> [You have been healed 11 Points]
>
> [You are at full health]
I can see the writing even with my eyes closed.
I groan. “Are comas supposed to hurt this bad?”
There’s an anxious chuckle from somewhere above me, and I hear that low, gentle voice say, “You were only knocked unconscious.”
“No, I’m pretty sure I was at zero hit points there for a minute.” My arms are heavy as I bring my hands up to cover my face. The movement makes me dizzy even though I haven’t even opened my eyes yet. I really don’t want to. This doesn’t feel like a hospital bed, and my companion doesn’t sound like a doctor. I hear murmuring, footsteps, and then a door opening and closing. I don’t bother to look. “Did we win?”
“The cultists were defeated,” he confirms. I try to remember his name. Flynt, wasn’t it? “I don’t know if it’s a win or if ‘we’ necessarily did anything.”
“Hey. I hit that one guy. Kinda.”
He chuckles again, that nervous edge still there. “That’s fair. Though, you know, if you’re going to do this whole adventuring thing, there’s more to it than looking the part.”
“That’s harsh,” I mutter. “I told you. I’m new to this.”
“I thought it might have been false modesty.”
“Clearly not.” I open my eyes and look at him. Flynt sits in a simple chair near the bed, his arms folded across his chest, his mouth pulled into a tight line, and his forehead knit. There’s some blood on his shirt.
“Is that blood mine?” I’m right in the Venn diagram overlap of horrified, appalled, and grossed out.
He glances at it and shrugs. “I’ll tell you, it’s not mine.” I cringe at that, which makes me dizzy again, and I stare up at the ceiling, thankful to be lying down. It’s not a hospital bed, but it is, at least, a bed. “It’s not a big deal.” His tone and face softening. “A little spell, it’ll come right out.”
“I’ll take your word on that.” It feels weird to be there in a bed with a man I just met watching over me like this, but my body really doesn’t want to get up right now. Everything aches, though at least I’m alive, which frankly raises a whole bunch of questions.
If this is a coma dream, why aren’t I a certifiable badass? Why am I, instead, an elf chick with a bow I can barely use and all of maybe eleven hit points?
Can I actually die in this dream? What happens if I do? Do I die die? Do I wake up?
And how can I be sure this is a coma dream? Yeah, that’s the most logical explanation, but what if it isn’t the right one? What if the earthquake set off some weird sci-fi chain reaction that caused the Incite to actually transfer me into some alternative reality where the Experience is real life?
No. That’s just too absurd. That doesn’t actually happen. Portal fantasies aren’t real.
Right?
“Who were those people?” I ask, trying to push all that to the back of my mind. “The ones who attacked us.”
“The city watch were saying they were part of a dragon cult.”
“Seriously?” I ask. “Oh, man. I really want to log off.”
“I don’t know what that means,” he says. His voice has a very light western drawl to it, especially as he seems to relax a little. “I’m glad you’re okay. I’d’ve felt bad if I’d talked you into it and you got killed.”
“You didn’t talk me into it.”
“I kinda did.”
“Well. Maybe a little. But you didn’t have to work very hard.”
“Okay, that’s fair.” He clears his throat and stands, setting the chair back against the wall. “Do you have anyone?”
“What do you mean?”
“Anyone I could contact for you?”
“I’m… no. I’m alone here.”
He nods at that, pausing a moment. Then he seems to make a decision and clears his throat with a subtle nod. “Okay. I’ll be down in the tavern with the others. You should join if you feel up to it. We’re celebrating.”
“Why?” I ask. “I mean, why invite me? I’m a stranger.”
“Because it’s a good way not to be strangers anymore.” He offers me a small grin, which creases his eyes, giving his face a little age, and he moves toward the door of the small room. “We left your bag and weapons on the dresser. Nyssa, the tavern keeper, says the room is yours if you need it. First night is on the house.”
“Why?”
He shrugs again. “She owed me a favor.”
I pause a minute. “Flynt. Not to sound ungrateful, but seriously— why’re you being so nice to me?”
“Why not?” he asks. “Come down when you feel up to it. We’ll be here for a while.”
“Okay. I will soon.”
He nods and closes the door behind him when he leaves.
I stare up at the plaster ceiling. Shadows reflect there as the setting sun streams in through the tree branches outside the small window. I wonder how long I was out, though I guess I don’t know what time it was when I first… what? Arrived?
The bed is a little wider than twin-sized, though long enough that my feet don’t hang off the end, which is nice. The mattress is a little lumpy, but I guess you can’t really turn your nose up at a free bed when you were just at zero hit points. The quilt is soft and clearly handmade from a craftsperson who knows their business. A crocheted blanket has been tossed over me. I’m still wearing my clothes, though not my boots, which are propped up against the wall by the door. Across from the door is the small dresser, atop which sits my bag, bow, and quiver, just as Flynt promised. There’s also a bowl and pitcher, which I assume are to clean up, though it doesn’t seem like there’s any blood on me. Magical effects, maybe? I resolve to chalk everything I don’t understand up to magic. It’ll probably be easier than trying to logic anything my subconscious throws at me.
