I liked these trees. Two major types littered the city. Tall ones that spiraled up high were typically standing clustered together near grassy areas. Everywhere else, especially over pathways, were trees with large branching canopies. They stretched across twenty and thirty foot gulfs towards each other. Overhead they twined together creating a spotty patchwork of leaves.

“How’s retirement been treating you Carver?” Wyl’s questioning tone implied a long term relationship. How did a computer program account for all these possible interactions between NPCs?

“It’s peaceful.” I said without inflection. My score went neither up nor down.

He looked at the item in my hands. Carver’s Journal was still tucked under an arm and the cane death gripped. Behind us the [Messenger's Pet] tried to figure out ways into [Coo-Coo Rill] nests. Silly creature. I had no idea why it bothered following me so much.

“Can’t imagine it myself. I have a feeling I’ll be doing this until I die.”

“Mh. Probably.” NPCs were likely to do the same role their entire lives. Depending on how this whole situation was set up. How would this game act in five or ten years? Would they get older?

I should just focus on playing and not worry about the future. There were four weeks of strangeness to get through first. Time warping ratios were kind of nice in terms of vacation.

“Planning any new adventures?”

“Just one more.” Words came out of my mouth unbidden. What the heck? I hadn’t meant to say that at all. My impulse control was either crap or the computer had talked for me.

“You’ve got plenty left in you Carver.”

Was this tied to the Old Man Caver quest? Queue a seemingly random pop up box. Now I was assigned another secondary goal on top of the first one.

Secondary Goal:

Old Man Carver has expressed his desire to take one last adventure before passing. Find something worthy of Carver’s legacy before the end of four weeks. Doing one last adventure 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:

This adventure must be recognized by others as worthy of Carver.

Great. I had to figure out something about a girl who liked to mess with me and pretend to be obtuse. While sitting on a bench most of the day. While trying to find one last adventure. On top of that was ignoring real life, learning vague game rules, and not building my own character.

At least Old Man Carvers little stories amused me.

The new player and Guard Captain had interrupted me during Carver’s recounting of a fight with a strange horse thing. He said it would shift colors to blend in with a background, all to sneak up and kick him with its hind legs. I was waiting to see how it ended.

“What does the Priestess want?”

“No idea. But I figured I'd best come fetch you instead before of those fresh faced Travelers do. You get enough of them already.” Wyl smiled a lot.

“Mh.” Non-committal grunts were the way to respond.

“Why did you volunteer for guide anyway?” Some of the information I knew after reading Old Man Carvers dossier and other pop ups. Carver had started being a guide as soon as Travelers started showing up. He, I, had also settled in this town right around the same time.

“Something to do.” That lost me points.

“You killed a dragon by yourself, and call guiding new Travelers something to do?”

Stupid spoilers! He ruined the end of Carvers Journals for me and left me confused in the process. I couldn’t respond with a good reason because I barely knew Carver. It was impossible to believe that a game touted for its realism had dwindled down each NPC to a few basic personality traits. From my progress bar's reaction, Carver was very realistic and not just a simple cardboard cutout.

That made me lose step for a moment, literally. I stumbled over nothing and nearly fell flat on my face. Wyl’s quick actions kept me somewhat upright but my shoulder paid the price instead. A fresh wave of pain piled on top of the general hell Carver’s every movement was. Turned out there was no pain setting to turn down this whole mess.

“Gah.” I had to stop. Wyl got me to a bench and I tried to control my near collapse. How the heck would Carver go on an adventure like this? I should just fail that onus and hope everything else was good enough.

“Rest a few. I’ll go let the Priestesses know of our delay.”

I just nodded hastily and tried to control my heart rate and breathing. There was a clench in my chest that wouldn’t let go. Wyl walked away and left me clutching my chest. A simulated heart attack was wracking my virtual body. That’s what this must be. This was a dimmed down version of Carver’s heart seizing up.

It hurt.

Goodness it hurt.

Why wouldn’t this end?

After a few minutes the pain passed and all the air in the world felt thin. My arm shook, legs quivered. What had brought this on? Had the original Carver died from this? Even one fifth of the feedback had disabled all coherent thought.

“I’m getting old.” Admitting weakness normally went again the persona being projected but I lost no points from my admission.

Focusing on something other than pain would keep me going. Move forward, never back. I used the time to weigh my understandings of Carver in case Wyl asked me for motivation again. To help get into the mind of the man I posed as, I cracked open the Journal and resumed reading.

