'No mistaking it, then.'
Just looking at a recording of it I was there. It wasn't any of the crazy things; like my mind now wanting to associate 'Kate in her dress' being some rabbit hole that leads me here. The reality is even crazier. When I come here I'm really coming here, without hardware.
'No no no, no. No, too simple, stupid.'
Ethereal-Reality. It hadn't said, 'Virtual' had it? It's not you doing it wrong. They're just doing it right. You, somehow 'wound yourself up' here. They, everyone else, 'connected' like a normal human being would to a game.
'That's shit sense. How? A connection is a connection. One might be more stable or more strong, else the opposites. Now there's types of connections?'
Who actually picks on their self like it's a different self? Here's the thing. Ethereal. Virtual. If you were going for high-speed in an Ethereal world, would you choose Virtual connectivity? No. What that is, who can say until you learn what's different?
'Different. Yeah, yeah. You know why people instinctively hate different though is you expect one-thing, but you almost always get-another.'
It had been over a decade. Could I even 'game', in a place more-than lifelike? More than one VR game had mental-mechanics that bordered on literal insanity. At least, someone who spent a decade, or two, mastering such things was bound to change. Bound to.
Didn't binding to anything long change you? While I was here all I could do, realistically, was try and treat it like I would if it were real. Even if this wasn't my actual body, it damn well represented some parts of it I did not plan on losing. I could die here.
That thought didn't have to sit long before it got my legs going. Being left behind in others dust here in a game I was more exposed in? This place had been discovered over an hour ago, and I didn't know whether to feel like only or already to question myself.
If there were other people here now, which there certainly was, wouldn't that mean everything.. else was too? Quests, Parties, Classes, Items, Dungeons, PK', Monsters, Events, Resources, everything good about fantasy worlds. Who wouldn't want for that kind of real experience?
Glee. I'm so free. Oh, you won't catch me. Teeheeheeheeheeheehee!
This is how the djinn, set free of vessel feels. The demon, escaped from hell. Not liberating enough, no, like a just and wrongly imprisoned man who has had to set himself free. So sweet, you can't even taste the bitterness that got you where you are.
How many humans really had never once entertained another world in some fashion? Heaven? Another world. Aliens? The same. Alternate-Realities? Timelines? Realms? Dimensions? Other worlds. Almost as if, gee, someone miiight' have been to, glimpsed, or, made contact through - what? Another-world.
No wonder there was so much we entertained as fantasy. Even in our world, our ancestors lived with other hominids at some point. They competed with what to us could only be called monsters. Sabre-tooth', Dire-Wolf, Mammoth, Cave-Bear, Neandarthal. How might that have effected their development? Stories? Their awareness'? Religions?
Knowing their would be at least human threats, likely animals now, and almost assuredly NPC's about was enough for me to be inspired here. Unknowns and differences; those two things were what I needed to figure out most. Such are the things one delves to bring light to the unknown, by comparing knowns to unknowns for the difference.
It's as crazy as it sounds. Basically like stumbling around in the dark until you have bumped into something from enough directions a clearer picture and position starts to form from the now knowns, or learned portions. Enough directions, angles, bumps, even if you can't see it - you will know it is there.
'Bugs, and birds.' Normal-ish ones at that. The road I had headed down was not far from the creeks bank I'd, you know, tried to throw away life in and found new life in. If that wasn't a revival, I was revived by hitting the road and knowing there was food here now. Plus, that algae shouldn't be bothering me, anymore. It was all gone.
The Philosophers Stone had done it's job with that one. Biological, it had been one of the resistance-types mentioned. If infections weren't biological, then perhaps alchemical? I would venture to learn. There were no players around the road.
But of course there wouldn't be, I had walked quite awhile. Evidently not on the same time-scale, as evident by the eleven-days I'd spent only to arrive back at the near same-moment. The game had appeared normal on TV but only players would know if the times were synchronized.
Either way it was not too drastic. I wasn't on the road too long alone, however. Vermin scurried everywhere across it, through the trees beside it, all through the brush and everywhere else they lived or travelled. Rabbits and squirrels were those I saw most.
Field-mice, and groundhogs were next. I'd never seen a groundhog in person, and I didn't really get a good chance at any point in the hour-odd walk. Already dark-furred, they noticed you from the tall-and-violet grasses in fields, and went right down into a nearby burrow. The rabbits were sometimes foolish, as in real life, so scared they didn't always run.
The second time I saw they retained that realistic trait I'd picked up a couple of hefty stones, and by the fourth rabbit I had a stone cold rabbit in my hands. The third rabbit had actually startled as I had drawn my arm back to throw the stone, once again, I was taken aback at the complexity.
'That's sick! Sick! If a rabbit has that complex of coding, forget PK, NPC-combat is going to be like playing on Night-Terror difficulty. Maybe I'm stretching things a bit, it is mimicking of reality, but it's really not much more than like a perception-roll on you when you suddenly move.'
The fifth and sixth rabbit I tried a trick I heard of, keeping my eyes away from the rabbits and moving like I hadn't noticed them, and throwing the stone at their heads more casually when I was most out of their sight. Neither made to move. Three of them I had by the legs, dead, by the time I had neared a town.
