The first night is always the hardest. It's the night when you realize all the comforts of home are gone. There is no indoor plumbing. There is no electricity so you can stay up late and read or play online. It's almost impossible to get comfortable sleeping on the ground where there were roots or stones to contend with.
What makes it harder is that she hasn't pitched a tent alone in a long time, and finding some free space among the tombs and speaker stands is frustratingly hard. In the end she works it out by getting Kalixsprite to lift her to the top of one of the less decorated tombs, which is large enough if a little too hard. It takes some time to get the poles to behave and go into the holes properly, to get them crossed and the tent raises under her will, her work guarded by a hovering and protective sprite. The sleeping bag is fetched out of her sylladex, laid out with its silk liner, and a pillow she grabbed before leaving, and then lays down.
“Kalixsprite, I need some sleep. Protect me?”
It is my duty, ephemeral one.
“Who you calling ephemeral, burn beak?”
Laughter, and it flickers between low and throaty, and high and musical. It's pretty, it's soothing, its comfortable, but that doesn't make it easier. As she trails off into sleep—after putting her pesterchum on Abscond—she thinks of the things this game has given her, and what it stole.
What had happened to her boyfriend back on earth? Was there even an earth anymore? What about her best friend? Had he made it in? No way to know. Only intentions to see this through to its end to reunite with them, but not seeing it through to the ending that others want of it.
She closes her eyes, only for a second, and when she opens them the world around her is warmer, though not much brighter. From what she'd seen the day before LOTAR didn't really get past dusk.
Getting the things packed back up is a hundred times easier seeing as all she had to do was throw the erected tent into her sylladex. Then, weapons back in hand and Kalixsprite at her side, she leaps from the edge of the tomb and right into the middle of a gathering of cyan colored mice almost the size of dogs.
“Who are you, smeek?”
“Yes, who who who, smeek?”
“Someone new among the tombs, smeek?”
And then she couldn't really tell any of the words apart. She could hear the punctuating 'smeeks' which all of the little creatures made.
What is that noise? a voice asks from her VR Computer Glasses. Apparently she needed to turn the sensitivity down when around these things.
“Who are you?” she asked, frowning at the mice.
“Smice,” they chimed as one, and it was hard not to just rub at her temples in annoyance.
“I don't know about Smice, but people like me can't hear that many voices at once easily. Okay? So just one at a time.”
“Smeek!”
They obviously weren't getting this, so what was the point of trying.
“Tell me about this place.”
Ah, consorts then, another voice says in her ear, laughing. They sound annoying.
And cute, a third agrees.
The Smice smiled and pushed and pulled her forward. There was no point to struggle. They would know things she wouldn't, they'd have supplies she'd want, and they were kind of cute...
It doesn't take much for her to get over the shock and the thoughts and start moving. If her memories of the last time around are of any service at all, it is in the telling her that once she's in, things are going to move quickly. The chance to come back and make what she needs might not come again, not without help from her teammates, and so she's got to make the best of what she's got to work with now. The relaxed clothing she'd chosen for a day at home are replaced by the sturdiest pair of jeans she's got, and the sweater is traded for a tank-top and loose over shirt. From the view outside of the apartment window she knows there's a fair chance that those tombs she sees outside could just as easily be too warm as too cold, and she's going to account for it. Into her backpack she throws a sweater, a pair of shorts, and a warm over coat, not to mention her gloves, scarf, and a warm hat. She throws in her sandles, a few changes of socks, and some light shoes, then shoves the whole bag into her Index Modus (how had she even forgotten the thing existed back on Earth? It was so useful) and throws on her sturdy hiking boots. A light coat goes over it all and she moves on to get the next things she'd need.
Into her modus goes a bag of trail mix, several full bottles of water, some left over beef jerky, and for good measure she throws in her camping stove, pots, and some cans of soup. Her sleeping bag and tent disappear into her sylladex as well, followed by a few flash lights, batteries, and a small canister of tea. There was no way to know how long she'd be here, no way to know what she'd need, so better to be safe than sorry. In fact, along those lines she threw in a sewing kit and an eyeglasses repair kit as well.
Next step was the weapon. She'd have to spend some time out in the middle of the area around her apartment, where she can already see imps with feline features and sparking wings waiting for her. Got to gather the grist to get the last things that would be necessary. A belt ties her shitty katana into place at her waist, and her bo comes out of its case. A testing twirl and she's out the door, Kalixsprite following at her heels.
Time almost seems to fly as she lays about at the imps around her, gathering a variety of grists that would turn into the backbone of her exploration tools. The bone and steel grist are a combination that is almost unnerving, but she doesn't question it as she gathers. Instead she focuses on what she remembers of fighting, ignoring the first few echeladder steps she ascends. Kalixsprite chars those imps that threaten her with blasts of fire, or tear into them with talons that are as strong and furious as those of a leopard. Together they thin the hoards of imps, and at last she leaves Kalixsprite alone to hold the door and goes back inside to see how her server player is doing.
