“It's nearly time. Go and tell him.”

“We're still hours away. I told him one hour.”

“He won't know the difference.”

“If you're certain of that, you go wake him up.”

“I'm not the one who invited him. You do it.”

They were whispering, or perhaps they only thought they were. The faint sounds were clear enough to be easily understood. I had wondered what a talent for Awareness was good for, and apparently, I had a talent for eavesdropping. The one I knew as Reuben was evidently unhappy with my presence on the cart. The other, the woman with one eye, didn't seem terribly pleased herself, although she was at least willing to keep her word. For some reason, Reuben seemed to think himself in charge, despite her being both the tougher and the smarter of the pair. What I needed from these two, even more than a ride, was information about this world. I decided to lie in and see what they revealed free of charge.

“I'm not going to sleep as long as he's back there.”

“Good. You are supposed to be keeping watch.”

“Quit bossing me around, Brit. I've told you.”

There it is. Good thing to know. The cart dipped backward and the barrels shifted. We were going uphill.

“Yeah, I've heard. You're a boss man now. Maybe you'd like to drive while I handle the crossbow.”

“You know very well that Father said I was to keep hold of this thing until I give it back to him, and that is just what I'll do.”

“It's not meant to be kept tensed like that. You'll wear out the cord.”

“So? Maybe I'll have to get it restrung. If somebody makes a move, I want this thing ready to fire straight away.”

“Wasn't any help last night.”

“See? That's what I'm talking about. You're always trying to get me down, just cuz I have prospects and you don't.”

“Who're you say that? It's a big world.”

“You say that Brit, but it isn't so. The world for us is Rocky Shore, and sometimes Miller's Glen if we're lucky. Look at what happened last night. I made it about twenty feet into the damn woods before something took a bite out of me. I have nowhere to go. I've admitted that. You should admit it too.”

“Not everybody gives up as easily as you do.”

“Give up on what? ...adventure?”

This word was spoken in the kind of whisper that is generally reserved for horrific diseases and racial epithets. There was some history bubbling to the surface in this conversation. The cart tipped forward as we reached the crest of the hill.

“Give up on life. Freedom. Possibility.”

“Brit, this sort of talk was all very well when you were younger, but it's past time to get realistic. What you need is a handsome fellow to look after you. You can't marry a rich man, of course, not with one eye, but I bet a nice young man would settle for ya if you presented yourself properly. Face it, this little trip we're on now is as close as either of us is going get to a...adventure. It's not as though its even been especially fun. Getting nearly eaten by Deathcrawlers was literally the most exciting part.”

“I saw a fox turn into a man. That was exciting.”

“And I'm sure you'll tell your grandchildren all about it some day. Leave it at that, though. You don't want to lose your other eye.”

A story there that I wasn't going to hear. The cart headed uphill again.

“Why are we slowing down?”

“We're going uphill.”

“I can see that. We managed the last few hills just fine.”

“The horses are tired.”

“The horses are tired, I'm tired. We're all tired. Get them moving.”

“You weren't pulling the cart all night. These hills are too much for them. We're already pushing them harder than we should.”

“They're my horses, aren't they?”

“No, they're your father's.”

“Well they're going to be mine someday.”

“They'll be dead before that, especially if we keep pushing them.”

“We all have to work for a living, horses included.”

“We'll stop to rest soon.”

“We can't. Father was very clear, no stopping for any reason. Not until we reach the village.”

“We stopped last night.”

“I told you, don't bring that up. It was a mistake. I accept full responsibility.”

“I'll tell your father you said so.”

“No you will not. Not a word. Dammit, we're barely moving at all!”

The pair's voices had been getting progressively less quiet as the conversation drew on . I took this as my cue to actively participate.

“Good Morning.” I could hear Reuben jump as I spoke. He had nearly forgotten I was back here.

“And to you.” said Brit, unflappable as ever.

“Would it help if I got out and pushed?” I offered.

“Not enough to bother with.” answered Brit.

“How about you get out and get lost?” asked Reuben, making no effort to disguise his disapproval of me.

“I'm already lost.”

“Indeed you are. And where, exactly, are you from?

Well, I knew I was going to have to face that question eventually. I might have been tempted to lie, but I didn't actually know the names of any towns or nations in this world except Miller's Glen and Rocky Shore, and I couldn't get away with claiming to be from either. Also, I had seen my list of skills, and my Deception was bullshit. Guess I'll have to be honest.

“Idaho.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Shocking.”

Reuben looked offended, and I didn't care. My initial dislike of the man had blossomed into full-on loathing over the course of his conversation with Brit. Besides, she didn't seem to like him either. If I antagonized him, I might win some support from her.

