tightening, a subtle change coming over me, everything seeming brighter for a moment.
Clovis floated a few paces back. “Did you just shit your pants?”
“No, I… I just… I just got another level.”
‘Is it like having an orgasm? Because that’s what it looks like.”
“Actually… yeah,” I told him as I exhaled audibly. “You could call it that. And this would have been your level had you killed the kobold.”
“I’m still on the fence about killing things…”
“For fuck’s sake, Clovis. Just… give me a second. Let me see what kind of goodies I got this time around.”
The prompts started up, the announcer’s voice reading them in my head.
Points!
You have gained a level. Welcome, Fresh Meat!
You have no skill points to assign at this time, sorry!
You will receive access to skills when you reach level three.
You will be able to select your first class at level five.
Race: Human
Name: Randy Lionheart
Level: 2
Tier: Fresh Meat
HP: 14/14
MP: 0/0
Intelligence: 9
Perception: 7
Stamina: 6
Strength: 9
Dexterity: 12
Defense: 4
Stealth: 2
Health Regen: 10% per hour
MP Regen: 20% per hour
Skill Points: 0
Armor: Basic Gnome Wear
Weapons: Axl Rose
Accessories: N/A
“Did you hear that voice?” I asked Clovis. “Sort of like a game show host, not Steve Harvey, someone way more generic than that but definitely appropriate for a long career on the Game Show Network.”
“So… you’re hearing two voices now?”
“No, it’s not like that. You need to start listening to the voice in your head, it’s your AI, I promise you. I named mine Lily.”
“I’m pretty sure hearing more than one voice and naming them is a sign of further mental decay, but I could be wrong.” Clovis hovered over to the kobold, as if he wanted to prod him. “Can I… keep his sword?”
“It’ll register in your inventory list as a Sword Token. Wait. How are you going to use his sword? You don’t have hands.”
“That doesn’t make you any better than me.”
“I didn’t imply that.”
The sword disappeared. “Hey, I have an inventory list!”
“Yeah, I already told you that…”
“Oh, great. And now a voice is explaining how to use it.” A wave of turquoise energy rolled from Clovis’ outer spine to his inner pages.
I nearly reached out for him. “Are… are you okay?”
“I think. I was trying to ignore the voice and instead I did some magic. I think that was magic.”
“Looked like magic to me,” I wiped some of the blood from my face onto my sleeve. “well, I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry. And I really would like to clean this blood off.” I looked to the tree line and noticed something I hadn’t seen before. There were a few pillars of smoke rising above the foliage, and they looked to be less than half a mile away. “Let’s see what that smoke is all about. Maybe it’s a village and if that’s the case,” I winked at Clovis, “it’s time for the two of us to do some shopping.”
“You have actual money?”
I laughed like the Monopoly man or Jeff Bezos when he checks his bank account. “Do I have money? Just you wait, Clovis, just you wait.”
“What about the blood on your face? It does make you look pretty tough, I’ll admit.”
“I should probably clean more of it off.”
Clovis turned back to the kobold and tilted down toward it. “You could use his underwear.”
I took one look at the kobold’s loincloth. “I’m one step ahead of you. This goes without saying, but don’t tell anyone about this.”
Clovis shifted back toward me. “About killing the kobold, or using its loincloth to wipe the blood away?”
“Both. I’m going to say both.”
