I run.
I break a fallen branch with one step, kick up a spread of pebbles with the next, feel one sweet step of soft, mossy loam, then kick into a sturdy log. It counters by tripping me face-first into the leaves pooled about my legs. Even the logs are overpowered, I note.
And ffth-ffth-fth—three arrows soar past my head to join me in the dirt. I spring up and back into a desperate sprint as a fourth and fifth whiz by, and…? No sixth-
A sixth hits my back. It doesn’t hurt.
If there’s something iffy about the game’s feedback system, I can’t yet tell for sure. I have the cool ambience of the forest to absorb—I’m immersed in an unwieldy body, reeling between gnarled fantasy trees—I’m distracted. I might be having a blast if I didn’t find myself at a severe disadvantage against the things chasing me. And I have no idea where in this world Ad is.
Being likely one of few players in the forest, I seize a rare opportunity to freely yell without embarrassment. I think maybe she’ll find me if I do, and I’m honestly just frustrated, enough not to care about attracting more monsters.
“This game sucks!”
But my stomach drops another inch when I hear it; the voice that echoes is my own. Until now the mounting weirdness has been excusable as launch day bugginess or just plain unforgiving design, but to hear my UM voice in-game? Petty disappointment masks my uneasiness. My character’s custom voice, maximally pitched down, was a crucial part of his build—I was looking forward to spooking Ad with it and then walking around town goofily greeting serious-looking players (tryhards?). I slow to a tramp as my thoughts race, but the many sensations competing for my attention quickly sober me.
My health points show that I’ve taken another arrow. So, after a few more wary steps, I decide to cut my losses and turn to confront my pursuers: two smiling speckled canines standing on their hind legs and dressed as bowmen: Gnolls, lvl 2 monsters. After closing most of the remaining distance between us, they unequip their bows and stalk up to me. Drool dangles from their jowls. Apparently I’m not worth wasting more arrows on. Or they’re just that hungry? Neither case is particularly comforting.
I curse my weapon choice and fumble a war hammer off of my back. With no automatic motions or grip to rely on, I’ll just have to do my best to hit with the head of the weapon, however gracelessly. Should’ve bitten the bullet and gone with a sword.
Video games, honestly, never scare me—but inside VR, the once stark division between game and reality is dissolved to a gradient of feeling, and so anxiety holds me staring at these monsters for a moment before I can act.
“I’ll… hit you,” I warn. Stupidly.
One gnoll lunges forward with fangs bared and claws raised while the other laughs like a hyena. Meanwhile, my awkward batter up pose wilts under the weight of my hammer. A paw plunges against the handle, staggering and almost disarming me, so I shift to an instinctive, probably ineffective defensive stance.
The handle takes three, more, blows. Phew. One of my passive skills is proving useful.
Despite having successfully blocked this flurry of attacks, I’ve still taken damage—the yellow of my health bar splintered away to red as the attacking gnoll drove me backward. My heels shovel into the soil and my balance falters, just as the second gnoll weaves into the fray. No way am I this bad, I think. It’s already time for my last resort. Or, at least, the one active skill I understand how to use.
Second Wind:
Restores (40) HP on use and gives a temporary increase to all stats (dependent on user level)
Activation time: Instant
Duration: One minute
Cooldown: One hour
The feedback of the intuitive menu—a sort of mental click—signals the success of my last-second skill activation, and a warmth washes over my body that reinvigorates me.
I steady. My rebounded health cushions a jab to the side from the second gnoll. And then, for the first time, I strike with my hammer. Its head's sharp backend prods the chest of my attacker and draws a splash of blood, dealing…
7 dmg
I backpedal to put a few moments’ distance between us. After taking a direct hit to gain that opening, I only dealt a sliver of damage to a single gnoll.
“This game is broken,” I say. As if the monsters can understand me and will, in agreement, relent.
Maybe I’m neglecting one or a few of the battle mechanics. No, of course I am. After I’d constructed my masterpiece of a character and entered Last Advent proper, the central spawn location was grayed out on the map, so I opted to spawn at a certain Forest Hideout. I assumed it would be a smaller hub complete with shops, a tutorial quest-giver, other players—and that I’d find my sister there, too, since we logged on at about the same time.
The gnolls cackle, their eyes glowing yellow in the shade of layers of broad leaves overhead.
Fireflies dance beneath the forest canopy, and a noon sun glitters like a gold coin way, way up.