It was not walled traditionally, in the sense that all the exterior buildings had no windows and were stone, but only the main streets intersection from the street appeared to have a manned wall with guards out front. By the time I neared it, however, I could see the opposite side of the street on the towns other end was likewise.
If they hadn't clearly had individual rooftops with spacs between, their eaves extending out from them as well, one might see it at a distance as something more militant than it really was. Chimneys, weather vanes, and slate shingles adorned said roofs. The wide road, however, narrowed at the towns gate.
"Hello. What brings you travelling here, mister?" The lone guard outside asks me, still ten-feet away, where I decide he might not be comfortable if I approach anymore. "Well these here, mostly. Else I would just be wishing to pass through, if it's not illegal to do so. The oldest killed was not much over an hour ago."
He nodded. "Tanners around the right side of town, outside the town a bit, and it isn't illegal to walk around. You go in that way coming back and the butcher will take the rest. Only, mister, you should learn this so I'll show you it. The fur comes right off them this way, only, make sure they are dead before you do.
"My older brother-." He offered to take a rabbit, and I obliged him. "-took and snared a rabbit with a choking-knot." He pulled sharply at the rabbits tail with one hand, and, the other did the unthinkable for a barehanded man. All I'll say is this; if a man ever tries to put a thumb in you, run. If he gets it in, and grabs you by the tail, your coat is gone.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
"Imagine one of these running around, something even a hunting hound won't touch, just for the sound. Hahah, if that sight doesn't bring back good-." Another coat theft, by this guard, and witnessed by one trying to understand. How? "-Memories. My brother learned to use killing-knots, after that. It's how I learned."
I didn't have to be asked for the third, because, instead I coat-jacked the last bunny. Thumb placement, and a sudden, sharp motion later I was handed the other two rabbits. "At least you drained their blood, but go get those guts out before it spoils. Nothing worste than waste, especially of life."
"Thanks for the learning, take care, sir." The tanner wasn't interested at all in the furs, but he wanted one of the rabbits. Thrifty bastard, wouldn't even buy the furs cheap if I sold him one, so I hoped the butcher would take them off my hands. He could have them, if he just put the meat to use, as far as I was concerned.
A couple larger copper coins, and four smaller pennies. After I'd bought a staff, using a coin and the pennies, I returned to the butcher and asked to borrow his utilities for the other copper. Agreeable to that, I asked for some brains, for which to tan the rabbit hides nobody wanted.
They'd rot otherwise. Borrowing a knife and rendering brain in a pan of water over an outside ovens fire and then working that solution onto the soft hides was a start. The knife, I'd cut strips of the fur with after before tying them at last, tautly, around the staff. I needed to keep them stretched.
When I hadn't owned anything to do it with, the thought wouldn't have crossed my mind. Dozens of soft leather cords about a foot long were more useful than rotting pelts. Better would've been not killing the rabbits, not until I had what I'd need to clean and gut them.
Even a pointy stick or rock would suffice to gut them, or so the butcher promised, showing me which organs to be wary of putting pressure on. At that point, you could obviously cook and eat it, bones withstanding of course. One could only marvel at him cutting meat from the bone, however.
Never anger a butcher, not one near any sharp object of any length. After thanking him and going to leave, I had to try the cliche and seek out something. There was surely a Quest here, whatever it was, and labor was labor at the end of the day. Money was money, too.
For the first walks around the inside edge of town, a street separating the outermost businesses and the homes on the opposite side, only dogs and kids went about willingly interacting with whoever they happened across. Both readily greeted me, got pats on the head besides greetings and compiments.
Like the kids did, the dogs had their packs, but all these small groups were friendly enough with each other. Of course, one naturally need only seek out drama to find Quests. Small, or large, you find someone wearing any kind of interesting expression, manner, emotion, something remarkable.
Bam! Cursing followed the sound, the sounds of escalating but less loud poundings came right after. Out from a barn and into a coral by the further end of town away from me, the west end, a mule had half trotted and scampered with eyes-wide and ears-raised. Naturally, I ran over, cause' it had to be a Quest.
Sloshed! The man was staggering a bit, more when he didn't have aught to lean on. Fortunately for him, there was plenty to lean on with all the barns stalls. I was wondering why he had the smith-hammer in his hand, with shoeing nails in the other. Was the idiot trying to shoe a mule? With a smithing hammer?
Oh, no-no-no, no. "Mister, I apologize in advance. You're making a lot of mistakes here and being in your drinks isn't helping. Let me help you, but you aren't going to be needing to shoe that mule, are you?" He looked at me, took me in a second. "Mule? Ah, that bastard, no wonder."
He stood up more straight. "I need to shoe a horse. It's been..some years. I won't have money for a farrier anytime soon, but I've a horse that needs its shoeing done again now. With that said I do have my share of horses, and a few other animals, but only my horse gets shod.
"The others keep to the fields and harness, rather than the roads and saddles." He looked more thoughtful at me, brushing at a long and thick dark beard as he did for a few moments. "Any chance you can shoe a horse, mister? He's a heavy fellow, but his feet are a little sensitive. My fault really, his first farrier an apprentice.
