Transitioning wasn’t hard or sudden. I basically went to sleep and woke up as another person. A doctor could have told me to count backwards from ten with the same impact.

After waking up there were a lot of changes. Everything ached immensely. The throbbing pain served to remind me how amazing this game was. These weren't sharp jabs of simulated pain. This was everywhere, from everything. Breathing was hard too, but getting easier the more I looked around.

I tried to lift one arm and weakness stole my strength. It took too much energy. Eyes drifted around and took note of a cane in one hand that I had gripped to near death. My fingers were locked in a curl that seemed permanent.

The view was probably beautiful. I was on a bench sitting while staring at a sunset over the ocean. Things were fuzzy and no matter how many times my eyes blinked it didn’t clear up. Birds cried out from above. Squinting wasn’t bringing them into view.

“Ehhhhhh.” Noise escaped me as I shifted to one side. Switching which leg was crossed over the other hurt.

People chattered nearby. Children played on a beach and built sand castles. Some adults did as well. It took some focus to keep my eyes from drifting asleep but I could see a difference between the figures. Players had visible icons above their heads, just simple green ones, a red bar that would fade in and out as I stared. Everyone else didn’t have bars, they must have been computer generate characters. In other games they would be called non player character or NPC’s for short. Parents dodged after little ones. Guards patrolled the beach in twos, I saw a vendor selling items out of his little cart.

“Hhhhhrrr.” The movement hurt again. I winced and tried to make out people.

There were a few things that were extremely clear. Pop up boxes had formed nearby. Each one citing bits of information about the NPCs around me. When one middle age woman came nearby she waved. A box spun into view citing who she was, how long this body had known her, and other tiny details. I grunted and lifted the cane a little. She smiled and kept on walking. It gave me another moment to review my current situation.

Progress: 12%

A meter? I squinted and looked around trying to bring something up. Wait, there, a tiny percentage bar was hanging off to one side.

Quest: A Last Gasp Difficulty: Unknown Details:

You’ve chosen to take up the mantle of James (Old Man) Carver. The duration of this act is four weeks. Many of Old Man Cavers skills and knowledge are still functional.

Results will be measured based on performance as Old Man Carver. Review synchronization meter for progress. Special circumstances tied to this quest have imposed the following restriction.

Auto pilot time will not impact completion.

Failure: Complete failure is impossible

Success: Possible information (Restricted)

Was that measured based on my single feeble cane wave? Or maybe sitting here half asleep? What exact kind of NPC was Old Man Carver? There were too many questions. I would just have to make it up as I went along to the best of my ability. Logging out would be counterproductive too unless my progress reached far enough. With vacation time there was to finish this quest up and maybe settle my thoughts before going back to work.

That fuzzy sunset was impressive. I sat there and watched while time passed in game. Well, it was more like a background as I dug through informational pop ups. Plus, with focus I could see what sort of system windows other players were getting. The man on the beach building a sand castle. Small bonuses to [Coordination] would appear in front of him with city reputation boosts. Every so often there would be another trickle to [Focus].

Neat.

Once I was really playing the game, as myself, I would know all sorts of tricks. Was that intentional or just a side effect of being an NPC? All this assumed that I wouldn’t try to rip out my ARC’s hard drive upon this big reveal.

Another player was marching around with the guards, doing patrols. Her strategy trait was going on along with endurance. There were other notifications that didn’t display. They were all grayed out, probably due to being traits or skills that I hadn’t unlocked. This whole system, this game, was like nothing I played before and so strange. At least these results made sense. Gaining points for doing work, points gained went together with what actions were performed. Two hours passed in game as I watched people go about their actions.

“Excuse me, sir?” A female voice came from nearby. I groaned and turned but couldn’t quiet swivel my head enough to see.

“Yes.” I repeated myself three times before the word made it out.

“Can you help me? The guards over there said I needed to talk to you.”

“Eh?”

“I’m trying to find a place to learn the cooking skill.”

“Eh?” I said even louder. Why would I know anything about where to find a skill? How much knowledge would a game NPC have of these kinds of things? Two pop up boxes flipped up as I chewed the inside of my cheek.

