Hugh moved up the King’s highway towards the middle of the city. New Arcadia wasn’t nearly as large as depicted in the game, but much, much dirtier. Filth ran in shallow gutters alongside the roads to gods knew where. Urchins ran in the streets between people hurrying about their business, playing a game of tag. He watched as one stumbled into a woman, fell onto the ground then scrambled to his feet and dashed into a nearby alley.

Hugh grabbed his coin pouch and vowed to invent pockets as soon as possible.

The cobblestone streets were rough under the thin soles of his boots, carts clattered loudly against the stones as people chattered and swore, laughed and conversed while moving along to their destinations. He looked around at the motley collection of humanity scurrying about the streets as he walked along. Dull colours, worn clothes, and pocked faces glanced at him curiously then turned away, uninterested.

The smell of unwashed bodies crept into his nose and lingered.

The Silver Bell was a moderately priced tavern a short distance from the local Adventurer’s guild in Eternal Fantasy. Since he was going to pass by it anyway, Hugh took the opportunity to stop inside the three storey stone edifice that was going to be his breath and butter for the next few months.

The scene inside the Guild was vastly different than the game. Wood floors that once gleamed were scuffed and dull, their polish worn down by countless feet. The lighting was dim, with only half the light orbs glowing and more than a few of them looking like they needed a recharge. A dozen patrons were gathered at the bar to his left, their voices loud and echoing off the windowless walls.

Hugh made his way to the counter where a cute girl wearing a smartly creased uniform with an orange beret stood up, smiled at him, then walked away.

Did she have a tail?

He blinked and turned to the next available clerk, a grizzled veteran who looked at him with a bored expression.

“What can I do for ya?” He growled.

Hugh looked at the name plate on the counter. Gerald Tolfree, Clerk Third Class

“I’ve just arrived from Morgan Town and I’d like to register with the guild, Mr. Tolfree.” Hugh said, watching as the man’s face went from boredom to distaste at the paperwork ahead of him.

“It’s a gold for ya plate,” Tolfree said, holding out a calloused hand.

Hugh rummaged in his pouch and pulled out the four red cores. Placing them on the counter he said “You can take it out of this.”

The clerk narrowed his eyes. “You ain’t been poaching in Golden Meadows, have ya?”

Poaching? That was different than the game.

“Nope,” Hugh said, pulling out the bronze entry token the guard gave him and flashing it at the grouchy clerk. “I literally just arrived in town. Wolves attacked me along the road and I was forced to defend myself. I’m registering with the guild so no poaching was involved, right?”

Tolfree creased his lips in a tight line. “Know ya letters?” He asked, pulling some papers from a drawer under the counter.

Hugh paused, suddenly aware that he was communicating with no difficulty. “Yeah, I can write my name,” He said, unsure if he was literate or not.

Tolfree made a sound of derision, like he was clearing his throat of something distasteful and pushed the rough paper at Hugh. “Can ya read that?”

Surprisingly, he could. He nodded and grabbed a charcoal pencil and quickly filled out his information.

“What’s an Arcanist?” Tolfree asked, reading over the papers Hugh pushed back at him.

“A mage subclass.”

Tolfree grunted again and filed the papers away, then pulled out a square bronze plate with a single star engraved on it. Flipping it over he pulled out a short gnarled wand and touched the back of the plate “Hugh Johnson, Arcanist, Copper Rank” he said, blinking as a bright blue flash inscribed the information on the plate. He pushed it along with two gold and two silver coins across the counter.

“Don’t lose it, it’s a gold to get another. Tax on cores is 20%, register before you enter the dungeon, and the penalty for pulling the dungeon core is five years at hard labour.”

Hugh picked up the bronze plate and looked at it. Roughly the size of two fingers, it had holes punched through each side for a chain or leather cord. It was underwhelming. Just a single star on one side and his name and rank on the other. “Thanks.”

Dropping the plate into his pouch, he turned and walked out the guild. The sun had dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows across the city. Shifting his backpack across his shoulders, he made his way through the crowds to the Silver Bell.