They've been at work. Her desktop is chiming in annoyance at unanswered messages, which she brushes off. There are more important things, which will be clear once she starts working with the machines that have been deployed. She doesn't bother asking where her tub or toilet have gone, replaced by the cruxtruder. Doesn't complain over how her totem lathe has taken up most of what used to be her patio. Resists the urge to scream in fury over how the alchemizer has crushed her bed. It is what it is. She instead focuses on gathering things for sylladex cards so she can punch. Soon, blessedly soon, she's ready to go.
Katana + Bo = Naginata. Naginata + Dragon Mask = Flame Dragonata. Flame Dragonata + Crystal Puzzle = Flame Crysgonata. Laptop + Eyeglasses = Prescription Computer. Prescription Computer + Solar Battery = Lightop Glasses. Desktop Computer + Kindle = Pocket Master. Hat + Fan + Scarf = Perfect Temperature Fedora. Duster + Miniature Fan = Hero Coat. Gaming Headphones + Lightop Glasses = VR Computer Glasses. Tanto + Pen = Knife of Last Retort.
She stands there with her loot and wonders if it's enough. No choice, though. The various computers are begging for her attention, and she can no longer avoid them.
Nice Loot, her server player observes. Now get off your rear and get your client in.
“I was going to do that next,” she observes aloud, and doesn't even bother to hold back a smile as the VR Computer Glasses render her message from voice to text for total hands free computing. It had been a boon last time around, and she wasn't going to live without it this time.
“It's time to get this party started,” she continues, sitting down and taking out the Pocket Master computer so she can deal with her client's needs.
And while she works she wonders just how she's going to break it to her team that she isn't fully sure she wants to work with the goals of their unknown guide this time around. That this time she wants to win, but not forget.
Your name is Mercale and all of this is oddly familiar.
You're 25 Sol-Standard years old, give or take a few months, and sometimes you feel old compared to the people you meet online.
Still, you're pretty happy with your lot in life. You're working on a MASTERS DEGREE, you're widely in love, you've got a kick-ass Homestuck-style MOIRAIL, and your WRITING is going pretty seriously. Since your goal is to become a published and renowned FANTASY NOVELIST a lot of your time is dedicated to honing your craft.
Or at least it was until you you got the message from someone you only faintly remembered, as if from a DREAM or maybe a GAME. Still, when someone you knew as Gil contacted you about a game you had to play and gave you a link, you had to look into it.
After a few hours looking over the information you obeyed the words of the entity you could not know and went to sleep, only to wake up in a place called PROSPIT. Apparently an ancient war between the moon and a place called DERSE was at a stand still, which was unacceptable. You joined a whispering campaign to see the war to rights. And then, when the game codes came to you...
You woke up in an ENTIRELY DIFFERENT PLACE. A dead place, filled with a music that you couldn't understand. A deep beat that filled the world like a softer version of a Shrillex dubstep. Soothing, peaceful... Terrifyingly familiar.
It comes back in a flash. Who you were and what you had done before this. The realization fits in too well with what you've learned of this new game.
You are welcomed to the LAND OF TOMBS AND RHYTHM, so unlike the Land of Ambiance and Dragons and yet so similar. Again your session is CURSED. Again you are called upon to act. Again you must suffer the PAIN OF NOT KNOWING WHERE TO GO OR WHAT TO DO and likely death for the sake of restoring it all to rights so you can go back to your peaceful life and forget the bonds that you forged.
Except maybe you DON'T WANT TO FORGET THIS TIME. Maybe you want to keep remembering. Maybe you want to find a way to make it turn out how you want.
You call your sprite, Kalix, to your side and bask in the warmth given off by her fiery wings. She's new and yet familiar in ways you can't describe, and don't dare to discuss with her. Who knows if she remembers what you do. Who knows if any of them do.
No. No, you decide. Something in Gil remembers. That much is certain. Because why else would Gil seek you out after all this time? Why else would your pesterchum be filling up with familiar names, hinting at connections you'd forgotten?
History is repeating in a new way, and you're almost afraid of what you'll find.
But you're not going to give up so easily this time. You're going to fight and win. You will follow the team leader, but you intend to see TEAM DREAM ETERNALITY to something better than ever before, even if you have to drag some of them there kicking and screaming about PUTTING THEIR GODTIER PAJAMAS BACK ON. Your pesterchum is mercurialCreator and When you speak it is proper and clear but not without hesitance...
midafternooncrew replied to your post: Criminy, that seemed a little bit extreme, dontcha think?
How far’d you get? I was in the middle of the ball and I got bored with it. I’ve heard something about pushing people off balconies though?
Yeah, that's sorta how it ends. I played through it correctly the first time, but went back and double checked to see if you could do something else instead, but that's the only scenario I could find.
Basically, you push a carapacian from your respective moon off of a balcony, where they impale themselves on a chandelier, which snaps off of its chain and plummets to the main dance floor. You're "ever so kindly" treated to a slow-mo cutscene of the poor guy's terrified face, while your dreamself watches from the balcony, and the other members of the ball watch from the floor.
Its pretty sad and terrifying. NPCs or not, I don't like killing people, so I'm not sure if I like where this is going...
