Samuel collapsed to his knees on hard-packed dirt. His head was spinning and his stomach curled in knots as he tried to get his bearings. Everything around him was cast in darkness. He had been placed into to yet another strange place, and this time it smelled like horse manure and straw. He was in a barn, he thought, hearing the soft braying of animals, feeling the bits of straw packed into the dirt underneath his palms, but beyond that he had no idea where he was or what was happening. He hoped that things would get a little less confusing—but he didn’t have high hopes.
He took in his surroundings as he edged through the barn, his eyes slowly adjusting to the sparse light filtering in through the cracks between the wall’s wooden slats. He could make out the shapes of stalls and of a hayloft above him. The air was thick with the smell of animals and the sound of snuffling and shifting was all around him.
“Not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy…” He muttered to himself.
He crawled toward the large double doors at the other end of the barn and couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. He swiveled his head around, but saw nothing out of the ordinary, just the shadows of the horses in their stalls. He rushed to the doors, eager to get out of the barn and figure out where he was.
Samuel pushed open the double doors and stumbled outside into the light. Before his eyes could adjust and take in his surroundings, he was confronted by a short, fat, bald man brandishing a pitchfork and yelling at him, spittle spraying from his mouth. The man had a pseudo-Irish accent.
"What’re ya doin’, sneaking round the barn like that? You tryin’ ta steal from us?" The man's face was red with anger, and he took a step closer to Samuel, pointing the pitchfork threateningly in his face.
Samuel held up his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry, I’m sorry!”
“Sorry’s won’t cut it, boy!”
“I’m sorry!” Samuel said again, panicked. “I have no idea where I am!”
“No idea where ya’re, lad? What’s that s’posed to mean? You’re smack in the middle of the ruddy Tandrun woods! There’s no village for miles and there’re a thousand beasts between here and there.”
Samuel stammered, unsure how to answer. With the business end of a pitchfork inches from his nose, his mind worked overtime to come up with an answer to placate the man. His eyes finally adjusted to the outside light, and he took in his surroundings.
He was dumbstruck by the otherworldly beauty he found himself within. They were in the middle of a clearing some hundred yards across with massive redwood trees towering above in a surrounding circle, like a natural fence reaching toward the heavens. Their branches were adorned with strange and exotic mosses in shades of pink and purple. The forest floor was dotted with towering mushrooms in a multitude of soft colors and shapes. The air was fresh and clean, and Samuel couldn't help but feel invigorated by it.
But even amidst the fantastical forest landscape, there was a sense of the familiar. Directly across from the barn and nestled at the edge of the clearing stood a medieval inn and tavern, its dark and weathered wood seeming right at home in the strange and magical forest.
This is a dream after all, Samuel thought.
But even as he heard the angry shouting of the man waving the pitchfork, he knew that this was no dream. This was a world unlike any he’d ever encountered, full of mystery and magic, but he knew it was real, somehow. Could feel it in his bones.
The anger of the man slowly died out against the impenetrable wall of Samuel’s sheer dumbstruck confusion. Something changed in the man, and his tone softened.
“Are… ya alright, lad?”
Samuel wasn’t exactly sure why, but his eyes welled with tears. He fought against them falling down his cheek, making an internal stand against his fear and sadness, and a lump formed in his throat. He felt overwhelmed by emotion, but he didn’t want to cry in front of this stranger.
“I’m OK,” Samuel said, forcing a small smile. “Could you help me figure out where I am?”
“Far be it from me to deny a poor soul in need,” the short man said, the gentleness of his words breaking into Samuel’s crumbling walls. “If you need a place to stay and a bite to eat, I have a bit of work that needs be done if you’re up to the task.”
Samuel opened his mouth to answer and froze. Not of his own volition. A physical force took over, literally stopping the flow of time around him. Even that pitchfork man had stopped talking, frozen in place.
The Core spoke into Samuel’s mind.
WELCOME TO THE TUTORIAL.