System Help!

Old Man Carver has been many things in his life, but in his twilight years he became a guide to new Travelers. In his pocket there are maps that provide information from locations around [Haven Valley].

Most who visit him are sent on a task prior to being given a map. This task varies based on Old Man Carver's whims.

In order to succeed while standing in for Old Man Carver, you must fulfill his duties.

Warning!

Your recent actions have demonstrated confusion. Old Man Carver was not a confused sort of person. In order to maintain an effective facade you will need to perform better.

Well crud. I had lost points already.

Progress: 10%

“Cooking. What good is cooking to you?” I had to stall and think of a task. Who cooked in today’s world? Oh, besides my mother on holidays. Wait. Right. Video game world. Cooking was probably fairly common by necessity.

“Mister Carver sir, I need cooking before I go out of the city.” She was so soft spoken and timid sounding. Not at all like the Voices I delt with before. They were each a heavy personality.

“Fine. What’s in it for me?” I came up blank on the questing part. A system notification cropped up again in my face telling me of the latest failure to perform.

System Help!

Old Man Carver is grumpy and looks constantly sour, but his words often cut straight to the point. He never asked others what they could do for him and would always assign them a task.

“Bah. Never mind, you probably don’t know how to do anything useful. You visitors are all the same.” My hasty attempt at back peddling knocked my progress down another percentage point making me wince. Wincing also hurt.

Progress: 9%

“Go clean up the beach for me. Pick up the litter your buddies left behind. Maybe then I’ll get you a map to your precious cooking instructor.”

That little decision prompted another window refunding one of my failed points. System notifications were going off like crazy as the game tried to adapt me to this new role. I wondered how they had even programmed something for a player preventing to be an NPC.

No. I had to think of little tasks for players who decided to bother me. This area was one of the starting cities. Slowly, painfully, while trying not to groan and bellyache from the pain, I reached inside the robe. I was wearing and dug out a rolled up parchment. Great. I really did have a map, and from the brief feeling of sliding my hand under this brown tired of robe, there wasn’t much between me and a breeze.

Old Man Carver didn’t like putting on much in the way of clothing, among all of his other features. With a lot of strength and determination I pushed up from the bench and wobbled a bit, trying to get the ground under me.

“Ooooh.” Groan prevention was impossible.

I managed to lift an arm to about chest level and unrolled the map. It flopped downward and my eyes dropped with it. These words were far easier to see. Continue Online had dubbed Old Man Carver as nearsighted. There were dots all over the map, even some weird half image ones. Notes were scribbled about. Focusing on specific dots revealed a myriad of information. There were tasks on here, mysteries of the area to send players out to, common items that needed to be resolved.

Goodness, this thing was a wealth of information for new players.

“Where’s cooking?” One of the dots lit up brighter than the others. Go NPC powers!

“Ah ha.” A name, a face, almost a miniature dossier came into being. Not only was the game showing me where cooking was, it showed me details about who was involved.

Turned out the person in question, a Chef working at one of the three Inns in town, preferred those who were very clean and well kept. He hated disorder and often fired people who couldn’t keep a kitchen polished. The man also worked nights for hours prepping for the following day.

“Hah.”

The girl who had spoke to me earlier was still out there cleaning things up. She seemed to be looking at a progress bar, similar to the one that I had. Hers, at least from this angle, looked to be tallying up garbage collected. This character's eyesight officially reached terrible. The Voices hadn't completely crippled me though. The beach and garbage were fuzzy but the game windows were amazingly clear. I felt a little dirty for peeping on her system text like this.

Sunset would be ending soon. The long fading brightness was losing to nighttime. A chill blew in across sand and sea then crawled inside my skin down to the bone. There was a pop up telling me that Old Man Carver didn’t like to stay out too far after sundown.

I gained another percentage point for turning to watch the dying light. Maybe William Carver had loved to watch sunsets. Maybe he just liked the ocean. Mysteries abounded for my temporary acting assignment. I stood there, holding myself up against the wind. My job would only be completed if the girl, young lady, finished her beach combing. Hopefully before I started taking a hit to my own progress bar.