"Cheaper isn't always better, I learned. I'd be willing to pay a young colt for a good service. The tools are all here, er, somewhere." "Yikes. A horse, and a male horse, and a young male horse? That's less like a pay for service, and more like a bag of burdens all bound up for me to leave with."
The man looked at me a little shocked, but just for a second because he had obviously not expected someone who had an idea what they would be getting. He laughed a bit sheepishly, then looked thoughtful, as if wondering what else might interest me instead of a colt, or money.
"What about the mare-mule there? She's young, healthy, and would be a lot easier on a fellow with not one copper to his name to care for. And, I'll muck stalls, plus take a look at all the horses hooves for you." I wouldn't have added the last - except he went white when I asked after the mule.
He reminded me of someone, my new boss. Another fellow who had recently enligtened me to the general superiority of mules in everything but sprinting, and jumping, when compared to horses. Another who would have preferred someone take fertile young horses over even a middle-aged mule, in this situation.
At once I took in a lot from this. If a farmer here thought of mules like this, then what here would philosophers and kings think of them? The man looked less shaken, after I offered, and agreed to my offer under the agreement the mule could eat more variety and lower quality foods longer. Easier for a vagabond, like me.
Nobody would be even a Knight soon in this world, let alone any more high of nobility. We came here naked for crying out loud, so it wasn't going to be any sprint towards rapidly developing things you couldn't realistically. Even the most selfless and chivalrous act would likely end with apprenticeships.
It was increased mobility, for now, that was the cheat-like ability. More travel, more capacity, more company, mules didn't spook easy and would prefer to run ahead of time to avoid conflicts, and if they couldn't outrun something then most would rather fight than run. So, also more firepower. Just, more. It might not outsprint the horse-
-but it would out distance the shit out of one, never go lame, eating and drinking less, this while carrying more less stressed, their intelligently and sensibly doing all this without needing shoeing or bi-monthly shoeing. Plus they lived longer, bonded deeper, and while harder to train, had better memory.
A mule was just fuckin' cheat-codes, especially factoring in they were less likely to get injured, their hooves were tougher and fared better against hotter and rougher terrains, they wouldn't kill you or themselves on hilly or mountainous terrains, and being smaller made them able to pass places usally wider horses just wouldn't.
A cheat! One I worked my tail off for, over the next few hours hard work, and even left with a bridle, blanket and lead for her. A mare-mule would be more agreeable, if not as likely to get aggressive quickly, which was fine as I would prefer to do the fighting for us. She was amazing.
A little long looking in the legs for a mule, but those were extremely developed and stout with muscles. Too young to do anything with but befriend and train, looking around a year old, but a promising specimen for coditioning body, mind, and temper. Curious, playful, eager already.
Until we got to about where the corrals fencing was, and, she seemed to realize she was not inside it anymore. Rather than stop out of fear or anxiety though, she took her head from the lead, and I let her do so for a look back at what she was leaving. She studied the corral and other equines a few minutes and then came to face and study me.
Blue eyes, white fur but dappled with grey and blue, an unsurprisingly short mane but somehow for a mule she had an undercoat like a horse would. "Your eyes are dark blue so the light shouldn't bother you, but with that undercoat, you might not fare as well in the heat as other mules.
"I'd guess you would do better in the cold and rain than most mules would though. Then again your coat is a light enough color to reflect heat, and with that and your undercoat, the sun shouldn't bother you. What's your name then, girl?"
Mules couldn't breed hardly ever, unlike their parents, but that's the price you pay for being walking cheat-codes. The best part about the cadillacs of equines was that stubbornness from their donkey lineage; they wouldn't do anything that they weren't sure about or comfortable with.
If they were tired, hungered, thirsted, wounded, if they weren't saddled right or something shifted or loosened and started rubbing them wrong, if they weren't familiar with the waters they were headed, they sensed they might not be able to maneuver like you wanted, or if they just did not want to then they would not.
It's hard to argue with anything wise enough to be so honest and cautious. One redeeming quality of horses to me was a double-edged one that made you love them and hate people mistreating them, in that horses were in some ways pushovers compared to mules. They complied, true, but would take those pains.
A mule had thicker skin, higher pain tolerance, was less likely to get hurt at all. Horses, however, didn't have that and yet would allow themselves to be run to death, improperly saddled, lamed, overfed, underfed and would try to deal with it and do what you asked of them. Horses had heart, too much. They reminded you of your weakness that was not a weakness, your love. Easily trod on or over, but better cared for and treated respectfully.
"Molly. You get a classic name, Molly." I said, introducing her to the smell of my breath, and patting her on the cleanly brushed shoulders. Walking her on down the road when she was comfortable with it again took time, her inquisitive youth leaving her explorative and me pausing often no different to take in a new sight or smell. We made terrible time that way.
It was a good way to start our bond and get to more slowly observe while we walked along, her stopping to smell and eat choicest delicacies, much like dogs would stop to smell at scents. This happened infrequently, and, after nibbling up whatever she wanted quickly we moved on down the road.