YOU WILL BE GUIDED THROUGH A MICROCOSM OF GAME MECHANICS BEFORE BEING FULLY RELEASED TO THE GAME WORLD. WHILE THE TUTORIAL IS FORGIVING, NOTE THAT YOU ARE STILL CAPABLE OF TAKING PERMANENT DAMAGE AND SUFFERING DEATH.
I WILL ASSIST YOU WITH TIPS UNTIL THE TUTORIAL IS COMPLETE.
Samuel wanted to scream at The Core. He was sick and tired of behind manhandled and teleported to new places. He strained against his invisible bonds and after discovering he couldn’t make a sound, he thought obscenities at the mysterious deity.
It didn’t respond. Either The Core wasn’t capable of hearing his thoughts or didn’t care enough to react to them. He resolved to push it to find out, but before his mind could start in on a scathing monologue, the world unfroze.
“Well, lad?” The man asked. “A bit o’ honest work and I’ll give ya a spot on the ground next to the hearth and a full belly tonight.”
“Uh…” Samuel started, dumbly. “Thanks.”
“Gods above boy, yer a slow one. Heavens know how ya made it here in one piece. Take this,” he said, handing the pitchfork to Samuel. “Feed some hay to the horses and brush them out. And don’t be stealing nothin’, either. The Gods are watchin’. And I’ll be takin’ stock after. What’s yer name, lad?”
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Samuel,” Samuel answered offering his hand. “Yours?”
“Ned,” he answered, taking Samuel’s hand, and giving it a single hard shake.
After a moment of uncomfortable silence and more uncomfortable eye contact, Ned walked off, leaving Samuel at the entrance to the barn alone. Samuel turned back inside. With the doors open and light spilling inside, he could better make out the barn’s interior. There was a half-used bale of hay stacked outside the individual stalls, several of them containing a whinnying horse. Never being one to shirk the work assigned to him, Samuel figured he’d do as the man asked. Something mundane to occupy his thoughts while he adjusted to his predicament would help him. A night’s rest at the inn and a bit of food would do him good, too.
Samuel stabbed at the closest pile of hay and tossed it over the small walls to the horses. The creatures were enormous. The tops of their backs were barely shorter than Samuel's head. And he wasn’t short, standing just shy of 6’ himself. He had worked up a sheen of sweat by the time he finished the fifth pile of hay. The movement did his muscles good and cleared his head a bit.
It took a moment, but he found a brush hanging on a nail nearby. Cautiously, he edged into one of the stalls with the most bored-looking horse. He may not have known much, but at least he knew not to stand behind the beasts and put himself where they could kick. That would be begging for a broken bone or crushed skull.
He got to work brushing the horse, willfully losing himself in the monotony and choosing not to think about where he was and how he got there. Delving into the mystery of the surrounding forest was intoxicating, but he could feel his body wanting to build toward panic once again.
As soon as he finished brushing out the last horse, The Core spoke.
TO ACTIVATE YOUR ‘PLAYER SCROLL’, REACH BEHIND YOUR BACK WITH YOUR LEFT HAND AND FORM A FIST THREE TIMES. THE ‘PLAYER SCROLL’ CONTAINS HELPFUL CHARACTER STATUS INFORMATION, INVENTORY, AND QUEST LOG.
Samuel followed the Core's instructions, and scroll of yellowed parchment formed within his hand. It felt more like leather than paper and had frayed edges. Unrolling it, he found a small sketch of himself next to some text written in ink. He couldn’t belive it, but he had a character sheet, just like in a table-top roleplaying game. He had played a couple Saturdays of Dungeons and Dragons here and there and recently gotten into a God of War addiction, playing late into the night on his roommate’s PlayStation. Samuel made a mental note to cut back on his gaming when he woke up from this dream—if it was a dream.
The small pencil sketch of himself represented his current appearance, down to the rugged clothes he was wearing and his longer-than-usual curly auburn hair. It was getting a bit messy, starting to cover his ears. He squinted at the drawing, noting that the freckles along his nose and upper cheeks were a bit more pronounced than he would have thought accurate. A bit of scruff was growing on his face. Except for the exaggerated freckles, it was all-told a fantastic rendition of himself. Samuel shook his head, amused, and read the bit of text.
