Booth didn’t awaken directly into his body. His vision floated high above a sweeping landscape of forested green shot through with ribbons of flowing blue rivers. A city sprawled along a cliff overlooking a larger expanse of water. His camera view descended but veered off before it reached the city, lowering instead toward a terraced mound just outside. Sturdy-looking buildings squatted among organized blocks of growing things, everything from corn and beans to swathes of blooming flowers.
It all felt very familiar. Booth recognized the location as the temple grounds or training barracks he’d seen on the Class tab during character creation. But it felt somehow deeper than just having seen a picture of the place.
You have spent the last several years of your life at Voshell's Bounty, living and training as a Tilier. You have worked hard and done your best, but only time will tell how well your lessons have been learned.
Games tended toward frequent and melodramatic pronouncements like that last. Booth had spent years ignoring them while he charged directly toward end game. Now, he wondered if he should be concerned about how ominous it sounded.
The camera swept through an overhead tour of Voshell’s Bounty’s terraced rise. Flights of stone steps climbed between layers of fields and gardens filled with common-looking crops and trees and flowers.
Some appeared less at home and had maybe come from more distant places. All were caught in the transition between lush summer green and the amber and russet of harvest time. Grain bowed the tops of tall grasses, and seed pods swelled to bursting.
Scattered between gardens, hothouses held the rich jungle greens and deep jeweled hues of the more temperamental plants. A campus of stone buildings and a training ground stood at the center of the fields.
The sweeping view homed in on a single figure standing on a stone-paved walkway in front of one of the larger buildings. The figure had red-gold hair and wore a mail shirt over a leather shirt and brown trousers. He wore a flail on his hip, and on his back rode a heater-style shield featuring a wheat sheaf painted in its center field.
A Tilier.
And then, as the camera swooped closer Booth realized it wasn’t just a Tilier.
It’s me. That’s my avatar.
He took a greater interest in the avatar’s gear, now realizing it would be his gear. Nothing surprised him—chain mail armor, shield, weapon. The one he’d been provided was a flail, basically a stick with a chain and a spiked ball at its end. That wasn’t a usual option in most games.
A flail is a common weapon for a farmer turned soldier. What began life as an instrument for threshing grain has been transformed into a tool used to protect the people and their fields.
That made perfect sense. The flail in Booth’s possession was fully metal, save for a leather wrapping around the hilt, definitely made to be used as a weapon and not for separating grain from chaff. He wondered how it would feel when he swung it.
The camera view curled around behind the Booth’s avatar and settled into place behind his eyes.
Air as crisp as apples blew Booth’s hair into his face as he settled into his body. Early autumn sunlight dazzled his vision. Clatters and cries from the training yard echoed between the stout buildings clustered at the center of the terraced mound’s flat top.
Today, you will report to the Administrator of Voshell’s Bounty for your first quest as a newly-dubbed Tilier.
The building his avatar had been pointed toward before his consciousness was dropped into it was taller than the others and looked more… officious?
The chapter house of Voshell’s Bounty lies before you. Administrator Mias Anonche awaits your arrival.
“All right, then,” Booth murmured.
He was mildly startled when his voice spilled from his mouth, unlike in the tutorial when he’d been unable to truly speak. He thought for a second and then tested his ability to speak once more.
“Uh?” he said.
The air thickened as it had during combat turns. Clattering weapons and nearby voices fell silent. Rather than a simple floating text message, a full box akin to the opening EULA boxes popped open in front of Booth.
[WARNING: Redemption Wars hosts many Player Characters (PCs). To ensure an immersive experience for all, the System makes use of an In Character Public Behavior Requirement. No Player will be required to participate in role-playing beyond their comfort level. However, all Out of Character communications are prohibited. No reference to any world or life beyond the lore of Redemption Wars is allowed. Your behavior will be monitored. If such communications are detected by Non Player Characters (NPCs) or other Agents of the System, you will be warned. A preponderance of warnings may result in your expulsion from the game.]
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Booth stood there with his mouth hanging open while he processed all that. He’d never been into the whole roleplaying scene, although Will and Elias had assured him it was a lot of fun and not at all weird. His enjoyment of MMOs stemmed from hanging out with his friends. Pretending to be other people seemed antithetical to the entire purpose of that.
He suffered a sudden fear that everyone in this world would be speaking in Old English or accents or maybe even made-up languages, which meant he and his oh-so-intelligent “Uh?” weren’t going to get very far.
You’re overreacting. Relax.
He’d just been through the Origin tutorial. The baker and the kids hadn’t talked funny. This policy was probably more about preventing people from dragging real life politics and other controversial stuff into what was supposed to be an escape. All Booth had to do was not say anything that pointed back to his life before this game.