Old Man Carvers eyes moved slower than I liked. Reading the letters felt hard to focus on. Some of them mixed up and required rereading. After too much concentration I found out that Carver had managed to tame the horse and took him on the next adventure.

Some of the wording threw me off though. The way he spoke about things didn’t feel like a denizen from this world. There were no citations about his childhood. The date stamps were from years ago, but judging by Carvers age they basically started at about fifty.

I checked the cover again, this was Volume one. Slowly my eyes retracted the latest strange passage.

Wrote: Michelle had a great technique from his training. I had to wait two days for him to return to the shop so I could see it in action. The way he swung the hammer down almost made me switch focus. Too bad time was short, the doctors have only cleared me for another year or two tops. I'm stubborn enough to live beyond that, I don't care what they say. Every moment counts. Old age is horseshit. All this power and we can’t stop a bum ticker.

That was out of place. A bum ticker? Was this just a weird translation issue?

“Are you ready to go Carver?” Wyl had returned.

Slow sighing preceded me putting the book away. Afterwards I nodded and Wyl was kind enough to not ask any questions. He could see my struggling.

Halfway up the hill the guard captain asked again. Why did I, or Carver, act as a guide to new players? There was no clear cut answer. For several slow steps I pondered life’s biggest question. What would Carver do? I could tattoo that on my arm, or maybe a bracelet, WWCD. Reminder bracelets would be a new fad for all the residents of our fine city of [Haven Valley].

It had been around twenty four hours in game. Things didn’t even feel high paced. Sitting on a bench for hours and throwing acorns at a tiny dragon was a pleasant way to pass the time. Reading some misadventures was fun too. None of those hurt my progress. I could safely say that Carver didn’t have problems idling time away. Not that his biography talked about the boring parts.

But why did he go to the beach day after day to wait for new players? Oh. There was an easy out here.

“You know I don’t just give away answers Wyl unless you earn it.” Ding, there was a few percentage on my progress bar. Score one for reasonable deductions.

“Hah. Stubborn old man.”

“Until the day I die.” I agreed with a slightly pleased tone. The comment got me another point. Of course, Carver was proud of being a hardheaded mule. Slowly but surely I was learning to be someone else. All at once disturbed, I logged out of my ARC and held very still as shaking overtook my senses.

I didn’t want to let go and for a moment it had felt like that was exactly what was happening. Counting backwards from sixty happened more than once. Then breathing, pinching the bridge of my nose, rubbing earlobes. All those things were techniques to try and calm myself. Each one helped me return to my happy place and not feel like the world was falling apart.

A message on my ARC distracted me. I put it on play.

“Uncle Grant! It’s been like, a week. I know you’re playing, where are you? I want to come visit! Send me a message in game, I’ll tell you all the best hunting spots! You haven’t played until you’ve been in a fight with the wolves in this game. They’re super heart thumping. User name Thorny!”

I about died giggling. Trust my niece to brighten my day with something blissfully out of place. My laughing convulsions kept going until both eyes watered. Beth was just a little crazy. Her friend probably had some other similarly silly name. I would have to think of a good name for myself, but nothing like Thorny. Goodness. Knowing my niece she had found some awkwardly matching title.

That half demon skin she had, coupled with what I saw from the Temptress Voice painted a gloomy picture for Beth’s mother, Liz. I wondered exactly how much she kept in the loop. Of course given the way Liz was as a teen, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. I remember avoiding mom and dad as much as possible when Liz was up to her antics. There was no way I would explain what my older twin was up to.

Okay. Those thoughts of times past had me in a better mood. I cleaned up, grabbed a drink, relieved the pressure on my bladder and popped back into Continue.

Auto pilot had me up the hill and panting for breath. All around an easier way to travel, but I lost a few points for not performing the actions myself. Neat. Even after the deduction I did well enough to get a bonus. Hopefully this would help me figure out some additional information. Though quests never made sense to me, why would an NPC with so much power and skill ask a player to help them with something difficult? Often times the player was lower level than the quest giver.

Reward: For reaching above 25% completion you will gain access to William Carvers skills. Over the course of his life he has gained a large number of abilities and secret bits of knowledge.

Unlocked!

William (Old Man) Carvers rank one skills are all displayed and can be actively used. Progress: 28%

I mean, old man carver was old. Old, old, old, old, old, it made sense if I, posing as him, asked players to do things. Unless some of these skills were as neat as they looked. Titles ranged across the board. These traits were fairly self explanatory. [Truth Sense: Verbal specialist], [Weapon Focus: Bladed], [Retired Grand Explorer]. One made me really snort, [Stubborn as a Mule]. I only looked at a few of the items, scanning my eyes this way and that to trigger the displays for information. Hopefully no NPCs would think me mentally ill, considering I basically possessed William Carver. The thought of being some sort of skin walker made me throw up a bit in my mouth. I played it off as having a sour taste.