----------------------------------------
NAME: Samuel Cardwell
Race: Human
Body: 38/40
Strength: 3
Dexterity: 1
Mind: 57/60
Charisma: 2
Intelligence: 4
Spells:
None
Permanent Traits:
Foodie: Your thorough appreciation for all things artfully prepared makes it 25% more sating and its positive status effect duration increase by 25%. Unprepared foods are 25% less sating.
Temporary Traits:
None
Equipped Gear:
Rough-spun cotton tunic.
Rough-spun cotton trousers.
Rope belt.
Worn leather shoes.
Inventory:
Rusted pitchfork.
Active Quests:
Feed and brush the horses. Complete.
-Return to Ned to collect reward.
----------------------------------------
Samuel read over the character sheet in front of him again and couldn't help but feel a bit annoyed. The foodie trait felt so insignificant compared to all the other things that made him who he was. He had a hundred passions and interests, and yet this was the one thing that The Core had chosen to highlight on his character sheet.
He had no idea what any of the numbers on the scroll represented, but he was surprised to see so few attributes. There was no wisdom, no constitution, no luck. He tried poking a finger at the body stat to get more information on why a few points were missing, but nothing happened. He wondered if the missing points from the body attribute's maximum of 40 had something to do with the physical labor he had just performed. Maybe it was some kind of stamina gauge, or even a health meter? Both? Was stressing out causing the mind attribute to go down?
Shaking his head, Samuel decided to try asking The Core. "Hey, computer in the sky?" he called out. "Can I ask some questions? What the hell does all this mean?”
There was no response.
"Some tutorial," Samuel muttered to himself.
But then, surprising Samuel, The Core's spoke.
TO DISMISS YOUR PLAYER SCROLL, SIMPLY LET GO OF THE PARCHMENT.
“Not what I asked,” Samuel said.
Samuel dropped the scroll and watched as it dematerialized into nothingness. He reached behind himself and clenched his fist three times, causing the scroll to reappear in his hand. He let it go again, watching as it fizzled away in fascination. It didn’t so much as fade out of existence as fizz out, as if disappearing through a spark of TV static. The information it had wasn't terribly helpful, but he resolved to pay close attention to any changes that might show up.
“Is the tutorial still going? I don’t feel like I know anything.”
Silence again.
Samuel took a deep breath—of horse manure and hay—and was reminded of the fresh air outside. He left the barn and was met once with that same heady aroma of the freshest air he had ever breathed.
Ned stood near the tavern’s entrance. He called out to Samuel and waved. Samuel chuckled at the sight. Ned might as well have had a little blinking exclamation point above his head indicating he had a quest to give. Samuel walked over to Ned to find him standing next to a pile of saddlebags.
"Why do you still have the pitchfork?" Ned asked.
Samuel hesitated, unsure of what to say.
"Give it to me, I'll put it back in the barn. Can ya take these bags to the lordlin's room," Ned asked, holding out his hand for the pitchfork. “Tweaked me back yesterday and don’t think it can take the weight.”
Samuel handed over the farm tool and bent over to pick up the saddlebags. The stable master gave him an appreciative nod before trotting over to the barn. As Samuel hoisted the saddlebags onto his shoulder, he noted that while they were indeed heavy, they were made of a luxuriously soft and oiled leather. He couldn't resist sneaking a peek inside and saw a glint of metal. He heard the rat man's words echoing in his head: "Be a greedy bastard."
Samuel hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over the bags as he considered Nathan’s advice. But he shook off the thought and decided to stick with his own moral code. Rat-man be damned, he was no thief.
He made his way into the inn, determined to make the most of this strange new world he had stumbled upon. As he walked, he felt a shiver of excitement and adventure coursing through his veins. He had no idea what lay ahead, but he felt ready for whatever came his way. Ready enough, anyway.