Private Eastern Brisshal Old Man and the Forest

[Santiago Marlin]

There was an old man who stood alone in an opening in the verdant forests of East Brisshal, and it was only a few minutes ago that he had begun to exist, of which he spent mostly gawking at the swaying leaves, the rustling of the grass, the rays of light peeking the shadowed canopy, and the symphony of the birds and bees.

...The last line was probably not meant to be used in that way, but the point was across surely. It had only been a while but already, Santiago realised to much horror, he was definitely staring much too long to be normal- surely, he was already in great danger of being enraptured by this- Narnialand!

No, no, that wouldn't do! He must steel himself! God and Buddha be with him! Clenching his fist with determination, he loosened it to-

And then he leaped back, and definitely didn't yell when some unusual sorcery unfolded from his palm- light, words, images!

Throwing himself to the ground and putting his hands behind his neck, he awaited the impact that was sure to come...but nothing came.

Looking up, he saw that the strange projection was placidly stuck to his palm. He tried shaking it, but it simply followed every movement.

...This wasn't sorcery, was it? Now that took a good look at it, it reminded him about something he had read about regarding most "Vee-Arr-Emm-Emm-Oh-Ar-Pee-Gees.". Something...like a phone, right? That, at least, he knew how to use.

Coughing to himself, and slightly relieved that there was nothing around to bare witness to what just transpired aside from the crickets, he begun to tinker with the buttons. