“Why are there only humans in this village?” I asked Val as I searched for a vendor among the scattering of ramshackle wooden buildings. Her avatar walked next to me.

“Because only humans live here,” Val said.

“Why are they here if they don’t interact with the Players? What’s the point?”

“The people here may go months without seeing a Kurskin or a Dalari, but eventually, a Player will come upon this village in search of a quest or a place to stay the night. Maybe they simply enjoy killing innocents and slaughter everyone here. Either way, the NPCs are serving a purpose.”

“Do Quest Givers just wait around until a Player comes to help?

“No,” Val said.

“Why?” I prompted her for more information. She liked to answer my questions without much explanation, and it was starting to annoy me.

“Although the NPCs' memories are false, their current lives are very much real. They will form relationships. They will have families, and they will grow old. As an NPC goes about its life, circumstances may arise which qualify as a quest. The quest may be available for minutes, weeks, or even years. The system can turn a variety of natural occurrences into a legitimate quest. These are known as dynamic quests. Of course, there are also narrative-based quests where more…controlled NPC’s follow a preset narrative.”

“Do you know the potential outcomes of all the quests?”

“I can guess at the outcomes of pre-built narratives, however, the end result is largely determined by the Player’s actions.”

“I see. So, is Tara dynamic or prebuilt?” I couldn’t imagine an ailing Tara sitting in the same tavern night after night, hoping for an escort. That would just be cruel.

“Her’s is a dynamic quest.”

“Makes sense,” I said, letting the topic drop.

I spotted a sign on a building not far ahead. It said, “Weldon’s Wares.” That must be my vendor.

As I walked to it, I thought more about what Val had been saying. For all intents and purposes, these people were just as real as I was. Hell, they may be more real than me now that I was a Player. I was the one playing pretend.

I had one last question for Val before we entered the store. “Do the NPCs have free will?”

“The majority of the NPCs have free will. Some of the humans were dramatically altered during the creation event for story purposes. As I said earlier, the questing system is mostly fluid and organic, but there are some overarching storylines, which the system uses to bring interesting narratives into the world.”

“What kind of storylines?”

“Your king is a good example.”

“Go on.” King Constance had been ruling Vedra my entire life. He was an old man now but still mostly beloved by his people. However, his recent alliance with the Kurskins had caused dissatisfaction among some of the populace. No one liked war, even if it was to vanquish a common foe.

“When the game began, and the NPCs were brought online, the transition was seamless," Val said. "All the NPCs appeared in the world with new memories, relationships, jobs, and motivations. The same was true for your king. One day, he was a regular man, and then the next, he was King of Vedra and all its inhabitants.”

Val’s avatar gracefully navigated the wooden steps of the shop entrance before turning around. “He is an important person, the king. His alliance with the Kurskins was a reward for completing a preset quest. The king’s storyline will continue to play out, and he will provide more quests along the way to his new Kurskin compatriots. He does not have what you would call free will. His personality, desires, temperament, and even some of his thoughts are carefully controlled by the system.”

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This was complicated. And really messed up. The more I learned about the power and technology behind the Triarchy, the more hopeless I felt.

This game had been going on for months, so I had a lot of catching up to do. Hopefully, with Val around, I could level much faster than the average Player. After all, she could sense quests and lead me straight to them.

I stepped up the three rickety wooden steps to the porch of Weldon’s Ware. The door was shut but unlocked, so I pushed it open. Val’s image dissipated as I entered the store.

The inside was a tapestry of rustic, medieval living. One wall was adorned with old farming equipment – scythes, shovels, that sort of thing. The other wall had some terrifically ugly paintings hanging on hooks. Beneath them was a low shelf stacked with an assortment of random items.

Toward the back of the shop was a heavy wooden counter. A man with a thick, black beard, who I assumed was Weldon, stood behind it. I waved a hand at him. “Hello there, fine shop you have,” I said cheerfully.

He grunted through his forest of facial hair.

I looked around appreciatively. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to have a helmet around here, would you?”

He grunted again, turned around, opened a door, and closed it behind him. His customer service was a bit lacking, in my opinion.

“I guess I’ll just wait here,” I mumbled to myself.

“You should look around,” Val said. “The selection here is pathetic, but you still may find something useful. Now that you are a Player, you can inspect certain items to learn more about them, similar to how you were able to glean information about Tara. It isn’t comprehensive but can be a helpful tool.

I walked over to the wall with farming equipment and inspected a shovel.

Text appeared next to it.

Wooden Shovel

Useful for digging holes or smacking people in the head. Maximize its potential by smacking someone in the head next to a recently dug hole.

I didn’t foresee needing to dig any holes, so I moved on, hoping to find a better sword. It didn’t take long for me to give that up. The shop was small, and there were no swords on display. I’d have to ask the owner when he came back.

While I waited, I continued to peruse the dusty shelves. A small blue pouch caught my attention, and I inspected it.

Valera Root Power

The powder of this rare root can serve many purposes. In high doses, it can act as an analgesic or sedative. Taken in small doses, it can improve your energy and awareness. Caution: Addictive.

Well, I didn’t need any addictions, but it sounded useful. To be more alert on the roads may save my life, and if I did get injured, some relief from the pain would be nice.

I picked it up.

I inspected a few more items: a bucket, a pair of worn boots, and a pretty vase with some indelicate art painted on the sides.

There were more herbal items as well, but nothing that I could use. They were all ingredients or reagents for potions. I knew nothing of potion making, and frankly, I wasn’t interested in picking flowers.

The shopkeeper came back through the door, helmet in hand.

“Found one,” he said.

The helmet looked decent to me. It was mostly leather with a metal cap on the top. Thick straps hung from the sides, which could be secured together to keep the helmet on during battle.

It was better than my squishy skull.

“How much?” I asked.

“This here’s a fine helm. Bought it from a skilled leatherworker out west before the Kurs took over. I paid four gold for it, and it was a long trip. I couldn’t part with it for less than eight.”

I sighed. The price seemed outrageous to me. I could technically afford it now, but I didn’t want to throw away all my gold in one purchase. Plus, I wanted the root powder. And a better sword.

“That’s a bit out of my price range,” I said, wincing. “I bet the trip was no trouble for a man like yourself. How about five gold?”

“No trouble?” He set the helmet on his desk and placed his fists on the table. “That trip got one of my best friends killed. Bandits took him with an arrow.” The man tapped at his neck. “Right here. We fought them off and sent them running. But that don’t matter much to my dead friend.”

Well, shit. I looked down, appropriately chastised. “I’m sorry to hear of your loss. I can see how the helmet would hold more value to you.” I made a conciliatory gesture. “However, as a potential buyer, the helmet at eight gold would empty my pockets, and there is another item I’m interested in.” I pulled out the sack of root powder. I wanted to buy it, and I also wanted to move this conversation along. “I’m interested in this as well. How much does it cost?”

“That there would be fifty silvers.”

I didn’t have any silver on me, but maybe if offered close to his acting price, he’d throw in the powder for free. I had one more question first, though.

“Do you have any swords back there?” I gestured to mine. “Mine’s a bit dull.”

He spit on the floor. “Kurskin bastards took em’ all. Said they were needed for the war effort.” He paused as if considering something. “I can sharpen yours if you pay what I’m asking.”

“How about seven gold for it all? I have a long journey ahead, and that would leave me with enough to cover the necessary rations.”

The gruff man crossed his arms. “Fine.”

He didn’t waste much time and brought my sword to the back of his shop to sharpen it. When he was done, I paid the man, put on my new helmet, and walked out of Weldon’s Wares with a significantly lighter purse.