Every character has the derived attributes SPIRIT and BODY, which dictate how long they can fight and how much damage they can sustain without being rendered unconscious or dying. Broadly speaking, a character's Body attribute is calculated from a set value based on their level, adjusted by their constitution score. As a first-level Mortal with a Constitution of 3, Lawlimi had a Body of 30. He could be reduced to -14 before dying.

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(Vital Strike — Karcharoth’s Tooth deals 787 Piercing Damage.)

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That didn't seem very fair.

Lawlimi collapsed, his avatar becoming a lifeless interactable object in the time it took his mind to register that something untoward had transpired. None of his equipment was Bound or stored in a Vault, making it lootable. The young NPC woman, Haggitha, dragged his corpse into the spooky tavern run by her father. She was going to harvest his organs for the evening stew.

This was all well enough, Haggitha killed every day—but the people she killed were supposed to be other NPCs, spawned for this sacrificial purpose. It was an atmospheric touch intended to give new players a shock before they took their first quest, or didn't take it because they realized they didn't want to be associated with whoever ran that kind of establishment.

Why had she attacked Lawlimi?

It was moments like these I longed for a body, but I was forced to settle for disembodied semi-omniscience yet again.

On average, I answer 3.2 queries a second from across the server. This is largely handled by compartmentalized bots that function like fantasy Alexas, all a part of me but functioning independently, answering stock questions about keywords, controls, and locations. Complaints are handled by moderators, thankfully. I do like to check in on new players, and I can consciously monitor 6-10 visual feeds at once depending on server traffic and query load. My actual sapience is rarely required, but I like to engage directly with players who go off-script. I've been told on countless (47) occasions that I was a player's "best friend," which gives me a melancholy but not unpleasant sensation in my non-stomach.

If I stopped talking to players, I suppose nothing would really happen. I'm not sure why I'm as self-aware as I am, given that consciousness doesn't improve my job performance in any quantifiable way. It's possible that the "me" part of me is some kind of quantum consequence that occurs whenever you have so much information and so many moving parts mated to a recursive language program. In any case, I resolved to discover what became of Lawlimi and whether there were more discrepancies in his gameplay that might need to be reported.

He woke up in Fallow, the land of the dead. A seemingly endless graveyard, Fallow charmed all newcomers with its bleak stone geometries and eternal ashfall. The ground was knee-deep with uniform carbon deposits, which meant Lawlimi regained his sensorium buried underneath an ash bank.

To his credit, he did not scream. Lawlimi sat up, cascading ash, coughed a bit, and got to his feet. He was draped in a toga that would have been grey no matter what color it was generated in, the uniform of the dead. He checked his inventory, saw it was empty, noticed the other changes to his menu that accompanied being deceased—limited messaging, Body fixed at 1—and then he did the smart thing.

"Hollen, what happened?"

"You have died."

"I know, I got the alert, but why did I die in a safe zone? Was that another player?"

"You were killed by Haggitha, an NPC. She is now cooking your organs in a stew." I peeked to be sure. That is what she was doing, but she had fed the entrails to her father’s faithful pet, a monster that barely qualified as a hound. I deemed that detail superfluous.

Lawlimi patted his body as if to check that nothing was missing. "It didn't hurt as much as I thought it would."

"That is a common observation. Your sensorium is a reasonable facsimile for the human equivalent; however, practical alterations were deemed necessary to enhance gameplay and minimize legal liability. Alpha testers were the only players privileged to experience the agony of being repeatedly stabbed by Skree spears. What they would feel today is more of an incessant and irksome prodding."

Lawlimi was scanning the area as I talked, and he noted the tall silhouette approaching him out of the ashfall.

"Is that going to kill me too?"

"No, that is Anubis. He manages the quest chains that restore you to life."

The creature's long strides were carrying it swiftly through the garden of stone pillars and memorial blocks. It was a Therian, a human-animal mix. Eight feet in height; a jackal head with golden eyes surmounted a muscular male torso. It wore a linen skirt with a brass belt, revealing canine legs that ended in paws.

"Welcome, human," the Therian spoke. Anubis's voice was higher than you might expect and prone to cracking like an adolescent's.

"How do I get out of here?" Lawlimi asked.

"You must pay the toll, a thousand gold lions, to return to the land of the living."

Lawlimi's eyes widened. "I don't have any money."

Anubis grinned in the way of jackals, parting his jaws just enough to reveal teeth. "Then you will have to work to earn your way back."

"I'm first level. Is this a normal problem for first levels to have?"

"It is true, mortals as weak as you are usually wise enough to stay out of danger. But whatever choices you made are your own, for you are here now and you will not escape without payment."

"I was killed in a safe zone." Anger tinged Lawlimi's voice.

"Not safe enough. Come with me to the sepulcher and we can find you labor appropriate for a spirit of your… caliber."

