"The answers you seek are like clouds—chase them, and they scatter. Sit still, and they may come to rest in your lap. Or not. Certainly one of the two." — The Tao of Idleness, Book 3, Verse 5.
I really wasn’t sure to make about what had happened in that room. No matter how much I tried to pretend that such reality-bending was normal and that I was just a chill guy in the woods with a hot serial killer and in possession of a smart new cloak, that little demonstration from The Great Slacker had more than left its mark on my psyche. Everything had become an Idle Game, hadn’t it? And one I couldn’t directly influence, even if I had wanted to. I had stood there, helpless, as Lia and that shadowy NPC buddy had exchanged fucking pre-set dialogue options.
Thus, it was hardly surprising that I was more than usually bumptiously clumsy as we continued into the woods, presumably on the hunt for an alchemist Lia could casually slaughter. The trees were hanging low over our heads, twisted limbs swaying as if reaching out to pat me on the head. Yeah, it was a vibe. The deeper we went, the more I realised that, yep, this was worse than being in the village: ‘haunting’ didn't quite do it justice. Unpleasant things scurried just on the periphery of my vision, causing me to twitch and flinch like a fucking smack addict. Oh, and I was pretty sure I saw a pair of hands sticking up from newly turned earth like some last-ditch SOS from a buried villager who hadn’t quite been ready for internment. So, that was nice.
However, the thing that kept gnawing at me more than anything wasn’t just the creeping dread caused by my surroundings - I’d been in Handsworth Park at night. I’d seen worse shit than this on any given Tuesday – no. What had happened to my view of ‘reality’ back there had me spiralling into a question-pit I couldn’t climb out of, and yet wasn’t sure I really wanted clarity over. Was the point the Great Slacker – if that was even who kept talking to me! - was trying to make was that realty was just one, giant game? Like, was I some sort of… clicker?
Funnily enough, that wasn’t so much of a leap considering my ongoing experiences in this world – I mean, waves at status screens – but he’d mentioned my accident, hadn’t he? Was he trying to suggest that everything I'd done up until now – in, like, the ‘real’ world - had been a pre-scripted Idle Game, too? That my life decisions thus far had just been some other being’s scripted options, laid out for me to click through, while the universe carried on regardless? And if that was the case, what a fucking tidal wave of wasted time and effort the whole thing had been!
Frowning, I looked ahead at Lia, striding through the woods with her hand on her sword hilt, eyes scanning the trees. Always on alert, always moving forward. Maybe I was becoming more than a little paranoid – erm, you think! - but something in the way she’d navigated that dialogue with the NPC felt all a bit too obvious. A bit too smooth. Like there was never any doubt that was the way it was going to shake out. There had been barely a moment of hesitation before she picked her conversation option – to all intents and purposes, it was like I’d been watching a cut-scene, not something that actually needed anything showing as much free-will as ‘choice.’
That was a thought. I sped up a little to walk next to her. Maybe if I played it calm, cool and collected, I could wheedle some information out from her? Of course, I would have to subtle – play it very light-touch and subtexty – but I bet I could, expertly, make her reveal a little bit of herself. “What the hell was that back there!” Smoooooooth. My Charisma is truly never to be defeated.
Fortunately, she didn’t turn to face me, saving my epic blushes. “What are you talking about?”
Well, in for a penny . . . “That whole thing back there with your NPC contact? The conversation options? The timer? Turning into a series of small, yellow bricks of no-trademarked origin at all? That wasn’t normal, Lia. You had a fucking dialogue tree, for crying out loud!”
Lia stopped, finally looking my way. There was more than a little of the ‘Oh great. Now I need to slap-silly a raving lunatic’ about her expression. It troubled me that I sensed this was a look she wheeled out with crushing regularity. “NPC? Dialogue tree? What the fuck are you going on about, ‘Rogue’? You’re not making any sense. Did you pick and eat something nasty from the ground?”
That gave me a little bit of a pause. Considering her familiarity with Levels, Abilities and general RPG mechanics, I’d assumed what I’d just seen would not have been completely out of her wheelhouse. Her baffled reaction to my words, and the tightening grip on her hilt, made me think the Great Slacker may have pulled aside a curtain on reality for me in a way that was not true for my companion. I did my best to walk it back a touch. “I mean, haven’t you ever wondered whether you were really in control of your life? Or if we were just playing along to some preset script? Because if that’s the case, I gotta say, my life’s been the dullest fucking game I’ve ever played.” I tried a casual little laugh, but it came out a touch forced.
“I doubt anyone would describe the ‘Rogue of Eldhaven’ as having a dull life . . .” she shrugged, shoulders relaxing slightly as I appeared to be downgraded from ‘Hallucinating Nutter Needing Pacifying’ to ‘Bad Uni Pick-Up Line Artist’. “It is known that the Maker sets us all on unique, particular paths. But the choices we make on that journey are always ours and ours alone to decide. And some of us have more freedom to choose than others.” Lia’s eyes narrowed at me, and I felt she was making a decision – and one she appeared to profoundly regret - to share something. “From what I understand, the higher level you are able to become, the more control over those particular choices the Maker gives you. So, for example, low-level scrubs have limited personal freedom on the path, but for those who grow in power . . . ” Now it was Lia’s turn to blush, and she returned to thrashing her way through the woods
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I hurried to catch up with her. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, loving the whole ‘control of your own destiny if you get strong enough’ ethos – not fascistic at all - but that does sound suspiciously like a line someone who is running an RPG game might say. And ‘the Maker’ is a hell of a Dungeon Master handle, if you ask me. . .”