She was scrambling too, looking upset and tired as time went onward. At about halfway she stopped to pull some sort of bread and shoved it into her mouth. Moments after wards a revitalized player stood up and kept picking at the ground.

Was there a hunger bar?

Probably. This game was intended to be realistic and she asked for a cooking skill. I squinted eyes and tried to focus on my statistics. There was more information available now than there had been in the trial room before.

There, that had to be a hunger bar. I pointed one gnarled finger out and slowly drug the bar to one side. I learned, from watching other players do their thing, that it was possible to lock status bars into view. This way it was always present instead of only coming up when something critical was happening.

A game manual sort of response had come up talking all about interface methods but there seemed to be a lot that was left uncovered. Most things only popped in once I experienced it for myself. Losing health to an evil giant fantasy chicken thing had rather clearly shown me what a health bar looked like.

I sat on the bench again, cane still in my hands, fingers curled in their death lock. To my side sat the map.

“Mister Carver.”

I managed to work the kink out of my neck enough to turn and look. This was a city guard, an NPC judging by all the information that came up.

“Dayl”

“Yes sir. I’m glad you remember me sir. Father says sometimes you forget sir.” Dayl had to be in his younger years. There was no age on his information window. He wore armor and had a helmet that covered most of his face. The body under it was clearly trained and had worked out.

Apparently Old Man Carver drifted off sometimes. A constant stream of information was pelting me. Maybe it was a case of having too much knowledge in your head and getting lost trying to sift through an ocean.

I read the messages regarding this new person. Turned out Dayl would escort me home or sometimes wake me up if I passed out on the bench. No, if Old Man Carver had fallen asleep. Not me. A yawn escaped and both eyelids sank for a moment.

“Are you ready to go sir?” Dayl asked.

“I’m watching this one.” I tilted the cane. The action gained me another point of progress, bringing me up to thirteen percent.

“Another Traveler sir?”

“Another.” My head nodded.

“They’ve slowed down a lot in the last few months.”

“Happens. Did you think they were endless?” I had almost said ‘we’ when responding. There were only so many people on earth, and of those not everyone would be interested in a game.

“Those big cities got it worst. Father says we should be thankful for all the work they’ve done.”

“You disagree?” I let another window drift away, this one containing information about Dayl’s father. Being city guardsmen was a family tradition.

“I don’t know sir. Things are changing. Six years ago there were no travelers. Now they’ve started to appear of the blue in our city.”

“Times always change.” Hopefully they did anyway. A game with a stagnate world would be mind numbingly boring.

“Used to be they might only appear at the bigger cities though. Father says that stopped once the Kingdoms started to recruit them. Travelers only appear in neutral areas.”

“Mh. Makes sense.” Games had capital cities, places where trade, meetings, or whatever would be handled. Often time’s entire quest chains start from there as well.

It would be interesting to see exactly how big these major cities might get. Especially since there weren’t just NPCs wandering all day and night. They had homes and, judging by the last few hours spent on the beach, they lived their entire lives here in a simulated world.

“Father says I just worry too much. But sir, there’s been a shift towards violence since they started arriving. And more of them are being elevated to important roles.”

“So let the travelers chose what they do, like everyone else does.”

“But travelers are frightening. That girl over there, she looks stronger already, sir, and she’s just been picking up trash.”

“She’s about done.” Her progress bar was reaching completion. Which was good, every time I talked to Dayl my own progress for this NPC quest went up and down in bits.

“Do you think there will be war? Father says there won’t be one, but I can’t help but shake the feeling.” Dayl asked.

“Oh yes.” I nodded, and watched my own progress bar jump up five percent in one go. “There will always be a war.”

There I sat, an old man chewing on his lip, while watching a young girl about my niece's age clean up the beach. Most NPCs were gone by now. Those who lingered were escorting carts and headed various directions. While a guard who was entirely too young babysat me.

How odd this whole situation was.

The girl finally finished her task as I slowly tapped my foot in time to music in my head. I recalled a song that had played weeks ago. That four minute dance had taken me hours to learn. Maybe Old Man Carver had a bit of dance in him somewhere.