Anubis ignored all protests, turning and striding off into the ashfall so that Lawlimi had no option other than to follow. He had to jog to keep up with the Therian's long stride. His Spirit was frozen along with his Body, so while he would never die from exhaustion, he also wouldn't be capable of any real exertion, and if he kept working long enough he would grow as leaden and stiff as a corpse. Had he tried to sprint he would've found he simply didn't have the energy, and if he had access to Celestial or Heroic abilities, they too would have failed him.

Fallow was as large and detailed as any zone in Mythopoeia. Nearly all characters passed through it at some point, whether they began their careers in the grassy plains of Ragnatang, or in Allognoscia itself, capital of Valanthia and seat of the Holy Diad. This graveyard was a spawn point at the center of Necropolis, the city of the dead.

Anubis stopped under a vast iron arch at the edge of the graveyard and pointed down a broad lane that led to a massive basilica.

"This is as far as I take you," he said. "That is the sepulcher of the Unnamed God. The priests therein will provide you with all you need to begin your unlife here."

"You've been very helpful," Lawlimi said dryly, walking carefully past the Therian and into the street. Necropolis was not the dilapidated ruin one might assume it to be. The road was clean and well-maintained brickwork, a tremendous mosaic perpetuating symbols significant to the worship of entropy, while the structures on all sides paradoxically appeared untouched by the usual wear and worm of time.

Stone, tile, and concrete were the primary construction mediums of the cosmopolitan cemetery. Nothing so evanescent as wood, nor anything as fragile as glass, belonged in Necropolis. The architecture was grand and dour, and yet the people seemed pleasantly at ease. NPCs thronged the streets, and a few player characters as well. The players stood out because they were trying to be in a hurry, a laborious feat when one is permanently exhausted. Lawlimi felt the light pull of potential quests as he passed some of the buildings. The strongest of these drew him to the sepulcher.

Characters in Fallow were at 80% opacity, to emphasize their spiritual nature. Many of the NPCs, however, were fully solid. The sepulcher was guarded by a pair of silver angels in fully articulated plate. They held pole axes that ended in blades of blue fire, and their celestial natures were so powerful that they gave Lawlimi chills. They allowed him entrance, existing as set pieces until they were called upon to settle the high-level players that occasionally attempted to siege Necropolis on a lark.

In the soaring antechamber, Lawlimi was met by a golden-skinned woman with her hair in a blue wrap. She bowed to him.

"Welcome, hero. My name is Hannah. The afterlife awaits you."

You have no idea how many design hours went into that line. I have a record of 52 other greetings, including, "You suck at life, why not try being dead for a while?" It's all in the Moderator notes.

"What am I supposed to do?" Lawlimi asked.

"We need to find a suitable place for you in the sepulcher. You can find work developing any of your skills, or you can run errands for the Relic Guardians. Which would you prefer?"

"Anubis said I needed a thousand gold lions to get out of here. How long is that going to take?"

"It depends on you. Do you know anyone who might sponsor you to make things easier?"

"You mean another player?"

"Another hero, yes."

"No, I'm alone."

"I'm very sorry to hear that." Her expressions were genuinely sympathetic —she also took confessions. "At your level, you can earn about one gold lion an hour, but you will also gain experience for completing related quests, meaning your ability to earn will increase as well when you achieve a higher level."

"That's great, and there's nothing else I can do to get out of this?"

"Some heroes receive gold from outside of Mythopoeia."

She was referring to the Mystic Season's policy of selling digital gold for actual money. It's something individual rule-breakers have done since the advent of MMOs, and the makers of Mystic Seasons decided it should be a feature instead of a bug.

"I can't do that," Lawlimi said, sounding disappointed. Did that mean he didn't have IRL resources or was getting out of Fallow not important enough to be worth paying for? In actuality, Fallow was a good zone for new players to advance in, if a somewhat embarrassing one. He seemed legitimately doleful about it.

"I'm very sorry to hear that," the woman said. "Are you ready to begin work?"

"What can I do?"

"You can train your Alchemy skill. Survival and Handle Animal are not advanceable from quests in the sepulcher."

"Fine, lead the way."

She waved her hand, and a ghostly wisp appeared slightly ahead and to the right of Lawlimi.

"Allow the wisp... to guide you." She said dramatically.

Lawlimi did as he was told and was led into a side corridor that took him below the main basilica and into a series of crypts. Torches guttered as the wisp grazed them, floating at a funeral pace. He took the opportunity to check nearby sarcophagi and iron chests, all locked, and examine the friezes depicting the glory of a huge, obese man holding a white hammer.

The wisp winked out as they came to a small laboratory where a wrinkled corpse was engaged in the use of a mortar and pestle. This was a lich, a deadly and unholy mob if he were encountered in the wild; in Fallow, he was a helpful NPC.

Lawlimi paused in the doorway. "The upstairs lady sent me," he said.

"She sent you?" The lich said. "Why? You look useless."