There’s a comfortable utility to the room. It vaguely reminds me of a bed and breakfast I stayed at once in the English Lake District, though more in spirit than in specifics.
“Menu,” I say out loud. If there is some kind of game interface in my head, maybe I can access it and figure out some answers.
There’s a brief pause, then an overlay blinks up in my vision. I didn’t really expect that to work, so it startles me. I can still see the room, but a small, shaded box displays information in a semi-circle to the right-hand side:
> [Personal Status]
>
> The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
>
> [Squad Status]
>
> [Inventory]
>
> [Equipment]
>
> [Journal]
>
> [Achievements (1)]
>
> [Map (Locked)]
Let’s take a look at the [Personal Status] first.
Before I can say anything, the image blinks briefly and new information comes up in the box in front of my eyes. All right then. Direct brainwave interface. Creepy, but efficient.
All the while, I’m warring with myself. None of this makes sense as reality, and yet, I can’t believe my subconscious would come up with this set-up. I mean, yeah, sure, I game. I have three consoles, a current-gen handheld, a PC tower, and a gaming laptop. It’s something I do and, sometimes, it’s something I do a lot. But I do it a lot in spurts, and I’ve been in a dry period for months now. This format wouldn’t be top of mind for me. Why, then, would it be the layout of my coma dream? Is it just because of the Experience set-up?
I force myself to focus on the screen…
> [Keira, Hunter Elf: Urban Ranger]
>
> [Level: 1]
>
> [Reputation: Stranger]
>
> [Defense: 12]
>
> [Hit Points: 11 / 11]
>
> [Experience: 15 / 300]
>
> [Stamina: 100 / 100]
>
> [Essence: 0 / 0]
>
> [Stats]
>
> [Abilities Menu]
>
> [Skills Menu [Unlocked]]
Oh, hey. I got some experience points. Woot.
Hm. What are the [Skills]?
Another brief flicker, and new information comes up. It looks a lot like the [Abilities] menu from character creation, though this has 10 items, several of which are noted as [Locked]. Each entry has a series of ten boxes next to it. Only one of them has anything filled in: [Long Bow].
> [Skills [?] 2 Points Remaining]
>
> [Long Bow, 1 of 10]
>
> [Locked Skill]
>
> [Locked Skill]
>
> [Dagger, 0 of 10]
>
> [Light Armor, 0 of 10]
>
> [Locked Skill]
>
> [Ranger, 0 of 10]
>
> [Locked Skill]
>
> [Locked Skill]
>
> [Locked Skill]
I frown and the question mark illuminates briefly before another window pops up.
> [Skills. Knowledge or talents that enable you to accomplish tasks. Some skills may be locked until prerequisite skills are sufficiently leveled, or you obtain the necessary ranks in associated stats or abilities. More skills may be added when you advance as experiences dictate. Skill points may be earned by leveling up or may be trained with an appropriate mentor.]
I think the information window closed and focus on the basic skills tree.
That one point in [Long Bow] must mean I can use it, but it doesn’t seem like I can do a lot of damage. What I don’t know, though, is if another point there will increase damage or if it will just increase my likelihood to hit. Same with the others. And what would [Ranger] even do? Class skills are always a little iffy. Unfortunately, no window pops up to explain it.
It’s unclear how long I stare at it debating my 2 unallocated points, but I find that unlike the [Abilities], a rank here is one to one. I end up putting one point in [Long Bow] and the other in [Light Armor], hoping that’ll give me the ability to at least wear it. I’m obviously super squishy, and some armor should help—at least a little.
[Menu], I think.
> [Apply skills allocation? You cannot undo this action.]
Oh. So now it prompts. Yes.
Next, I pull up [Inventory].
> [Inventory]
>
> [1 Red Elixir of Health, Basic]
>
> [1 Green Elixir of Stamina, Basic]
>
> [1 Blue Elixir of Essence, Basic]
>
> [1 Cloak of Dragon Scales, Legendary]
>
> [1 Endless Journal, Basic]
>
> [1 Endless Ink Pen, Basic]
>
> [1 Deck Playing Cards, Mundane]
>
> [1 Pewter Mug, Mundane]
>
> [2 Lesser Enchanting Stones, Basic]
>
> [1 Medium Coin Pouch, Mundane]
>
> [5 Gold Pieces]
>
> [5 Silver Pieces]
>
> [5 Copper Pieces]
>
> [1 Leather Hair Thong, Mundane]
>
> [1 Elven Hunting Dagger, Mundane]
All of it sounds a lot like what Tasha said was in my swag bag, with some interpretations, and with the addition of items that would be part of my starting kit (like my boots, which I find listed under the [Equipment] tab labeled as [Boots of Sure Footing], or the bag itself, which [Equipment] labels as an [Adventurer’s Enchanted Bag]). I suppose that quick glance to get the Incite could have been enough for my subconscious to get a sense of what was in there, though I’d have had no way to know how many coins were in that pouch. Maybe it’s my brain—
Wait. [Cloak of Dragon Scales]? [Legendary]?