“We’re here Carver. I’ve got to get back to my duties. Will you be okay?”

I waved the man off and stood there waiting, both hands on my cane and trying to hold steady while thoughts dripped through.

This place was pretty. It sat overlooking the ocean, much like my bench but far higher up. We crisscrossed a few times up a painful incline that only had benches at the curves. Around me there seemed to be a few rooms and a downstairs of some sort. Things were a bit fuzzy in Carver land so I couldn’t be sure. There seemed to be no male priests here, after a few minutes I was very, extremely sure of that.

The dresses, columns and Romanesque designs were familiar. I slowly raised my eyes upwards and found, at the tallest point of the temple, as statue of a woman looking outward. Even fuzzy vision couldn't disguise that far away look.

Oh no. Wyl had escorted me right to a personal fan's temple.

“Selena huh.” I muttered out loud while surveying the area. This seemed very typical of the Voice. Marble, ocean, distracted pondering of the ocean. Too bad she seemed to hate me. And since I was raking up about a billion negative reputation points with the Voice, I decided to earn a few more.

“I can see up your dress.” Giving the statue above my best old man leer paid off with two pop up boxes.

Divine Attention +4 Progress: 26%

“Heh.” Proof that my own skills would increase while under the guise of William Carver. I would need to wait until I was me to check out what exactly Divine Attention did. Not that the goal was stat points, more just yanking her chain.

None of the priestesses paid me any attention despite my stellar commentary. I shuffled over to the edge and looked off into the distance. Even fuzzy there was a definite beauty to this scene, especially up high. A wind breezing through brought that fish smell of the ocean, which was unique to a land dweller like me.

“Nice view. I bet the sunsets are something.” I commented to the statue. Even though it was unlikely Selena was paying that much attention to me.

Slowly I eased to the ground, much to the relief of my knees.

“Wish my eyesight wasn’t so terrible.” A growl of my tummy and the dipping bar to one side of my view also explained other things currently lacking. I tilted my head back and spoke to the statue again.

“You know why I’m here? I doubt your ladies invited me for a picnic.”

“Certainly not Will. From what I remember your cooking was terrible.” And that was a deceptively sweet voice full of artificial cuteness.

“You’ll have to come around. I’ve grown to love the view.” In reality moving again would just hurt more.

“It’s a view I’ve enjoyed myself many times.” The woman with a fake syrupy voice came nearby and sat down. She was plump, short, and far too chesty. I only gave her a side glance and registered the system boxes providing me information. She was a High Priestess of Selena. Carver’s information included everything from age, food preferences, to less public items. Such as a birthmark location and most common saying while being…compromised. It had been awhile since I compromised anyone on the level William Carvers information suggested. Goodness.

She was certainly younger. Score one for Old Man Carver, I guess. I slowly scanned through more information and tried to gloss over the more lewd details. Turned out they hadn’t been together in that fashion since the woman took on her role as High Priestess, so years ago.

Oh. That’s why I was here.

“Have you given more thought to giving Selena your oath?” Her name, Peach, sort of went with her general complextion.

“No.” I wasn’t even lying in the slightest amount. I, Grant Legate, had given no thought to Selena getting my oath or anything else. I moved past that one during the trial room. Unsurprisingly the declaration gained me more progress points.

“Still the same old bull headed man.”

I grunted, either from pain or in response.

“Hip okay?” She kept glancing sidelong at me. My simulated eyesight wasn't so bad that I couldn't see her head turn. Subtlty was not in her skill listing.

“Fine.”

“Shoulders?” Would Carver flinch at her tone? No, he found it endearing. Joy. I shook my head.

“Good as ever.” I licked at a dry lip and pondered how to handle all this.

“That’s your way of saying it hurts every time the wind blows, right, you old goat?” The curve laden woman gave a laugh. Hah. This woman clearly knew Carver despite a grumpy exterior. Nor did she hesitate to point out his age. Hopefully I wouldn’t screw up and betray Carvers recent passing.

“Ah well. You never admit anything anyway.”

“Nope.” I managed to avoid nodding in confirmation. According to the information popping around me, this conversation was common. Weekly if I were to gauge. Wyl always had a guard take over the Guide duties below on the beach. Overall it was interesting NPC behavior.