“I’m done Mister Carver, sir.” This player's tone was so soft spoken that I almost missed her. At some point my eyes had drifted out to the sea, watching blurry swells fade closer to shore.

“Here. A map.”

She carefully took the scroll from where it sat. I didn’t have the energy to lift my arm and actually hand it over.

“Mister Carver, sir. Where’s someone who can teach me cooking?”

“Mh. Turn it this way.” I tried to be decisive and issue orders just like William Carver would have. Besides, there was a whole mess of dots on there for different locations. Oddly, her map was completely empty. I touched the spot where the Inn Chef’s information displayed for me. A box faded into view facing this new player.

“Careful. He works nights, and only helps those who know how to keep a clean workplace.” She had done her job. Hopefully now my Carver points would allow me to do a bit more guidance.

“Maybe you should brush up a little before you drop by. Maybe pick up litter between here and there.” I was willing to bet there was a skill or trait called [Tidy] that would pop into being if she worked hard enough.

She nodded slowly while staring at the map.

“Dayl.”

“Yes sir?”

“She needs a bag, nothing fancy, just something to pick up trash with.”

“Miss, you can take one of the bags you used earlier. They’re free to anyone willing to help keep our city clean.” The younger guard looked so serious then, I’ll bet he had to work hard on avoiding the ‘my dad says’ line.

“There you go.”

She looked happy and a bit confused.

“Now, I need to get home.” I gained two points for showing her where to go and speaking as I did, but lost one of them just for staying out too long after sundown.

Standing hurt like hell and I fell again.

“Let me help Mister Carver Sir.” She dove for an arm and nearly wrenched it out of the socket. I grumbled but didn’t argue. The pain wasn’t mild. Moments later I was up and vaguely stable.

“I’m getting too old.” I muttered, half in jest. That lost me another point along with more information about Old Man Carver's dislike for admitting his age in front of people. I sighed and started shuffling off, leaving the girl and guard behind.

Home was northward, out on a small hill that would take too long to reach. My progress points danced as my slow pace home hurt things. Refusal to ask for help raised them back up. What a stubborn old man. Dayl was walking behind me a ways. His heavy metal footsteps stood out in the near silence of early night.

I made it to William Carver's house, I think. There were no other homes anywhere close. Guess Old Man Carver had retired in a small cottage on the edge of town. Shrubs and a wooden fence surrounded the property. A second fence ran along the back and went for miles in either direction. Behind the house was a field that stretched into sheer fuzziness. There were creatures that looked similar to horses in the distance.

I grunted and reached around inside my robe for a key to the door. Inside his house was almost as tiny as mine. There were another two small rooms filled with books. One was pulled down at random and shoved into a pocket for tomorrow’s bench sitting. Following that I shuffled my old tired NPC body to bed. Eyelids closed almost instantly leaving me alone in silent darkness.

Nighttime would last at least two hours. Long enough for me to log out of the ARC and take care of myself. Maybe catch a quick nap. I resolved the real life necessities by sending a memo to my boss. The contents said I would be ready for work in a week. Alarms were set and sleep claimed me. Old Man Carver's exhaustion was contagious.

An eye blink later and the alarm slammed on. I felt tired, having only sustained an hour of sleep, but it was better than nothing. I would have to ask Beth how to handle long term assignments in the game. There had to be some method for dealing with it aside from autopilot.

I logged into Continue. This time when I stepped through the doorway there was no room for tests and trials. James and the [Messenger's Pet] were absent. The game finished loading with me abruptly becoming an old man shakily trying to lift a crude coffee mug to his mouth for a sip. I fumbled a few drops before finishing up the motion.

Progress: 14%

Next time I should check the player status like Beth had done. That method would allow me to see what I was leaping into and maybe I could avoid dripping scalding hot water around. Strangely the poor treatment cost me a few health points but didn’t change my progress bar.

Following additional prompts I managed to stumble around the house. Apparently I was running late while trying to figure everything out. My tardiness was made clear by a tiny box which displayed hits to my completion percentage with warning notices.