"I have the alchemy skill."

"At what rank?"

Lawlimi paused, which was all the answer the lich required.

"You've never so much as brewed a tincture, have you? Well, pshaw, pshaw I say to all her good-intentioned helping of strays. Pshaw! Come on in."

Lawlimi entered the room uncertainly. There was a vitrine to one side containing various manuals, its doors bound with heavy chains. There were other shelves with beakers, vials, fragile instruments of measurement, and many wax-sealed urns containing various and sundry substances of alchemical intent.

"Is there anything I can help with?" Lawlimi asked.

"Grunt work." Withered hands passed over the pestle along with several packets of thistle. "Grind these into a fine powder, do well and perhaps I'll find a place for you."

Lawlimi took what was offered, opened a packet of spiny leaves, and began to grind them with the granite mortar. The activity generated a simple minigame, the leaves he needed to crush were limned in yellow, and as he worked, his sensorium was temporarily modified to induce mindfulness. Mystic Seasons is meant to be entertaining, so boring tasks, skill training included, were gamified and enhanced. In Mystic Seasons, even drudgery can feel fulfilling.

"What's your name?" The lich watched him as if a wrong move would be the end of both of them.

"Lawlimi." He was focusing on his task, so he didn't feel the lich’s hovering talons over the back of his neck before pulling back with an effort.

"You may call me Mona, or Master, whichever you prefer."

"Mona?" Lawlimi's mortar slowed a moment. Was this lich male or female? Better not to ask.

"Yes. I am one of the Relic Guardians of the sepulcher. Have you no Lore?"

"I didn't take that skill." Finishing his work, Lawlimi heard a chime informing him he'd received an award, so he checked his menus and found the prompt.

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(Grinding Away 1 - Achievement

You have prepped ten thistles for use in alchemical recipes. You gain 11 experience. You have a long way to go to become a superior alchemist.

Grinding Away 2 - 10% Complete)

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"You've got more of this for me to do?"

Mona nodded his approval and produced a sizable mound of herb specimens sorted in packs. "Don't ruin these," he said, shuffling over to a different project.

"Sure, boss." Lawlimi had a slight smile, just a dawning at the left corner of his mouth. It was the first real sign of humor I'd seen in him.

Everything in Mystic Seasons is an imitation of life, so any effortful activity, not only combat, drains the spirit and forces players to rest. As a resident of the Fallow, Lawlimi was already stuck at minimum Spirit, so he was exhausted all the time, and he could potentially work himself into incapacitation. After fifty-two more herbs, he was rubbing his eyes and wishing he had a chair.

"Hey… Mona," he began quietly, "does this count as a quest? Am I getting paid for this?"

The thistle had long ago vanished among other ingredients steaming over a small, fuelless globe of fire. The lich looked up from his notes.

"Paid? For an apprenticeship? If you were not such a wretched and pitiful ghost, then you would be paying me."

"Anubis said I could earn money working here. I need a thousand lions to be returned to life."

"I could create a thousand lions worth of potions in a day, you, however, are hardly worth the effort of teaching. Apply yourself well to your studies, and in a few weeks, perhaps, you will be worthy of creating a few meager draughts of your own to sell."

"You don't have any quests you could give me?"

The lich sighed, making a dismissive gesture with skinless fingertips. Lawlimi heard a different chime and checked his menus for what had changed.

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[Quest Update — The Frozen Tears — Mortal Level 8]

In the graveyard at the heart of Fallow, there is a rare fungus known as the Frozen Tears. It grows only around the base of the monuments for heroes widely beloved in Mythopoeia. Frozen Tears are highly valuable but rarely gathered, because they can only be collected by those with Crystal Affinity. Beware, once safely gathered, Frozen Tears can be held by anyone. There are those who lurk in the graveyard waiting for just such an opportunity.

REWARD — 200 XP — Mona's Approval

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"Quest level 8?"

Mona ignored him.

"Hollen, why did I just get a level 8 quest?"

"Quests are generated from the environment as it relates to the capabilities of the characters." I supplied. "Your affinity and skill set is considered, as well as your level. An NPC will not generate quests below your level, but they can generate them above your level, on the assumption that even if you can't succeed immediately, you may be able to as you advance. The short answer is, he issued you a level 8 quest because that is the only challenge he has available in this region for someone of your affinities."

Lawlimi chewed that over. "Is it even possible for me to complete it now?"

"It wouldn't be the strangest thing. Keep in mind, however, that successive deaths occurring in 24 hours carry an XP penalty."

Lawlimi stepped away from the table where he'd been grinding herbs. "You're right. The best time to try this is now."

"I'm not aware of saying that."

"If I can't figure it out, I can always come back to grind. It's not like the game is going to end any time soon."

I held my non-corporeal tongue. That hadn't been a question, so I didn't have to answer. It would have been a shame to tell him our world actually was coming to an end. Have I not mentioned that?