“Not everything in the universe revolves around your perception of reality.”
“But what if this is how the whole system works? You know, you get reset when you die, putting you back in play?” Another thought hit me. “What if what I thought of as my life was actually the tutorial? Then I died, and then this is actual reality?”
“You don’t look very dead to me.” Lia carried on walking. “Anyway, you have a lot of comments for a guy who’s supposed to just be along on this Quest for the ride.”
“I guess I’m starting to figure out that maybe I’m not just along for the ride,” I said, sounding more certain than I felt.
Lia glanced back at me again, this time with an expression I couldn’t read. “The universe isn’t as complicated as you appear to think, James. But it is not a game. It’s not a story. And you’re very much not a major player. We’re in the middle of a war, and the sooner you figure out your place in it, the better.”
“My place?” As far as I could tell, my current place was in the middle of a fucking haunted wood, questioning the nature of verifiable reality. “What do you mean by that?”
Lia’s grip on her sword tightened, and for a second, I thought she might actually be going to draw it. But instead, she simply stopped again and sighed. “You want to talk about how this world works right now? Whilst we are in the middle of this place?”
“I’m not being funny, but no one has been too free with the exposition thus far. So, you know what, before we go and merk a random potion-maker, I could stand for a good infodump.”
Lia glanced up at the darkening sky before continuing. I sensed she was marshalling her inner resources in order to deal with me. It was funny how regularly I tended to have that impact on people. Good to see that some things survive reincarnation. “Where would you like me to start 'infodumping' on you?”
Okay. So we were actually going to do this. Sure. Why not. “You keep calling me Rogue, so the whole ‘Build’ thing is obviously common currency. Like, you know, in a computer game . . .”
If my leading use of the tech word bothered Lia, she let it slide. So much so that I wondered if there might be some sort of perceptional filter on my actual words . . . Perhaps the Great Slacker – or Lia’s Maker. Or someone else entirely – had some control over that? Rather than ask what a ‘computer game’ was, she answered as if I’d asked a slightly different question “Yes, that’s right, I’m a Warrior.”
I thought back to that initial Dungeon delve. Warrior. Rogue. Healer. Mage. That made sense. Kal had been a Hunter, though, and he didn’t seem to have any sort of beast companion. Maybe things were a touch more fast and loose than on a console? But before I could think about that much more, Lia was carrying on.
“I’ve specced to be strong and fast, but although I’m tankier than most others left in Eldhaven, I don’t really have the Constitution for that role. I can take a hit from most of the things around here, for sure, but if I’m surrounded, I can still end up in trouble.”
I frowned. “But you were our tank in that Dungeon?”
Lia laughed, but it was a bitter, hollow sound. “Yeah, the Elders insisted. Basically, because I’m Level 15. And right now in Eldhaven, that makes me about as strong as it gets. All of our real powerhouses have been called up to the front so, by hook or by crook, I’ve ended up with a lot of levelling opportunities over the last few years. Because of . . . circumstance, I’ve ended up taking on jobs and contracts that would usually have gone elsewhere.
“By circumstances, you mean your father’s debts?” Fucking hell. I promise you, I can actually hold normal conversations when I’m not this stressed. Really. Properly like non-foot-in-mouth ones.
Surprisingly, Lia didn’t punch me in the face. “Yes,” she said through slightly gritted teeth, and I sensed my well of information may well be running dry. “Thus far, I have managed to earn enough to keep my father’s debt collectors at bay.”
I tried to move the conversation elsewhere. “And most people follow a specific archetype in their Build?”
She nodded. “Sure, something like that. But there’s a lot more flexibility to it all than you seem to think. It is a central tenet of belief that the Maker wants us all to build the way that works for us, as individuals. And, of course, there are all the normal limits. Too many points in one area, and you’ll be weak in another, for example. It’s all about ensuring a healthy life balance.”
“Except for me,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
I hesitated. I still wasn’t ready to tell her about my Class. Not yet. “I mean, I don’t think I’m built for anything much. I’ve got no idea what I’m supposed to be doing here.”
“You’re not special, James,” she said coldly. Although – and I’m taking this as a win – she did actually use my name on this occasion. “You’re just like everyone else. The only difference is that the rest of us have to figure it out ourselves without the luxury of asking ridiculous questions right in the middle of Quests. The whole world believes you are a Rogue. That's no skin off my nose. It looks like it’s even helping on this quest. Great. Our aims align. However, if that’s not the case – and no, I don’t want to know, before you ask – you better make sure I don’t get fucked over by you being incompetently shit at the wrong moment. I already have a father to look after. I’m not looking to add another burden around my neck. You hear me?”
I bit my tongue, feeling the sting of her words. Maybe I wasn’t special. Maybe I was just a Freeloader, bumbling along while everyone else actually played the game. Maybe it was my destiny to mooch my way through life . . .
Idle XP Gains: +20 XP from doubt.
Great. Even my existential crisis was a fucking achievement.