“The Voice sent me a dream last night.” Her sweet voice managed to twist at the end. A slight gurgle that must mean unhappiness.

“And?”

“Selena showed me you, walking through a door into the beyond.”

“Was it white?” My eyes narrowed in thought.

“Pure, like fresh snow.” She nodded but had no hint of joy on her face. Her sweet tone of voice betrayed no additional information.

“Mh.” So Selena, the Voice who had never said a word, sent a picture of me in the trial room to her follower? My mind was splitting across this conversation and following my earlier train of thought. Wait a minute. How had this not occurred to me before? How exactly did an NPC die before their time, and be taken over by a player?

“I’m worried about you William.” Her voice cracked a little.

“Don’t be. I’m healthy as an ox.”

“Hah!” She laughed and broke the sweetened voice completely before coughing and getting back into the act. “You might fall over without that cane.”

Suddenly I wanted to get away from the High Priestess and back to my bench. Carvers Journal would be read in a new light. One where he wasn’t a computer generated creature, but a real player. One who had somehow been in this game years before public release. I sucked in my breath. Was he a beta player? Was Carver a Trillium employee? No wonder the Voices cared about his memory so much. Everything about this setup made so much more sense. A Trillium employee would be a VIP on this side of the ARC. The player who owned William Carver had died. What a crazy game.

“Are you alright William?”

“My hips are okay.”

The woman sighed.

“William. I’ve been watching, the last few weeks you’ve been more distant, almost like you weren’t even there. Now, today, I saw a bit of spring in your step, but something’s wrong. I can tell.”

I gave a faint smile with both eyes glued on the distance. If I was been able to leap into this role and gain all my points, perhaps Carver's cover would have been better.

There was a squabble of noise coming near the cliff. I sighed.

Sure enough, flopping out of the air with a small bird was the [Messenger's Pet]. They came in with a roll of feathers and decaying chirps. My tiny dragon buddy had managed to tuck one wing in as the tangled mess spun a few more times. It shook me out of the confused thought spiral I had descended into.

“Is that?”

“A small dragon. Yes.” Question answered and points lost. Go team me.

“No. It’s a [Messenger's Pet]. Isn’t it?”

I wasn’t sure how to respond so I just said nothing. Carvers messages from beyond had rather firmly advised me not to answer questions without an exchange.

“Oh William.” And for some reason the woman next to me became extremely sad, and hugged this old man’s head. I was amazed at the detail of my situation. Her skin felt like real skin, fingers felt warm, William Carver was extremely frail and the motion hurt.

Finally, with no further words, she just walked away and left me alone. There I sat in confusion, staring at the small dragon tear into his prey's remains. Two women had found my buddy's presence strange. Why did that make me sad?

“What did you do, huh?” The dragon crunched a bone and provided no response.

“Fine. Back to work then.” My cane wobbled around without finding solid purchase. Eventually I managed to get the pseudo leg under me and wandered off down the hill. Back to my bench, and back to my, his, journal. Wait. I am not William Carver. William Carver is dead. The thought shook me.

Tonight, when Carver went to bed and I could log out without risk, I would look up Trillium's site. Maybe there was be something useful. A salute to a deceased employee, assuming William Carver wasn’t played by some random no name from across the globe. I wanted to see the real world face of the man whose body I occupied.

Happy place, I had to stay in my happy place. I had to not think about people who William had left behind, or how badly my acting skills were. Let’s not dwell on the fact that this body had belonged to flesh and blood, not just a digital cutout. People might be watching me right now and commenting on a clearly lacking performance.

Oh goodness. I’m a failure. I’m screwing it all up again. Happy place, countdown, focus on walking. Set a simple task, get to the bottom of the hill, and relieve the guard, read a book. Follow the simple on screen prompts telling me how to be someone else.

Oh goodness.

Steps were interspersed with clenched eyes and waves of aching. Pauses to rest were taken while the tiny [Messenger's Pet] got into fights with anything that moved. All manor of creatures were subjected to his rage. Stray [Coo-Coo Rills], birds of strange origins, even flowers waving in a breeze. No fire was used in the harming of animals however. I guess he preferred his meat raw.

Little Savage.

I tried to bonk him with the cane in passing, which nearly sent me tumbling for a pure miss. He gave me a halfhearted hiss before tearing into the latest floral victim.

Once on the bench, I started reading. Six game days passed with this basic routine. Sit on a bench, give new players mindless tasks. Two players were sent on follow up quests regarding Mylia. Neither one came back.