And who wants to be thinking about that, anyhow? Let yourself forget about it.
The predictable twinge of guilt felt less than it had previously. Booth wasn’t sure that made him feel any better, but maybe it was healthy.
The warning box lingered in front of Booth. The button at the bottom read, “I Understand.” He nodded to accept and dismiss the text box.
And promptly couldn’t remember what he’d been supposed to do. Go see someone at the big building in front of him?
Quest log, maybe?
He stood there for a few more minutes, trying to look casual and not at all like he’d gone crazy. After some experimentation, he discovered that by shifting his attention to the edges of his vision without moving his head, he could pull up assorted screens based on what spot exactly he focused on. He briefly revisited his character sheet with stats and abilities and took note of a codex which seemed to be filling out based on things his narrator told him about people and places.
And a map—that would be handy. At the moment it was limited to his little starter area, Voshell’s Bounty. But it confirmed that the building in front of him was the chapter house, location of one Administrator Mias Anonche.
Which is who I’m supposed to see.
There didn’t seem to be an inventory window with the predictable paper doll of his character and slots he could use for gear. That didn’t seem like a big deal—he was wearing what he was wearing, just as if this was real life. The contents of his backpack would be the actual contents of his backpack.
He also couldn’t find an actual quest log.
Better start paying better attention to what I’m supposed to be doing, then.
Booth closed his open windows and headed for the chapter house. His armor and shield clanked in a very satisfying way as he walked. The door’s surface felt sun-warmed and heavy as he shoved it open.
“Conveniently enough, one of our Tiliers will be traveling that direction tomorrow.”
Squinting from the dazzle of the autumn sky outside, Booth stepped into the chapter house and stopped just inside. Hinges closed silently but the latch clicked behind him. From the back of the room drifted the scratch of quills on parchment.
Light seeped into the stone building’s interior through high-set windows. Standing in one square of sun was a man probably a few years older than Booth. Golden hair framed a face pale from either illness or perhaps just not enough sunlight. The man wore soft leather boots and a long, expensive-looking coat of forest green.
In front of the man stood a squat woman whose face bore the permanent creases of many smiles. In her robes of gold and brown, she looked so stereotypically like a priest of an earth goddess that Booth assumed she was Administrator Anonche.
Both Anonche and the stranger turned their heads and looked at Booth. Anonche smiled. The stranger did not. He glanced toward the room’s corner near Booth.
With a start, Booth realized a third figure stood in the shadows very close to him. She was tall and wore chestnut brown leathers and a russet-colored cloak. Multi-colored beads glinted in long auburn braids, winking with reflected light as she turned her head to also look at Booth. The long sheath of a greatsword hung over her shoulder. A simple, cloth-wrapped hilt protruded from the sheath’s end.
As tall as Booth, the woman stared directly into his eyes. Like the golden-haired man, she didn’t smile. Booth didn’t hear any dice rolling but he felt the swordswoman’s appraisal like a beam of strong sunlight on a summer’s day. Instinctively, he held her gaze instead of looking away. Only after she broke the stare and gave the slightest tip of her head to the man with Anonche did Booth consciously recognize she’d been testing him.
Having just been forcibly warned about not outwardly showing signs of being a PC rather than just blending into the world, he was also reminded that Redemption Wars was, after all, an MMO. He was guaranteed to run into other players at some point. But if everyone’s game was customized to the extent Booth’s had been, and if there were no NPCs hanging out with exclamation points over their heads handing out cookie cutter quests so that everyone was pursuing the exact same goals, that would make it harder to know who was PC and who was NPC.
Is she this guy’s NPC companion bodyguard? Or is she a PC? Is guarding him a part of her PC quest, and he’s the NPC?
“Ah, Booth. Impeccable timing.” Anonche waved Booth forward. “If you’re prepared to leave as early as tomorrow morn, Lord Chanford—”
“There’s no ‘lord.’ I bear no title. And yes, I am.”
Tearing his gaze from the swordswoman and his mind from its circular arguments, Booth obeyed Anonche’s gestured instruction, looking over the blond-haired man more closely as he approached. Noble breeding would explain the rich clothing. Closer now, Booth caught a scent like dust and paper mingled with a musky cologne.
[You rolled 13 for Lore.]
Chanford Falls is a city to Diairm’s north, smaller but with a history which stretches back nearly as far. This man claims he is not a lord, but his surname suggests he is of the noble family line of Chanford Falls.
By now, Chanford had turned his full attention to Anonche and didn’t so much as glance at Booth or otherwise acknowledge him.
“Tilier Greenfield here is going as far as Traton,” Anonche said.
Traton—that was the village Booth had come from. Where his character had come from, at least. Location of the Origin tutorial. Site of his near doom.
I’m going back?