I push myself to my feet, fighting the wave of dizziness as my blood pressure adjusts to the sudden movement, and I stumble over to the dresser. The bag looks exactly like it did when Tasha handed it to me except the ‘Q’ stamp is gone. I open it up and peer inside.
It’s empty.
After a momentary heart attack, I glance at [Equipment], still up to the right in my vision. [Adventurer’s Enchanted Bag, Rare]. I think I know what I’m dealing with. I dismiss the window and close my eyes, making sure to think specifically about a [Cloak of Dragon Scales] before reaching in.
The cloak must have been the hoodie in the real world. Now, it’s carefully folded fabric made of shimmering, feather-light silver scales that are soft to the touch and yet unyielding. Unfolding it, it’s long enough to come down to just past my butt if I were to drape it over my shoulders and it has a hood.
“What is a Cloak of Dragon Scales?” I murmur, and an explanation immediately pops up.
> [Cloak of Dragon Scales, Legendary Item. Imbues the wearer with the essence of the dragon from whom the scales came, granting immunity from the associated type of breath damage and the ability to cast high level spells associated with that type of damage, which will be intrinsically known by the wearer. Those spells will cost half the amount of [Essence] typically required while wearing the cloak. You must have [Skill: Magic Caster Level 5] and be able to use [Legendary] Items. You do not currently fit these parameters. You are unable to use [Cloak of Dragon Scales].]
Okay. So. That sounds like a BFD. Like a real, what would a level one noob adventurer be doing with the likes of that kind of BFD.
I fold it up and place it back in, then clutch the bag to my chest for a moment. Ian McKellan’s voice pops into my head. Keep it secret.
I don’t know why, but it definitely feels like I don’t want anyone knowing I have something like this on me. Dragons are extinct in Qeth, right? Though there are, apparently, dragon cultists. If I were a cultist worshiping extinct dragons, I would want artifacts belonging to said dragons. And I do not, personally, want to be in the sights of a dragon cult. That does not sound pleasant nor, from the ache I still feel in my ribs, conducive to long-term survival.
I don’t know if I can be killed in this dream? But I’m going to assume I can.
Especially since I’m encroaching on 40% sure that (somehow) this isn’t actually a dream.
Still clutching my adventurer’s bag, I go back to the bed and sit. I must have been magically healed, but it certainly didn’t solve everything. I still feel shitty, and I can’t imagine getting up and back into a fight feeling like this. I mean, maybe if the adrenaline were pumping or something like that, but I wouldn’t be happy about it.
That said, I am starting to feel less lightheaded and cloudy, which means I should probably go downstairs. Make some allies. Or at least, get a little more information.
So, I get up, pull on my boots, and buckle them up. There’s a key on the dresser, and I take it and my magical bag with me— though I leave my weapons behind. Adjusting my bag on my shoulder, I leave the room and lock.
The upstairs hallway of the Wide Sky Tavern and Inn is clean and wider than I expected, with the same wooden floor as the room, as well as similar plaster walls and ceiling, which are both painted a very, very light gray (or maybe it’s a dingy white? It’s hard to tell in the low light provided by the sconces). There are a few paintings on the walls, so it must be a relatively secure sort of place. A dull roar of voices floats down the hall from the stairs at the end; they must lead down to the tap room portion of the tavern.
A few of the paintings are landscapes of beautiful mountain vistas that look to have come directly out of New Zealand or Switzerland or Tibet— or somewhere else astounding like that. Other paintings are portraits, one of a raven-haired elven woman in a dark red gown, another of the same elven woman paired with a second woman with silvery hair and eyes, wearing a white cloak and pale gray gown. They seem close. Sisters? Lovers? Just really good friends? It’s hard to say from the portrait.
At the top of the stairs I pause, staring into a floor-to-ceiling mirror mounted on the wall. I barely recognize myself. It’s not that I don’t look like me, I do. I’m tall and slender if not athletic, with light olive skin, almost black hair, light gray-green eyes, and a crooked smile under a sharp, straight nose. But of course, I now have elven ears, and there’s something about how I look that feels more like an idealized version of myself. My lips are maybe a little fuller than they are in waking life, my eyes a bit bigger, and my jaw seems better defined. My hair is definitely far improved: gray-free and falling in smooth curls over my shoulders, not quite to my natural waist. I’m wearing the cream-colored tunic with gold embroidery that I wore in the holographic image pre-earthquake; it works well with the dark brown over-the-knee boots and heavy, dark suede leggings.
It all makes me look like a committed LARPer, or like an extra in a big-budget fantasy drama.
I brush a piece of hair back behind my long, pointed ear (so weird) and draw a slow, deep breath before finally descending the stairs.