If William Carver was a real person then whole quest system he got was something granted by the computer. The system must extremely neat to pull this off. I shuffled William back to his home for the night and log out. Once there I gave researching Trillium employee information a go. Turned out being a private eye was not one of my skills, not even using the ARC or Hal Pal’s interactive responses.

I gave up quickly and took a nap before hopping back into the ARC to live as Carver. My brain was getting all messed up from living this way, but it also felt like a really, really, long vacation. In a dead man's virtual body.

Right, I had to keep shifting my focus to positive items. I managed to build up my progress bar to over fifty percent. That was good. Carver had five journals covering decades in game, which was also good. It let me narrow down the search to employees who had worked with Trillium for years. Plus the stories were funny. There was a theme to the autobiography. He wrote about his friends Michelle and Yates, well, friends was too strong, they seemed more like office members. None of them moved around as much as William had. William went everywhere in the game. Michelle went from one crafting skill to another, to another, and rarely left the same city.

Yates, if the stories were believed, had traveled to other planes and written entire books on it. He played this game and scrawled out all of his findings on digital ink. Had they been like Carvers? There wasn’t anything that outright said ‘I’m a player’, maybe the game had censored things.

And everywhere that Carver went, the [Messenger's Pet] was sure to follow. He hung out randomly in the Atrium of my ARC. He wandered near William Carver while being logged in. By the end of day two of real time I expected to wake up to the tiny dragons presence inside my real world room. He seemed trapped in the digital landscape. Turns out dragons pooped excessively large amounts.

My most recent adventure was dealing with another new player.

“Are you sure this is the right way?” The woman wore starter clothes comprising of a thin shirt and pants that all new players were given. Her wide hips pulled the pants tightly around her legs. I glossed over her user name like every other new player to come my way.

“You wanted a training hall. This is the right way.” This latest charge had demanded I walk her to the destination instead of just handing over a map.

“Are you sure?”

The bench was starting to sicken me anyway. One week down, three to go. Too many of these new players had shown up recently. They were about half and half in terms of attitude verses confusion.

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re senile. I’ll bet you’re programmed by the same people who made my coffee machine.” Even her footsteps sounded angry as we made our way down the street.

“What’s a coffee machine?” I feigned ignorance.

“Stupid computer.”

We were only a few vague city blocks away. There were a stands, stores, and one or two rows of housing, but I could see the roof of the training hall from here. I, Grant Legate, had never been inside but Carvers map had tons of information.

“Over there.” I sat on a bench and pointed out the destination. Moving around as William had good days and bad, today was somewhere between. Bench time was delightful.

“This doesn’t look like a training center.”

“What did you expect?” Queen of the hate filled frump didn’t like my question. She was all hips and anger.

“I don’t know. People, rules, a guide, something.”

“Try walking inside. See if Madam Hall is there.” Madam Hall was one of the people that managed the training building. She was also half a brick from the dossier on Williams maps

“You’re a rude machine.”

“Get what you give.” I calmly responded.

“Jerk.”

Bets were on this woman earning Madam Hall's anger. Especially since she didn’t like being called Madam, or Hall, she preferred Peg. According to my notes the woman would assign extra duties to anyone who address her the wrong way.

Hopefully by the end of today this player would understand being rude wouldn’t get her far. Or maybe it would, there seemed to be options and paths for every type of person. I sat and read the latest journal to pass more time, putting the future of Continue's newest player out of my mind.

Wrote: I can’t believe those idiots each got their own assignment. In order to sign off on the project we had to provide them an incentive. Part of me would have been perfectly comfortable keeping these adventures to myself. Yet, there are too many things, too much for me to handle on my own.

Eventually I’ll have to slow down. The medics have once again reminded me how little time is left. At least like this, here, I can make every second count.

I stayed on that boat for three weeks talking to sailors about myths and legends, trying to plot out my next exploration. Some of these quests would require an army, which I don’t have.

Eventually there will be other Travelers though. Eventually. Someone will have to show them the ropes and make them understand how real this world is.

Well. Was that why William Carver played as a new guide? His passages seemed to indicate a medical issue. It wasn’t enough to stop him…

Oh.

William had a real world problem and a time limit. He was playing Continue to explore a world and enjoy the four to one compression. This made a lot more sense once I realized a player had written these journals. Oh. That’s why he was a guide to new players! He was showing them the ropes. I turned over the journal and nearly giggled in happiness. This was great. That might be why I stalled out on my progress over the last day or two. Something in my actions was lacking compared to Carvers expectations.