“Just so we're clear, once we get back to Rocky Shore, we've never heard of you.” he continued.

“Understood. That being the case, I would like to know a few things about Rocky Shore.”

“We prefer people who cover their genitals. It's just that kind of town.” replied Reuben.

“Thanks. I was more thinking along the lines of political structure. What are the laws, who's in charge, that sort of thing. What can I expect when I get there?”

“You can expect to be thrown out. We don't let just anybody wander into our town.” answered Reuben.

“That isn't true.” said Brit. Reuben had completely forsaken his duty as look-out in order to focus on insulting me, but Brit was still looking straight ahead as though she were not paying any attention to our discussion. Her remarks were delivered as if on auto-pilot, in passing as it were.

“Strangers often enter our town and walk among us. We usually ignore them. If you get too friendly with them, everyone will suspect you. But most are too afraid to confront them or ask questions. Strangers are dangerous, that is why we let them be and hope they leave quickly.” her voice was soft, but full of bitterness.

I took a moment to digest this. Then I asked “Suspect you of what?” .

“We don't know who you are, or what you are, or where you come from, and we don't want to know. We know that there is much that goes on elsewhere that we rarely see. You've seen at least some of what stalks the woods around here, and what strange things happen when you leave the beaten path. We are not ignorant of these things. We know that there is a pecking order, and that we are somewhere near the bottom. We keep to ourselves, we keep our eyes on our work, and we endure. That is how we have lived for centuries. It is why we have survived. My advice to you, if I may offer any, is to get some supplies and some decent clothing, and move on quickly. The people of Rocky Shore are not looking for new friends.”

That stopped me. If what I had seen of the this game's level progression system was correct, I was already quite a bit more powerful than a typical human NPC could reasonably be expected to be, and that difference was only going to get more extreme with time. I'd be doing well if I could get my hands on some clothes, some armor, and a decent weapon. These people, the human NPCs, had to live in this world with its monsters and fairies and what-not, without any magic or cool abilities to rely on. They were like mice scurrying around in the grass, trying not to get stepped on by an elephant or snapped up by a hawk.

Did it even make sense to put myself in their position? After all, I was a real human being, and they were just programs, mere props to provide background for my adventures. They were the hapless townfolk, eternally beset by horrors beyond their imagining, ever in need of the brave hero to rescue them, and watch as they scraped together a reward from their meager savings. It really made me feel like an asshole. Maybe they were just programs, but at every level, they felt real. I could sense their fear, their wariness, even now. Reuben was doing his best to put up a brave face, and Brit was just trying to hold still, like a hamster that has just spotted a cat. They hadn't let me on their cart out of kindness or neighborly concern, they had done it because they didn't know what I would do if they refused. They were terrified of me, and they were probably right to be. I had met plenty of people in my life that didn't seem as convincingly real as these two.

I made a decision. I pulled off the horse blanket and got out of the cart. The thing was moving so slowly that I easily walked past the cart and the horses and continued on the road.

“Wait! Where are you going?” called Brit. I turned and saw that Reuben was staring aghast at her.

“You've been more than kind, but I shan't impose on you any longer. I'll be on my way.” I replied. I was determined to maintain some semblance of dignity in spite of my nudity. I walked further ahead as Brit called to me.

“When you first see the town, there's a little path on the left. It leads to the town dump. You can probably find something to wear there.”

I waved my thanks to her, and continued on my way as fast as I could. After a few more hills, I was confident that I wasn't going to lose my lead. A few hours later, I was getting a pretty nasty sunburn, but at least the day had warmed up. I was surprised that there was no one else on the road, given that I was supposedly close to an inhabited area. I crested yet another hill, and got my first view of Rocky Shore. It was a small coastal town with a wooden palisade wall. Just eyeballing it, I doubted there were more than eight hundred inhabitants. The sea was breathtaking; a rich, dark green stretching away to the horizon. I guessed that Rocky Shore was a trading post town, judging by the large harbor and a dense block of what looked like warehouses. It probably served as a rest stop between two more prominent commercial centers.

I was too far away to make out the inhabitants, which hopefully meant that they were too far away to see me. I managed to find the town dump without any great difficulty. Off the main path was a well-worn trail leading through thick bushes down to a dry creek bed with steep embankments on both sides. Filling this narrow gully were piles upon piles of discarded objects. I began digging through the piles, trying to ignore the smell. Clearly this was not a rich, wasteful society like the one I was used to. Nothing was thrown away if it could reasonably be repaired, or burned for fuel, or used to mop up vomit. Clothes were too much to ask for, even rags were few and far between. Discarded furniture was fairly common, as well as ashes, rotten food, onion skins, nut shells, and the occasional rusty scrap of metal. I began sorting the likelier specimens into piles. A few hours later, I had assembled a pile of smelly scraps of cloth, much of which had once been sacking or upholstery. With no tools to work with, I began ripping the material into shape with my fingers. Long strips were useful for tying things together, and I found a piece of rope long enough to serve as a belt. Nearly everything I could find was peppered with holes, so multiple layers were my friend.