I looted a few more map scrolls and an apple. They were put into pockets to go with the key and book Old Man Carver's robes already held. Huffing I turned and closed the door, making sure everything was locked up. The cane helped minimize Old Man Carver's unstable footsteps.

Once shuffling down the path I saw other townsfolk. Most of them waved. I nodded back frequently and felt like a complete impostor. These people knew William Carver the NPC, not Grant the player posing as Carver the non-player. At least I got a few more points for my vague replies to the people. Old Man Carver didn't seem big on social pleasantries.

Judging by morning traffic, stalls being set up, and bustle, this city contained two thousand people. We were sprawled out over a few miles. There was an entire marina for boating but it stopped short of being a trade port with giant ships coming in.

The ocean smell was masked by bakery goods and meats. I carefully looked at the scroll trying to map out where I was, verses all the little dots of information around me. There was an alley way near here that was dangerous at night. Notes on the map told me that this was an event location.

Now that was unfair. A guide NPC had access to this sort of information? I could just lead players into an alley at night and see if the survived the attack? For what? Turned out result possibilities were noted as well. Rewards were all over. One example was contacts with a Thieves guild, if you subdued but didn’t kill, or managed to steal from the attackers and get away. Another route pointed towards the guards and city, if you helped other civilians who might end up involved.

I mean really, who would even think of this stuff? Everything about it seemed designed to lead a player around based on their gut reactions.

The bakery near me provided a chance for new players to earn coin for work. They often hired Travelers for all roles. Sweeping, mixing, folding dough, or running the cash register.

I shook my head and tried not to read too much into it. Basically there were options all over the town. No two players would take the exact same path, show the same interests, or respond to the events in the same manor. Each one would have different rewards and a nearly unique experience. Not every player would talk to a guide, like the NPC I was pretending to be. Some had foreknowledge from friends and family. Some were savvy enough to find buildings that might teach what they wanted.

There were two buildings on the map loosely labeled training hall. From the information I read while walking, these locations seemed a lot like gyms for weapon trainers. I had to see what those were like. Hopefully there would be no drill sergeants spitting words at my face.

From a tree overhead there was a rush of noises. Rustling preceded a solid whack as something collided with the trunk, then what had to be a chipmunk chattering. Giant acorn like objects fell from the tree as the squabbling noises kept going.

I stopped and watched. The beach was in sight but this was interesting enough to suffer a hit to my progress bar. Soon other creatures joined in. My poor eyesight couldn’t make out if they had been there the whole time, or leapt from adjourning trees. They were clearly fighting something. That something was hissing back.

A smile crept across my crinkling face. I kept watching for the inevitable outcome. After thirty more seconds of squabbling, my little trouble making buddy fell from the branches above.

He was pelted by a good fifteen more acorn objects. In his teeth he had managed to wrestle one of the other creatures down. It looked like a sleeker chipmunk with a strange set of emerald jewels just above either eye.

“Identification.” I whispered. It wouldn’t do to have any of the other NPCs hear me using a player skill.

Skill Used: [Identification] Race: [Coo-Coo Rill] Status: Deceased Details:

Coo-Coo Rills are communal animals. They often steal bright shiny objects for their nests. More than one person has lost jewelery or coins to a colony’s hoard of treasures.

Warning!

Attacking one nest for treasure will often result in fighting a colony of [Coo-Coo Rill]s.

“Really?”

The [Messenger's Pet] huffed and shook his head back and forth.

“You weren’t trying to steal their treasures were you?”

He let out an angry hiss at the branches above. More trees rustled from overhead and another round of acorns towards both me and the miniature dragon.

“Bah.”

I shook my cane at the tree and kept walking on towards my bench. There was a bright shiny arrow bobbing above the ground as a guide. ‘Park your old butt here!’ it seemed to say.

Sitting hurt as much as walking.

Old age was no picnic. I spent the first thirty minutes of William Carver's bench warming time trying to play fetch with the miniature dragon. I still had no idea if the little fellow had a name or not. The carcass from a dead Coo-Coo Rill had been deposited in front of my bench.