“MMmh. What do you think Little Savage?” I asked the tiny dragon. He was dragging a stick along the ground while growling around the edge. I couldn’t decide if the small creature was more like a cat or dog. No, clearly cats and dogs were like dragons. That was it. He didn’t respond to Little Savage. Honestly the [Messenger's Pet] didn’t respond to any name I attempted to attach. Food though, the creature responded to food at any point.

I closed the book and asked myself, what would Carver do?

The problem was me. I wasn’t following through, on anything. Four volumes of the man’s thoughts and I could tell when tasked with something he went full bore. Me? I hadn’t tried to find a heroic battle. I hadn’t put serious work into figuring out Mylia. I was nearly flippant when assigning people their quests. Painfully I stood up. It required summoning all the bull headed determination that could be applied to a deceased William Carver. Once stable I walked towards the training building.

Inside was misleading. The building itself was half covered and led out to a yard that was beaten by the passage of hundreds of players. Rain, sweat, and blood had matted into the dirt to make it harder than the cobblestone walkways. All the best stuff hid under cover. Peg Hall was across the yard near one of the training dummies. She argued, loudly, with the new player about something.

I looked around with my fuzzy eyesight. Information boxes popped up with vague information. A set of beaten straw dummies sat under the covered area I wandered into. There was a bar dropped across saw like holders that went up a tall wall. Weapons racks with equally damaged belongings.

“Huh.” I wandered the edge of the room, ignoring the screaming match. Peg seemed a step away from getting physical. The wide hipped ball of anger was oblivious.

“Huh.” This latest rack had four types of swords. According to Old Man Carvers skill swords were the favored weapon. He had preferred over the top two handed in many of his stories.

I picked one up while Peg resumed screaming orders. I chose Peg for this newest player because their personalities would clash. Carvers map had alternate options, one of the males at the training grounds was almost super model in appearance. His notes also indicated a tendency to sleep with anything moving. That seemed like a bad combination.

Goodness this sword was heavy. This was strange. It wasn't the weight dragging at one side and how disproportionate the weapon looked compared to Old Man Carvers hands. No, all Old Man Carvers aches and pains seemed to diminish in a wave of energy. Putting my second hand over the hilt only made the difference stand out more. Carver was extremely comfortable holding a blade.

I tried to take a stance, slowly edging until the balancing points felt right. I, Grant Legate, was no sword master. Instead my skills came from Old Man Carvers body wanting to lean certain ways. Falling into comfortable patterns was easy with my dancing experience. Swinging around a hefty weight was familiar.

“What are you doing William?” Peg abruptly turned from her shouting match and looked at me.

I grunted and stood uncomfortably swinging a blade in front of the professional. But this moment, holding a weapon like this, was pain free. I wanted to enjoy that for as long as possible.

“William! I swear to the Voices you’ve lost every sense of sanity they’ve graced you with. Put, that, down!”

A scowl crossed my face but both arms held the pleasent pose. This was like being completely and utterly relaxed but still taut at the same time. Carvers body felt almost ready for anything. The straw dummy next to me was practically quivering in terror.

Oh. A bar identified as Stamina was starting to drop quickly. I had cleverly placed it next to my hunger bar. They were both measures of my ability to last. The stamina bar had been helping me for the last few days in traveling around. Guess Old Man Carver couldn’t hold a weapon too long, no matter how positive the action felt. With my remaining energy I let go of my awkward stance holding the sword and racked the weapon.

“What were you thinking William?!”

“I know my limits Peg.” I had a very clear bar to outline them. Add in six days reading and performing inside the skin of another player and limits were extremely visible. He had come to this world to hunt dragons with the last years of his life. Then, since I assumed he succeeded, retired to rise a new generation up.

“What do you think?” The cane was much lighter and much easier to wave around at the new player.

“Her? Is this your fault? Voices have mercy, why would I want to deal with this woman? Give me a young strapping boy any time. They’re fun to watch sweat and so much more reasonable.”

“But not her?” I ignored the NPC's dreamy look.

“No! She storms in here, and demands I teach her how to fight, and refuses to work for it.” Pegs arms waved in disgust and then crossed. The wide hipped woman was busy swinging a staff of some sort at the other straw dummy. Even my untrained eye could see how bad she was doing.

“She’s energetic.”

“Possessed more like.” Peg said. I tried not to get thrown off my game at her apt description of my own state. Luckily Old Man Carver was slow to respond.

“It happens.”

“I’ve seen Travelers swing like her before. They’re just violent. All the time.”

“We are what life makes of us.” My shoulders gave a tiny shrug.

“Voices, I don’t believe that. You’ve worked with them more than anyone. Voices, you even warned us they’d be coming months in advance, are they all so angry?”

I debated the worth of answering her question. Old Man Carver didn’t like responding to questions without an exchange of some sort.

“Peg, you help an old man remember how to swing a sword, and I’ll answer any questions you might want about Travelers.” That comment gained me a few, even after admitting my age out loud.

“Years now, and I feel like I don’t understand any of them. They just rush through lessons until they break apart, and come back again for more!” Peg threw both hands in the air and rolled her eyes.

I stood there resting on the cane. My normal aches and pains were slowly returning. The sensation was a far cry from the constant numbing existence I lived while being logged into the ARC.

“I mean some of them, they’re just like our people, even their sayings and strange words make sense after a while. But Voices, all those fresh to our world, they come in so…”

The wide hipped new player was yelling at the straw man. Her words had degenerated into senseless tones that just came out sharply.

“Angry?” I volunteered.

“Voices yes.” Peg managed to walk over to the rack and snag a weapon for me while never taking her eye off the new student. There was a reason she ran this place.

“She’s got no style. No coordination.”

“Lots of energy.”

“For now. Wait until I start putting her through the basic course. She’ll either run screaming back to you for a new life choice, or be ready to move on.”

“She may go home.” And never log into Continue again.

“I doubt it. Some vanish for a few days, weeks even, but eventually I see them all again.”

“This world has much to offer that theirs doesn’t.”

“Like what? Maybe you can explain it in a better way than they do. Voices above, the stuff they talk about sounds like a dream.”

“Remind me how to swing this first.”

“Fine. Voices know you shouldn’t need a reminder. You taught my brother.” Both hands uncrossed and went to her hips. Peg's head tilted as she studied my old form top to bottom.

“Humor me.”

“Alright. Your balance is still solid, how are your hips?” She stared at them.

“Women keep asking me about my hips.” I managed to keep a passive face.

“Them’s the breaks of a retired hero.” Peg laughed happily. “More than one lady lifted her skirt in hopes of birthing a legend.”

“Even you Peg?”

“Voices no, I hold a look but don’t touch policy most days. I’ve seen them all at the start. Half of them show up in our world with a spare head up their asses. Can’t get that image out of my head.”

I laughed and held the much lighter sword.

“There. You haven’t completely lost the touch. Your balance is a bit different than what I remember. I imagine age is catching up with you.”

“And my hips.” No points lost there either. Was Carver a witty person? Or was my progress bar just in limbo while my attempted change of pace was judged by the Voices?

“Everything starts from the core. Hips go, everything goes.” Peg said. Her arms were lifting mine a bit higher and adjusting the swords tip.

“Swing again.”

I did, trying to get everything in concert.

“Rusty, but better than I expected. Again.”

So it went for another ten whacks against the target dummy. What little practice I had resulted from my time in the room of trials. There was no moment in my past where I had secretly taken a martial art or joined a kendo team. I knew nothing about weapons beyond what television and video games had shown me.

Peg kept adjusting my movements just a little bit here and there. She stood near the dummy and told me where to aim for, which way to swing the blade. If my actions were odd to her, she was kind enough not to mention it.

“What’s this, the blind leading the blind?”

“Voices.” Peg said that word a lot. Maybe it was the closest she allowed herself to a real curse word.

“William has forgotten more about being a hero than you’ll ever be able to reach with your attitude.”

“Then what’s he doing there? If he’s so great.” The new player was digging her staff into the dirt. Twisting it back and forth as small curls of earth were displaced by force.

“He’s more than…”

“Don’t answer her Peg.” I cut the instructor off. “She hasn’t earned it.”

“Earned? Who are you to say if I’ve earned something or not?”

“Who am I?” I was winded and needed to set down the new sword anyway. “Who are you? You show up in this world and start demanding like you’re something here.”

“Shut up you old geezer.”

“Well played. An insult for a question. Peg, why don’t you show her the proper way to beat up a straw man.”

“Let’s do just that! Will you be okay William?”

“I’ll pace myself Peg.” My head dipped in a slow nod and both eyes stayed on the swords tip.

I had to give points to Peg. She managed to herd off the new player with the skill of an expert. The instructor shouted, taunted, and called the other woman a failure who wouldn’t be able to defend herself. That set the player into fits. Her fury was vented upon the straw figure. There we sat, each of us hitting different dummies. I kept a vague eye towards my progress bar, which hadn’t changed one way or the other over the last thirty minutes.