After quite a bit of finagling, I had succeeded in transforming myself from a naked man into a smelly vagrant. I wasn't sure if that was a promotion or more of a lateral move, but at least I was dressed. All I really needed was to get into town and find someone who could exchange my silver coin for local currency. I doubted I could get a good deal, but it should yield enough to buy me some decent second-hand clothing and a meal, maybe even a place to stay.

I heard the creak of a wagon rolling down the path toward the gulch. I briefly considered concealing myself, but if I was found I would likely be assumed to be up to no good. I decided to continue digging through the refuse for anything else I might find useful. If someone came to dump more garbage, I would just search that as well.

A ragged figure appeared above me. I turned from my search and shielded my eyes to examine him. Standing behind a wheel-barrow was easily the ugliest man I had ever seen. His head was bald except for two unkempt-looking tufts on either side of his head. He smiled, showing me an incomplete collection of gray and brown teeth. He had a thin, wispy neckbeard, and his skin was dotted with boils and scars, suggesting some kind of nasty skin disease. His clothing had been patched and re-patched so many times that I almost took pity on him. On the other hand, he was probably better off than me at this point, and certainly better dressed. His wheel-barrow was empty. I realized that he wasn't here to drop off. He was picking up.

“Hey! Get lost! This is my patch!” his Oestekommen was alright, but I guessed it wasn't his native tongue.

“What, you own the garbage dump? It's garbage. Nobody owns it.” I had no animosity for this guy, but I wasn't about to be pushed around either.

“I've been coming here for decades! You can't just roll up and start picking through my stuff!”

“Not gonna argue with you. I need this stuff, and I'm taking it. Sorry if that creates a problem for you, but I don't have other options.”

The man regarded me quizzically. “You're pretty soft-spoken for a man who's digging through the trash. Where did you come from?”

“I have been displaced by events beyond my control. I am just trying to get back on my feet.” I said, answering his question not even a little. I really needed to find the name of some inconspicuous place I can pretend to be from.

“Unemployed then. A drifter. A poor soul, just trying to eke out a living in the inhospitable world.” he folded his hands and cast his eyes toward heaven. He was obviously being theatrical, and he was also looking to take advantage of my situation. Maybe that was something I could work with.

“Something like that. Why, know someone around who's hiring?”

“That depends. Got any useful skills?”

I chewed on that question for a bit. I had recently seen a neat list of all my skills, but most of them were rather abstract. My ability to be aware of my surroundings, to sense the character and motives of others, to resist fear and manipulation...well, they were useful to me, but not really something I could put on a resume. My last job had been operating a forklift in a Wall-Mart distribution center, and I very much doubted that those skills would be much help to me in this world. I also had a Bachelor's in Philosophy, which qualified me to do nothing, but be very opinionated about it. I had to default to the old hobo standby.

“I don't have a trade, but I'm pretty strong. I can handle any manual labor you care to name.”

“Not bad, not bad. Are you any good with letters?”

Again I had to pause. He was asking if I was literate, which of course I was, in English. If literacy was uncommon in this world, that might be a marketable skill in itself. On the other hand, I had never even laid eyes on any Oestekommen writing, and I had no idea whether my magical command of the language extended to written words. I answered him honestly.

“I'm not sure.”

He took this answer in stride. “How about numbers, then? What's a hundred and nineteen times four?

“Four hundred...and seventy-six.” I replied, glad that I had put that extra point into Intelligence.

“Ohhh, I bet you'd be good for making change. Alright, you've got the job.”

“What job?” I knew I wasn't in any position to negotiate, and evidently he knew it too.

“I need someone to help me look after my shop. You'll do just fine.”

He hopped down into the gulch and extended his hand. I considered his hand suspiciously. I didn't want to agree to anything yet, and I didn't want to catch whatever he had.

“What kind of shop?” I asked, leaving his blotchy hand where it was.

“A good ol' rag and bone setup! Scrap metal, fertilizer, dog muck, second-hand clothes, third hand clothes, you name it. Nothing goes to waste while I'm around. Digby is the name!” His smile and his hand resolutely remained in place.

“What does this job pay?” I asked, resolutely not raising my hand whatsoever.

“Room, food, and clothing. We can re-negotiate at the end of the week, if you stay that long.” The smile widened, the hand quivered. I really wished I had a better option. I didn't.