Blinding white…even with his eyes closed, he couldn’t escape it. It filled every inch of his vision. Then, with the same suddenness with which it had filled the room, it was gone. And when he opened his eyes, he was no longer in a room.
Instead, he was cheek down, resting in a soft area of full, green grass. His mind was clear, his muscles energized. As he pushed himself up to a sitting position, he glanced left. The emerald grass extended a football field before it began to slope upward. From there, it became a series of waving hills and mounds. He noticed some cows and farm workers in that direction.
To his left, the hills became a tree-covered cliff face, rising hundreds of feet into the air. At the top of the cliff, a rock cropped out, forming a platform. He wondered if it was manmade or natural. Either way, it would provide a great view of the surroundings.
To the right, the hilly fields continued as far as he could see. A dirt road split the difference in terrain before turning to the right, running parallel in front of the hills. At the curve, a footpath branched out, winding up the forested incline.
He stood, looked in the other direction, and saw a body of reflective, dark water. Green islands and gray rocks poked out at irregular intervals, coming in all shapes and sizes. Straight ahead, his eyes couldn’t see across the water. Though, the coastline wrapped around on the left and right. It made him think it was a large lake rather than an ocean. He could see a river to one side, a mountain range to the other. High up in the green mountain range, he thought he could see waterfalls. A snow-capped volcano highlighted the beauty of it all.
On the sloping terrain that ran down to the lake, at a distance of no more than fifty paces, someone had built a town. From his position in the outskirts of town, he could see the whole of it. Three streets ran parallel with the lake, spaced one block apart from each other. Many other streets ran up and down the slope, connecting the three longer streets. A single dirt road provided the only way in and out of town. It was the same road that he’d noticed near the wavey fields of green.
Other than for a large, yellow building, and a terminal with carriages, he couldn’t tell the difference between a residence and a business. The design of everything reminded him of an old European town. It was something that might belong in a Disney movie or Grimm’s Fairytales.
Pete would hesitate to call any of the structures a house. Instead, he felt inclined to call them cabins. He half expected a line of dwarves to leave one while carrying pickaxes over their shoulders.
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No sooner had this thought entered his mind when he noticed a door open on one of the cabins. A line of bearded men exited the cabin. Where his distance from the town made it difficult to tell for sure, they seemed short and fat. He checked for pickaxes but didn’t see any.
“Close enough,” he whispered to himself, shrugging.
He watched other people in the town’s streets. Where most of them were human, some were not. His eyes scanned around, identifying the races that he could: elves, dwarves, halflings, orcs, and gnomes. He could have sworn there were even pixies buzzing about, but he wouldn’t be sure until he got closer.
“I have two questions for you, son,” a gruff voice pulled him away from his thoughts, and he turned to its source. The man before Pete was human, clad from shoulder to toe in worn, steel armor. He held a shield in his left hand; a sword hung from his left hip. Well-groomed, brown hair sat atop his head, parted on the left. The bushy mustache over the man’s lip reminded him of a caterpillar that seemed to crawl as the man spoke. “First, are you okay?”
Pete nodded.
“Good,” the man sighed, “then, son, my second question is this… What in the name of the moderators are you wearing?”
Wearing? Pete’s eyes widened in horror when he remembered his pantless, tank top look. He glanced down and sighed with relief. He was back in his pizza uniform.
“It’s the uniform that my job gave me,” Pete explained. When Pete said his first word to the guard, he noticed something strange. A name appeared above the guard’s head. It read Nick Warman. Next to the name, Pete saw LVL 10. It reminded him of playing a massive multiplayer online role playing game but in real life. MMORPG’s were his favorite games, so he thought it was cool.
“Job?” The guard repeated. Eyes squinting, he looked Pete’s vestment up and down, an incredulous frown on his face. The eccentric mustache accented the expression. “And what kind of job do you do?”
“I work in food,” Pete answered, pulling off his hat and pointing at the logo. “See. Pizza.”
“Pizza?” The guard shook his head. “I’ve never heard of that? Is it better than steak?” Before Pete could answer, the frown on the guard’s face disappeared, and the guard began to laugh in a high pitched giggle. It was a weird contrast to his deep voice. “Of course, it isn’t as good as steak. Nothing is as good as steak.”
Did the man tell a joke and then laugh at his own joke? Pete couldn’t tell for sure. “I’ll have to make you a pizza sometime.” Pete offered. “You might like it.”
“It is possible,” the guard began to regain his composure. “You stay out of trouble. Okay, son? I’m going to continue my rounds. Have a nice day. Welcome to Greenlake.”
“Yeah,” Pete said, “you, too.” Greenlake must be the name of the town, he realized. Seems appropriate.
As the guard walked away, his armor clanked. Pete watched the clanking man for a few seconds. All the while, he wondered what to do next. The cat had said that Pete had to become a hero. How could he do that? As he contemplated these things, a fly landed on Pete’s neck. By reflex, he swung his palm up, slapping…and connecting. At the same second he killed the insect, he heard a chime, and a text box appeared, filling his vision.