Citizens of this world just walked around it with a giggle or frown. One woman clearly found the situation borderline hysterical. Probably my feeble tossing of nuts to the little dragon had something to do with it. A shimmering blue headband was wrapped around her hair. One stray chunk was tucked behind an ear as she sat down. The woman was clearly important. Old Man Carver didn’t have a wall of information about her stored away but there was one major message box.

Secondary Goal:

Old Man Carver has been trying to learn about this woman for years, but has come up empty. Learning more about her past will greatly increase your progress as Old Man Carver. This will help settle his spirit during passing.

Reward:

Significant Progress towards your completion [dependent upon information found]

Note:

Old Man Carver is typically direct, and has tried many tact's to get information in the past. The woman [Mylia Jacobs] finds this amusing and is deliberately obtuse. Progress: 21%

Carver was stalking this girl? Clearly it wasn’t offensive since she just sat down next to me with half a smile. Everything hurt so much when moving so I doubt Carver was trying to peep into showers.

“Morning Mylia.” I started polite and watched the meter for possible reactions.

“Mister Carver. How are you this fine day?”

“Enjoying the view.” I even managed not to look anywhere near her when saying it. Otherwise it would be god kind of creepy.

“And your little friend?”

“He followed me.” She was gesturing towards the tiny dragon who was now playing with a young boy. The [Messenger's Pet] was hopping around eagerly.

“What’s his name?”

“No idea. I’ll ask him.”

“Oh? Is he a tiny dragon?”

“Not exactly. A Messenger's Pet.” I was trying to sound impressive by knowing the dragon’s species which was clearly a bad idea. My progress bar dropped down two percent from that one. Old Man Carver didn’t give away much information if he could help it.

“Oh.” She looked worried and frowned for a moment. “Aren’t those bad?”

“Mh. What’s he going to do to me?” I felt little fear from the tiny dragon, but he did have teeth and breathed fire. With the pain feedback it would suck.

Not neat at all. Anti-neat. Pain-tastic.

“I don’t know, but it’d be a shame if something did happen.”

“Mylia, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d miss this old man.” I tested out the third person speech, tried not using titles like miss or ma’am. Instead, the progress bar went up a little.

“Not me Mister Carver. The kids though, they might miss your stories.”

“Everyone loves a good story.” There were two rooms full of books to prove that point.

“I imagine they love the story teller too.”

“Hah.” Old Man Carver didn’t seem very lovable. Maybe he was hard on the outside and soft on the inside. Like a very weird cookie. Probably raisin filled.

“Come on Phil, we’re running behind.”

The younger boy looked up and nodded. His eyes were worn. Not from abuse but from malnutrition. Mylia Jacobs wasn’t much better. Both of them were probably underfed. It wasn’t in her clothes or his but there was a familiar draw to the face.

“Mh. Goodbye Mylia.” It was almost absent minded as I studied them walking off. Mylia wasn’t excessively attractive. The only vaguely cute aspect was an azure band wrapped atop her head.

The small dragon nipped at my heel looking for attention. Now it was near noon and the bar set aside for hunger was dwindling. I absently pulled out my apple and ate a few bites while thinking of additional tasks.

“Mh.” Chewing hurt like everything else.

No new players had started today that needed my attention. Sitting on the bench I watched one bewildered person start and be cornered by a friend almost immediately. Clearly they were starting to play with someone from real life. The more senior player gave me a wave and hauled their friend onward.

I grunted and pulled out the book hidden in my robe. Reading to pass time would be helpful. [Inspection] revealed a surprise. Maybe that’s why this book had been easiest to grab.

Item:Carver's Journal, (Vol 1)

Description:William (Old Man) Carver, has kept a log of highlights from this world. It contains musings and general observations. He’s collectively titled these works ‘Notes from a Stranger in a Strange Land’. This reference is said to be from Old Man Carver's childhood.

“Mh.”

I started reading through the book. Somewhere during these boring actions the [Messenger's Pet] had decided to take a nap in a spot of sun nearby. His location would probably be safe from both the idle footsteps of people and the attacks of angry Coo-Coo Rills.

Wrote: Three weeks in this city and I’ve noticed a lot of issues. I’d finally ditched those other idiots and found my own pace. Michelle was too content to stay in our hometown and work a forge. Yates insisted on learning magic, even though it was too weird, and I just wanted to hit things with a sword.

Guess maybe I’m an idiot too. But here, in this world, you can be anything, why would I settle for being so mundane? I have a goal, and that goal is to kill a dragon.

I snorted in laughter which caused the tiny dragon to perk his ears for a moment. At least Carver had aimed high. Had he succeeded? There was about four weeks of bench warming to endure so I avoided reading spoilers if at all possible. According to the journal and my own personal in game display this was from about twenty five years ago.

A few more pages in and I could see Old Man Carver's general distaste for other people. He regarded their choices and their methods as dull and uninteresting. Not to say he didn’t occasionally pair up with people. The first misadventure he had involved a female elf from the general description. They tried to stop giant wasps from chewing up a great tree of some sort.

He outlined the qualities of said female elf and went into excessive detail about her exuberance for all new things. The entry ended with a parting of ways. The tree was also saved but from how everything was written saving nature had been a secondary mission. I rolled my eyes. Old Man Carver sounded like a young teen in this one, not that there was an age listed anywhere.

Glancing around revealed that all was fairly peaceful. Guards patrolled and townsfolk visited the beach. It looked cleaner since that new player had spent hours picking up trash. Noon was growing closer and things were warming up. Old Man Carver's robe was not very comfortable in this sun.

I looked around for a shady perch. There was another similar bench with an awning attached. Moving there earned me another percent on my progress bar and turned down the heat.

Wrote: After my very grateful parting with the elf, I set my compass south. There was a desert there that boasted giant lizards. I assume they’ll be good practice for fighting a Dragon. Before that, the sword I picked up in my hometown is also due for a repair. Maybe I’ll stop by home and see if Michelle can actually craft something as decent as he thinks.

He keeps bragging about his skills. Idiot. I’m glad he’s not out here with me; I’d probably have to rescue him from every tiny monster that attacks. That guy is so weak a feather would beat him up.

I hope he never reads this journal. Free gear is nothing to sneeze at. Ugh. He’ll probably demand that I give him all the resources I’ve gathered out here. He bled me dry over a pair of greaves, I can’t imagine how much worse a decent sword will be.

“Hey. Old Man Carver.” There was a voice out of the blue disturbing review of my, Carver's, past. Goodness this was confusing.

“What.” The heat, being interrupted, and a faint promise of pain if I moved too suddenly, all combined together to make me irritated. My curt response was worth another percentage. I bet yelling from my lawn at the town's children would send my progress through the roof.

“I need a quest from you. Then give me a map.” The other figure was a brown haired boy in his early twenties. Thank goodness this game had an age requirement or I would be flooded with children demanding things.

He still had that semi lean form that young adults wear so well before everything goes south later in life. I stared at him, and uttered the first mildly Carver thing to come to mind.

“You’re a rude brat aren’t you.”

Score another percentage for me.

“Listen old man, I can’t waste time here. Give me a quest, and I’ll be out of your hair and on my way.”

“You think it’s that easy? I give you a quest, and you get a reward?”

“Isn’t it? What kind of game is this?” The younger man’s words made me smile. 'What kind of game' seemed to be a common question.

“Bah. This isn’t a game, this is deadly serious. You want something,” I stood up to the best of Old Man Carver's ability. That was a slow painful process full of barely suppressed grunts. “You earn it.”

“It’s just a map. I need that, and I need directions to the weapons hall.”

“Yeah. Swinging a sword sounds like the move of a future Champion.” My sarcastic barb cost me a few points. Oh. That was because William Carver had been a sword swinger. I had just insulted my own past.

“No, daggers, I’m going to be an Assassin.”

I rolled my eyes. What kind of player just announces himself to an NPC like that? Maybe a swift punch in the face would allow me to claim a Monk. Yeah. We were four sentences into our interaction and I had labeled him as an idiot. Old Man Carver was really rubbing off on me. Four weeks of this and I would have trouble unwinding back to my happy spot. At least he wasn’t a drunk according to the first few years of his life.

Behind us there was someone walking animals along the path. Inspiration grabbed me.

“Fine. I’ll give you a task worthy of your future occupation.”

“Good.”

“Go moo at that,” I used [Identification] on the creature. It looked like a cow and the description wasn’t too far off. “bovine over there. Do it until I’m satisfied and you’ll get your map.”

Part of me felt euphoric when a pop up box appeared in front of the new player. Sure enough my actions had generated another quest. Just like the girl who cleaned the beach up. She had been way more polite.

“A cow. Are you serious?” The new player thought it was a cow too.

Spots, a few extra horns, slightly odd hind legs, still a cow. The new player didn’t have an [Identification] skill like me. According to the game text the creature was called something else. I ignored the in game race and just filed it away as [Future Beef Patty].

“Dead serious. Show me you have the determination to follow through, and I’ll even throw in a contact for your Assassin class.” I deadpanned the response and lost another percentage point.

“Fine.”

I would never be satisfied with his attempt at mooing to the cow.

“Carver, are you really going to let that child become an assassin?” There was a deep male voice that had crept up behind me. I tried not to act disturbed.

Turning slightly revealed a guard. His armor was far more outstanding than the other guards were. They looked very cookie cutter. The man standing next to me was clearly unique. Embellishments adorned shoulders and similar etchings were everything down to the heavy boots.

I briefly read of the descriptions popping up on my display while chewing at a lip. The new player had run off down the road chasing [Future Beef Patty].

Name: [Future Beef Patty]

Details:This is the description given to a passing bovine. The name is entirely in William (Old Man) Carver's imagination.

“Wyl.” I uttered the same type of greeting I used with Mylia. Sure enough, my flat utterance of a name earned me a point.

“Carver.” Further reading identified this man as a Guard Captain. Surprisingly he was fairly high ranked for this town. My [Identification] display had a window with a funny shield and sword combination. The symbol outlined with a wreath and two stars. It was the same sort of nonsense I had seen on military general uniforms.

“Doubt he has the stomach to follow through. Too much pride.” That player didn’t seem like the type able to handle my demeaning task.

“We can hope.”

“Doubt he follows orders either. Not like your boy Dayl.” I said the name and felt conflicted about how many names had a 'y' in them. Maybe it was a regional thing.

“My son's a good man.”

His son constantly said ‘My Father says’. Calling him a good man seemed misleading. Not my family though. Old Man Carver might be blunt but he seemed secretive enough to not speak these conclusions out loud.

“Mh. He’s got a long ways to go.” I was absently staring after the player who ran off into the distance. He seemed to be waving his hands in panic, trying to get the man escorting [Future Beef Patty] to slow down.

“Don’t I know it.” Wyl sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with a hand. His fingers clanked as they worked between armor chunks to get to irritated skin.

“Why the sudden visit Wyl?” I knew from the various system messages that the guard captain rarely came down to the beach. Not even for Old Man Carver’s wise council.

“One of the Priestess of Selena has requested your presence.” Who-lena? What? Judging by the name this was one of the Voices. No one else would have temples in this world.

“Now?”

“Now.” Wyl confirmed.

“What about our future sword for hire there?”

“I’ll leave a guard for him with a few more tasks. Something to hopefully deter that stupid Assassin idea.”

“Good luck. Boy seems addle brained.”

“It’s fine. If that’s truly what he wants to do, we can’t stop him. Travelers are hard to control.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“That you would. It takes a rare man to suffer their bewildered demands. I don’t know where they get half the fool notions they have.”

I snorted. To me, a player posing as an NPC, it was extremely clear where most of their ‘fool notions’ came from. Other games and a world of informational boxes had served to brainwash this latest generation.

“Come on Carver. I’ll walk you up to the Temple.” Wyl said.

I grumbled. This would surely be another bout of aches and pains. Actually voicing my complaints out loud wouldn’t be a very character appropriate thing to do. That silly little bar reinforcing my actions was the only thing standing between me and answers about my fiancée.