Yeah, yeah, I’m trying to think. Long story short, I actually spawned in an abandoned treehouse in the middle of a hostile zone. With no time to get a feel for my clumsy avatar or the game mechanics aside from my first five minutes-or-so exploring, I blundered into and through combat up to this moment with only what I knew about the game before playing to-
Claws break the surface of my belly and comb through for 20 dmg. A gnoll approached and struck me in one swift motion.
“Ghh, ah.” That definitely kind of hurts.
The pain is as dull as any sensation in VR, but alarmingly detailed? So the sight of a pouncing second gnoll stuns me. Figuratively, that is—no status effect.
Well. Dying might be my quickest route to Ad, wherever she is. But too late I consider that she might be in a similar situation, with even less knowledge of the game to lean on. Am I just going to wait for her to be mauled and respawn, too?
Not if it feels like this. But presently I can do nothing. My poor, hilarious avatar crumples against the ground, and I try to focus on the lights dancing far above rather than the teeth aimed for my neck… She’ll log out if it gets too bad, but I’m gonna have to apologize for roping her into playing.
Then I see a sword flash from the gloom.
A shield bashes against the face of my prospective killer, sends it careening toward its partner. The resulting collision dizzies the two and deals a bite of damage to each, and before they can respond, the sword is upon them; it zig-zags up and across the two at a merciless pace, tearing up swaths of fleece crowned with damage values. I hear yelp, scrape, and splatter as the sword shines neon violet then blue then violet again, but in the next second a dire growl rises up that promises a bout will follow.
I should be shocked, transfixed by this development, but even more unexpected is my relief and the fatigue that it gives way to. It’s humid, I think, of all things. I haven’t been too focused on the climate of the forest during my flight, but I’m acutely aware of it now, at… 32 HP? In the yellow, so more than I guessed, but that bite attack probably would’ve done me in. So why do I feel so out of sorts? Maybe because of all the
blood.
“Oh,” I
look down at my stomach.
Oh. I
quickly look back up.
I’ve had this sinking feeling only one other time in my life and that was in the real world.
There are legal restrictions on what virtual reality media—especially commercial stuff—can contain, because brain-machine interface VR is so immersive. Generally, “disturbing or severely distressing” content is not allowed in VR. Gore, in particular, is taboo because of how likely it is to traumatize or recall trauma. So-called snuff media is rare, always independently and secretly developed, and tends to be quickly shut down by the law. I’ve explored a pretty large variety of media since getting my license, and the most violent game I’ve yet played is a fishing and hunting sim.
So for Last Advent, an Adventure Framework game developed and hosted by VRM giant Mimmisoft, to show my character’s insides—with this level of detail… is just inexplicable. Especially considering all the skepticism about the game’s roots. My horrible, worst-case suspicions are all but confirmed.
I have to find Adelaide.
While I organize my thoughts and attempt to compose myself, the interloper who saved my skin stands panting beside the remains of the gnolls. Their waist-length hair falls between a sword and a shield held in repose. What armor I can see on them resembles my own starter outfit, a roughspun tunic padded stingily with leather; another player saved me. The tag above their head reads,
MercuryPoisonin
which I, in my state of confusion, murmur aloud.
The figure spins around as if roused from a daze and shows a wearied face. It’s the face of a young woman, as far as I can tell—soft, even in vexation, its expression veneered by a youthful glow and gray irises like sunlit storm clouds. Pointed ears jut out beside angular cheekbones. All this contrasts with the player’s clothes, focal because stained red with gnoll blood…
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
She breaks our shared silence. “Um… Fee, fi,” she reads my name in turn.
I can see it above my status window: my character’s name,
FeeFiFoFum
“Uhh,” I interrupt, pointing sheepishly at myself, “It’s like, ahem, ‘Fee, fi, fo, fum. I smell the blood of an Englishman.’” I have to lower my voice to get close to the desired effect, and I guess my model isn’t as I designed, either.
“...” Her furrowed brows rise in wonder, and I think she’s stifling laughter. “I see,” she says.
I’m not exactly a giant in real life, and assuming Last Advent is showing players’ universal models, my character’s height must be true to my stature. And I’m still on the ground. So she doesn’t really see.
A flask of cherry red liquid falls on my lap. Its resemblance to blood is nauseating.
“That’ll clean you up a bit—if you drink it, I mean. Don’t spill it,” MercuryPoisonin says. She’s facing away from me now, and after removing another flask from her inventory, seems to act counter to her own advice, as I hear a splash.
Without taking another look at my wound, I gulp the potion down. It’s cold, sweet, mildly acidic—it tastes like a sports drink. And crucially, it heals me for 30 HP. This plus the slow trickle of my passive healing should bring me back to full soon enough. My pain subsides, and my body repairs itself, accompanied by a sensation uncomfortable in its own right. But I still have blood and dirt all over my torn clothes.
When I turn my attention back to Mercury, I’m shocked to see she’s started a fire on a level patch of ground, with a few hunks of chopped wood as fuel and twigs as tinder. That was fast.
“This is the easiest way to clean your clothes,” she says, and removes yet another flask from her inventory and holds it out so I can see. It’s full of water. Oh. Evidently, she doused her tunic with water in order to wash out the blood and is using the fire to dry it. After maybe ten more seconds have passed, she turns back toward me with a much cleaner tunic. “It eats up some durability, but, I think it’s worth it.” She then sets the water at her feet, near the fire, and pockets the rest of her things. “You can keep the flasks, just put out the fire. When you’re done.”
And with that, and maybe a fleeting look of regret, she turns away and strides off.
“…”
“H-what?” I stammer. “What? W-wait, wait!” I stumble behind her, almost trip over another log. She doesn’t stop or slow.
“Why just ‘MercuryPoisonin?’ Is it supposed to be read with an accent?”
She stops in her tracks. Not the question she was expecting. Or I.
I clear my throat and say, “Merk-yuh-ree Pois’nin.”
A pause. I can’t see her expression. She says, “The ‘g’ is implied. I hit the character limit.” And continues walking, this time more slowly.
“Have you seen anyone else around here recently?” Worry tinges my voice now as I try to keep pace. “A girl who looks like me, maybe?”
Mercury shakes her head.
“Alright… How did you do that thing with your sword earlier?”
“Someone taught me. But, oh, if you mean pulse… you just sort of let your heartbeat resonate, through your weapon.” Sounds easy.
A couple of my skills mention pulse, but they give no instructions on how to use it. But I guess I can feel my character’s heartbeat. In fact, I remember feeling it all through my encounter with the gnolls.
“Which way to the starter town?” (Players have to fill in their maps by exploring or purchasing maps from players with the cartography trade. Cartographers can reproduce their maps’ basic outlines, at first, and can share increasingly detailed maps with landmarks etc. as they level up.)
“Umm.” After a moment of thought, she points somewhere uphill with no sign of a road or path. Dark coniferous trees spring up through the deepening woods. “That way, I think.”
“How are you so good at this game already? Have you been playing all day? Or you must have been a tester … ”
No response but the crunch of leaves underfoot.
“Pretty realistic graphics, huh … ”
Maybe the faintest hum of agreement.
“Is Last Advent a-”
She stops again and whips around, her hair flailing in kind. I expect her to look agitated, but she seems downright upset. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. Please, stop following me.”
“-”
She makes momentary eye contact then turns away. “Go the way I pointed and you’ll find Losthearth. Anyone who’s not a complete idiot spawned there.” And once again she starts off without a goodbye.
Anyone who’s not a complete idiot!?
At a loss, I oblige and stop and clench my fists, and a million more questions swirl around my head that I give no voice to. Anything more would be a mutual waste of time, and, maybe, rude.
“Okay, then, fellow idiot. Thanks a lot!”
I go back to the dying fire and swig down the whole bottle of water.
——
The gnoll cadavers haven’t despawned, and my menu shows that they haven’t been looted—so, fighting the unpleasant stench that shrouds them and with eyes mostly averted, I get up close and click to search. Each holds a few arrows—useless to me—and also a few gold pieces. One has a gnoll pelt. I take everything. The armor and weapons aren’t lootable, a shame since I thought they might sell for a bit.
I should try logging out. I should just log out right now. The thought crosses and crosses my mind; I check my Mimmisoft system menu for messages
[Inbox] No new messages.
and confirm the presence of a [Log Out] button, but a couple of things keep me from trying it.
First, I still have some doubts about the gravity of the situation, mainly because MercuryPoisonin seemed to have a custom avatar. My initial worry was that I’ve had my universal model revealed, an unusual privacy breach. It’s far likelier that my UM replacing my avatar is a client-side glitch; I might’ve misread Mercury’s response to my introduction, and I can’t know until I've found other players with the same issue.
Secondly, in the worst case, I think I should prioritize finding my sister and getting us to safety, or at least the safest place in-game. If I try to log out to no avail, I can see myself trying repeatedly and panicking, wasting precious time. Conversely, if I’m able to log out without issue, then I know I needn’t rush to do so.
As for the blood—I have no idea.
This all is at least how I justify my first (unofficial) quest, for the town of Losthearth. Before I set out, I decide at least to check the global and local chats for pertinent announcements.