Peg switched between us for another hour while ‘reminding’ me how to move and stand. Old Man Carvers body could stand maybe five minutes of weak standing mixed with occasional strikes. Waiting for my stamina to refill took another four minutes which I spent watching the new player or talked to Peg. Two apple like fruits were enough to refile the old man's satiety bar.

It felt weird to go from real life, where I worked on ARC’s and was driven around in a van, to this much slower existence. With all the information pop ups and reviews there was still an excessive amount of downtime. The time compression made everything feel like living really long weekends.

I enjoyed my situation though. When not thinking about the ghost in machine that acted like my fiancées or James actions. The large black Voice hadn’t crossed my mind recently. I had no idea how to contact him, unless he had a statue somewhere like Selena did.

Saying inappropriate things at a lifelike carving was very attention getting. I’m glad the real world didn’t work that way. Imagining rows of people in pews getting [Divine Attention] for each prayer made me smile.

Williams arms weren’t going to last much longer, even with resting. It felt good though. She instructions, tips, ideas on where to swing and how. Even under the guise of a refresher, had given me a lot to think about. Maybe I would download one of those ARC combat programs. The additional help couldn’t hurt and would make me feel less like a complete newbie.

After I started the game as myself and could build real skills. William Carvers skills were locked as is. Honestly my sad performance should be dragging down his ratings.

“How can you just keep swinging like that? How? I’m exhausted.”

“Practice.” I said calmly.

“Yeah right. I bet you were just designed that way.” She even managed to work past her cotton mouth to spit on the ground in disgust. Then she looked kind of pleased.

“Happy?”

“I’ve never done that before.” There was a faint sense of wonder in her tone. Down went my practice sword yet again.

“That’s the point, isn’t it? Here you can learn and do new things. Yet, you belittle everyone who might help.” I intended to take advantage of it myself. Sitting on a bench for another three weeks would be dreadfully boring.

“You have no right to talk to me like that.”

“You came to our world Traveler.” Everyone thought William Carver was an NPC, I had to act like one. Words like ARC, or Continue, or other real world concepts would blow his cover.

“You’re just a program. Why can’t you just give me what I want? It’d be so much quicker.”

“Are things so simple in your world? Do you just survive without trade for anything?” My question of course was clearly a trap. People had to work for money, spend money to gain things. Continue Online and its entire world was much the same.

“My husband works if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Then you understand, food costs coin, services cost coin, or a trade. We can’t just give you what you want without an exchange or the whole system would fall apart.” I sighed. It took me a bit to adapt myself. Continues world was extremely realistic regarding give and take.

Pop up boxes with information had been the only item between me and complete immersion. Maybe I would turn them off some days just to feel like I was on a vacation. The beach here was one step away from Waikiki in Hawaii, at least the way the beach used to be decades ago.

“If you want skills, you have to learn them. Peg is one of the best nearby in showing Travelers like you the basics.” I stumbled back to the weapons rack and put the light sword back. One shoulder had started throbbing more than usual. Bending over to pick up the cane was nearly impossible.

“Why does that matter?” The wide hipped woman said.

“Why are you here? If you don’t want to fight, don’t. Learn a trade, or don’t.”

“You’re not making sense. You shouldn’t be demanding that I learn something.”

“Then don’t.”

“You don’t care?” Her voice tilted up and the staff in her hand shook from her budding anger.

“Nope.” Carver’s synchronization bar dropped a few points on that one. William did care about new players. “Let’s just say that neither I, nor any of the other people here, will force you to do much of anything.” There, I recovered a point and managed to use the word nor in a real sentence.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“You chose to come here. Now figure out what you want from us, and what you’re willing to pay to learn. Nearly everyone is willing to help you, if you earn it.”

“I thought quests were just a simple go here, do this. Every other game I’ve played is just like that, starter zones are a basic area to learn the ropes. Things should be easy.” The new player sounded so flustered. She wasn’t the first either.

“But you’re all making this too hard.” Then she asked the same question that had been plaguing me since the first moment I had opened the gift wrapped package in my Atrium.

“What kind of game is this?”

“It’s no game. To us it’s very real, and very serious.” I repeated James’s words in the trial room a week ago. Over a week in game I had become more invested than expected. I wasn’t even surprised to see my progress jump up five percent.

The other woman waved one hand and vanished, a perplexed and worried look on her face. Had I worn the same look when talking to James? Moments later, I too logged out, leaving William Carver to go about the town on autopilot. This game was messing with my head, making me act weird, and I needed a break.