The Silver Bell was another disappointment, nothing like it was in the game. The exposed beams, straw floors, rough tables, and bored bard plucking a lute in the corner near the unlit fireplace gave it an atmosphere of silent desperation, an inn held together by spit and stubbornness. Mostly spit, he thought, examining the faded paint on the walls. In the game the colours were bright and depicted the Battle of Hemmund. If you flipped a silver to the NPC bard he would play the battle hymn of Amorica and the walls would come to life, knights charging across the field to scatter the hordes of Blackfist Orcs that threatened the kingdom.

Hugh made his way to the bar at the far end of the room where a matronly woman greeted him with a wide smile. He smiled back, surprised at how happy he was to see a friendly face.

“What can I do for ya, love?” She asked, wiping her hands on the stained apron around her waist. “Drink, food, bed, or all of the above?”

“All of the above, if you don’t mind,” He answered, pulling up a stool and shrugging off his backpack.

“Room and board for a night is five silver, three gold for a week. That includes dinner, breakfast, and a small beer with each meal.”

He fished out a coin and pushed it towards her. “Two nights please.”

The coin vanished into her apron and she reached out to tap a tarnished silver bell bolted to the counter. Ding, Ding, Ding!

“Welcome to the Silver Bell, I’m Wenna,” she said, gracing him with another smile. “Checkout is at noon, meals are served at sunrise and sunset. The public baths are on Flax avenue. If you need anything, ask for me or my daughter Annik. If you got any trouble, ask for my husband Seleven.”

Hugh nodded when she finished. “I’m Hugh. Hugh Johnson. Just arrived in New Arcadia and not anticipating any trouble,” he said.

“I’ll be back with your meal in a moment, yer lordship,” she winked, eyeballing him for a moment before walking towards the kitchen.

Hugh watched her walk away and frowned, then turned his attention to the patrons in the dining area. A couple of merchants and their employees occupied two tables. Dockworkers from the Billingsong river wharves occupied another. Other locals were gathered in their little cliques, gossiping and laughing over a few pints at the remaining tables. A thin man rose from a corner booth and left the inn, letting the door slam behind him and silencing the chatter in the room for a moment. He spotted a small girl that had remained seated in the corner of the booth.

He looked again in disbelief. Not a girl, a halfling. And one with whom he was intimately familiar.

Samatha “Sissy” Hornblower, the level 5 assassin he had abandoned because playing as a woman was like gaming on hard mode. Constant low-grade sexual harassment and endless offers to form a party, or “form a party” once Akai released Eternal Fantasy IV with improved tactile feedback and adult options. Well, maybe not just the harassment. The entire plan to get revenge on the Player Killers who kept harassing his other character kind of fell apart and he no longer needed her.

Which might have been for the best. Playing a female character as a male was challenging all on its own. Different balance, different strength, different anatomy, and different reactions from the NPCs combined to create an experience he just wasn’t comfortable with. He offered a quick prayer to all the gods above and below that his genitilia was external and not internal.

Their eyes met and he drank in the features that were both familiar and alien. Sparkling green eyes, raven black hair falling in waves to her shoulders, a pert nose covered in a smattering of freckles, and a perpetual smirk like she knew a secret and wasn’t sharing. A loose blouse and leather vest hid the curves that he had personally sculpted in the character creator. She arched an eyebrow at him.

Hugh realised that he had been staring far too long and turned his head to discover a bowl of stew and crust of bread had been placed before him. “You’ll keep away from her if you know what’s good for you,” Wenna said, pushing a pint of beer and a key next to his food. “She doesn’t like your kind.”

“My kind?” He asked, confused.

Wenna leaned forward. “You’re not fooling anyone. Every time you open your mouth that posh accent of yours tells everyone just what you are.” She nodded and tapped the side of her nose with a finger reddened from too much time in dishwater. “The Silver Bell is a good place to rest, but don’t bring us any trouble, okay?”

Hugh gaped at her, then grimaced and looked down at his food. He had selected Southern Dothiki because it gave a slight bonus to trade and reactions with law enforcement. In fact, he had selected all his languages with the thought of game bonuses in mind. Now he was speaking the equivalent of Received Pronunciation, and he sounded like an educated ponce or possibly, slumming nobility. The idea that he would be judged by his accent didn’t even occur to him.