~ Chat/server ~
Server: Welcome to the world of Last Advent!
Celebrate the Launch Week event in Losthearth Square
and collect a free starter loot chest!
Free drinks are available at the Monkey’s Paw Inn for
the duration of the event.
Happy adventuring! Hoo hoo hoo —
:grinning_mizaru:
I read this announcement when I first joined the server. It concludes with an emoticon depicting the game’s mascot, Mizaru, a grinning monkey with hand-covered eyes. Seems innocent enough, and the reminder about the free gear waiting in town is welcome.
~ Chat/local ~
FeeFiFoFum shouts, “This sucks!”
MercuryPoisonin: :zipper_mouth_face:
FeeFiFoFum shouts, “Thanks a lot!”
Huh. I didn’t expect to find anything in the local chat, and I know for sure I didn’t send any messages via the intuitive menu; but the messages attributed to me did come out of my mouth. So the game auto-generates messages when players shout.
Fittingly perplexing is Mercury’s message: an emoticon with a zipped-up mouth. Did she try to tell me to keep it down earlier so I wouldn’t attract more enemies? Or maybe this was her way of telling me to shut up as I berated her with questions. Since the messages aren’t accompanied by times, I can’t tell when she sent hers between my two shouts. Hm.
Whatever. Might be good to check my skills and stats again before I go.
I would do so if I didn't see another monster—a big sullen bird like a raven or vulture has perched on a branch arching over me and the gnolls. I didn’t notice its approach. Its feathers are jet black and it sits totally still; it looks like a shadow amid the scattered sunlight.
The last puffs of smoke from the fire obscure the monster’s info window, but slowly backing up I can make out, lvl 5.
So I continue backing up, and its stony gaze doesn’t leave me until I’m far away, and I don’t turn my back to it until I’m sure the gnolls have its interest secured.
Then, again, I run.
The land is actually less crowded with trees as it slopes up and, thankfully, populated with fewer monsters too. My mind relaxes against the dreamy visuals. For stretches, a palette of leaves from lime-green to russet paints the forest canopy, and the sky shines blue through the gaps. A deep breath brings in a nostalgic scent of pine from scattered evergreens alongside the musk of moldering leaves.
I confirm that my stamina is somewhat limited while climbing a steeper, rockier area—stamina is probably a hidden stat, not indicated by a value or bar but felt. A short rest is enough for me to regain my energy between uphill bursts and happy sprints across leveler areas, and although my body is clumsy, I’m getting comfortable with the rhythm with which my stamina surges and ebbs.
I hop over brooks.
I sigh in the shade of a red maple.
Here, and there, I see a movement or hear a cry, and speed off to avoid an encounter.
I come upon a mossy ruin and struggle not to stop to examine the runes I see inscribed on its bricks.
I neglect glades and grottos that look like quest locations, and I gather up none of the colorful herbs or fungi I pass, which beckon me to stay and explore.
Eventually I reach an anticipated overlook and my little romp is truncated.
It’s not as if the view is dispiriting. It’s an awesome, breathtaking view, and its scope makes the forest I’ve hiked through seem tiny in retrospect.
Down below, the colorful roofs of Losthearth’s buildings complement the, lushness of the surrounding valley and the… azure of the open sky, and on the horizon a jagged range of mountains stands, faint and proud as a daytime moon? That’s how I might narrate the scene to my party of Tabletop players.
But my brain is exhausted from searching and reaching for descriptors and explanations, and I know this beautiful mess is too artificial to merit any more of them. I need only the intrusive “intuitive” menu and status windows to remind me and to draw out my latent worries. My journey has recalled some precious and some painful memories, has excited a morbid fantasy; the game has tricked me into believing it’s a world, one worth exploring and investigating. I know it’s not really worth the effort.
I don’t wanna waste any more time here.
I’ve been so engrossed. What kind of fantasy have I been acting out, pretending I need to go save my sister? It’s a game.
[Log Out] <=
I’ll message Adelaide from the Mimmisoft nexus and tell her I got bored while looking for her, and that I’m sorry I picked such a dud for us to play. She probably already quit, too, so we can just meet up in my nexus room and figure out something else to do or… No, I’m sure she’ll just chew me out for this and log off. So much for reconnecting. I don’t plan on bringing up my weird encounter with another player or the blood and high stakes I’ve fantasized. As soon as the static and fuzz clear I’ll forget about this, another botched release of a VRMMO—one developed in poor taste—and find some other distraction if I really need one. And I can just enjoy playing alone.
End of story.