He smiled and then smoothed his expression. He could use this. Fishing in the pouch at his side he pulled out a silver coin.

Looking up, he studied Wenna’s face. An older lady, not unattractive. Greying hair pulled in a messy bun, pockmarked cheeks, and genuine concern in her eyes. He imagined making a successful Charisma check and offered a silent prayer to his new number one fan, Markaus as he slid the coin towards her. Something peeled away from him, skin removed from an onion.

Dropping his voice, he leaned in and whispered, “I’m not looking for any trouble, but if anyone asks I’d be grateful if you said you’d never heard of me.”

Wenna nodded and pushed the coin back. “Keep yer coin. The Silver Bell respects the privacy of its customers. You’re in room 3B, first one on the right at the top of the stairs.”

Hugh smiled and gave her a wink, then reached for the wooden spoon in the bowl and dug in. It was a damn good stew and he ended up ordering seconds for an extra silver.

Sometime during his meal Sissy left the inn. He had peeked at her several times during his meal, pretending to watch Wenna’s daughter Annik as she moved around the tables serving drinks. Celeste had said that his characters were free to act without his influence now that he was dead …the idea that he was dead skittered across his mind like a deer on a frozen pond, awkward and failing to find purchase… so he wondered what she was doing there and who was that man was that she was with. Because Eternal Fantasy rewarded players for the amount of detail put into the characters, he had spent some time crafting her backstory and made it reflect his own goals at the time.

Abandoned by her parents during the famine of ’27, Sissy had been beaten by a minor nobel for daring to beg some coin and left to die in the street. She was rescued by another one of his characters, Richard Morgan, aka Charlie the Weasel, a level 5 thief who healed her and took her in as an apprentice. Sissy learned everything Charlie could teach her about thieving, but she was unable to forget the abuse she suffered and soon discovered the Shadowed Path, an arcane branch available to a subclass of assassins. Vowing to kill anyone who abused their power, she promised to dedicate her life to protecting those without the power to defend themselves.

Hugh smiled at the memory of creating her. He had been PK’ed repeatedly by a bunch of jerks while attempting to start his career as a full-dive streamer. It was a great backstory, granting bonus points to both the characters. He was going to go around killing every single Player Killer on the server as Sissy the Assassin, weaselling his way into their party and backstabbing them while they slept. He had grandiose plans for her and imagined travelling around Eternasy, killing all the PK assholes griefing players like him. Then Akai updated the game so players revived at an alter of their Patron god, eliminating most of the PK camping at graveyards. He abandoned Sissy shortly after the update.

Finished with his meal, Hugh grabbed his pack and trudged up the stairs to his room.

Touching the orb near the door he spoke [Light] and it cast a dim glow across the spartan room. Just a single bed in a closet sized space, no amenities besides a chamberpot shoved under the bed. Closing the door, he locked it behind him and sat on the narrow bed. Straw poked through the mattress, forcing him to shift and readjust to a more comfortable position. The Silver Bell was a modestly priced inn, so a straw tick mattress was to be expected, he supposed. He just hoped they changed the straw frequently enough to keep the bugs away.

The hollow feeling inside him had lessened while he ate the tasty stew Wenna had served, giving an emotional indication that his mana was replenishing. Pulling the coin pouch from his side, Hugh cast Summon Personal Item, twisting his fingers into awkward positions as he wove the spell into existence and inscribed his personal rune on the pouch. Now he could summon it from anywhere in Erternasy. Tossing it under the bed, he yawned and kicked off his boots. Tomorrow he would buy four small bags and inscribe them too. The cantrip could summon and dismiss five objects weighing no more than five pounds at his level, which was invaluable when you really needed something, like a bag full of healing potions. Every four levels he gained another object and another 5 lbs, which meant he could eventually summon 10 objects weighing twenty-five pounds each, like small boxes full of useful items.

If this world was anything like the game.

He wove the cantrip for [Clean], allowing it to affect the maximum distance around him. Blue light pulsed out from his fist and bounced around the room before vanishing, taking away the sticky sweat covering his body and leaving him with minty fresh breath. The room was noticeably cleaner too and while the bugs weren’t gone, now they were clean bugs and free from disease. For a little while.

Hugh cracked open the shutters to allow the night breeze to cool the room and undressed before collapsing in the bed. Wrapping the thin blankets around him he closed his eyes and reviewed the craziness of the last few hours. Death by truck. Crazy goddess. Grand quest to kill his evil alternate characters. Death by wolf. Near death by wolf. More wolves. Magic powers. And maybe a new fan base of orphaned gods.

“Yo, Markaus,” he muttered, addressing who he considered his first patron. “Not sure if you can hear me or not, but thanks for the assist. You were the first one to step up and help out, and I won’t forget it.”

A small layer peeled away from his soul, reminding him of an onion being skinned.

Slim fingers twisted in his hair, snapping his head back while cold metal pressed against his neck. “Move and I’ll cut your throat,” a harsh voice whispered in his ear. He could smell stew on their breath and sleepily wondered if one of Wenne’s guests had crept into his room.

“What do you want?” He croaked, the angle of his head making it hard to speak. “Everything I have is in my backpack, take it.”

“I don’t want your stuff,” his assailant whispered. “I want to know why your were staring at me tonight. Are you some kind of pervert? Do you think you know me, Dothiki scum?”

Hugh’s mind churned into wakefulness and he realised that it was Sissy holding the knife to his throat. Racing through a dozen options, he settled on the easiest and most shocking. He would tell her the truth. He switched to Upper Luric, and spoke in her native tongue.

“Yes, and Yes.” He rasped, feeling the edge of her blade press harder against his throat. “Your name is Savanah Hornblower, but your secret name is Sissy. Your parents are Sam and Merry Hornblower, and they abandoned you during the famine. You have no idea where your younger brother is but you long to find him. You were nearly beaten to death by Joseph Delsarte and taken in by Charlie the Weasel…”

Sissy punched him in the head with the hilt of her dagger and rolled off the bed, crouching in the shadows cast by the half open shutters. “Who the hell are you?” She hissed.

Hugh rolled against the wall and glared at her, rubbing his head. He continued speaking, ignoring the strange sensation of his thoughts shifting into another tongue. “The first person you killed was Thurork, a complete bastard of a half ork. You backstabbed him in an alley and cut his throat while he was stunned. You’re still wearing his ring on your thumb as a trophy and a focus for the Shadowed Path. You killed Ashpole and Beerling next, pretending to befriend them while you hunted in Golden Meadow. The second trip was their last, when you killed them in their sleep and let the wolves eat their corpses…”

“No one but Charlie knows that. No one!” She said, stepping into the pale light of the open window. She pointed her dagger at him, the dark blade seemed to be cut from the night itself. “I’ll ask you once again, who are you?”

Hugh sat up and leaned back against the wall. “It’s a long, unbelievable story, but I was sent here by the goddess Celeste.”

Sissy listened as Hugh recalled the time he spent playing her character. As he recalled more intimate details and events that no one but she would know, her face changed from disbelief, to shock, to hurt acceptance. “Where are my parents? Where is my brother?” She asked, her voice low and filled with grief. “Why would you make me like this, like some kind of… broken doll for you to play with.”

Hugh shook his head, the shadows half concealing the movement. “I don’t know, Sissy. I don’t really know how everything works between my world and this one. They’re part of your backstory and since I didn’t specify them as dead they should still be alive somewhere. Maybe they returned to, um…” He fumbled at the memory. “Hazeltown?”

“Hazelshell,” she corrected, twisting her mouth into a frown. “I haven’t thought of Hazelshell since before they left me to starve.”

He nodded. “That’s the place. That’s the only other lore I included in your backstory. I’m sorry about everything, I had no idea that any of this was real.”

“What about the others?” She asked.

“Others?”

“Your other puppets. Are they orphans as well?”

“No.”

Sissy slipped the dark blade back into its sheath. “I need to think,” she said, leaping lightly to the window before dropping out of sight.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Hugh fell back onto the prickly straw mattress and tried to stop trembling. A moment later he sat up and fumbled for the chamberpot, overcome with the urge to piss.

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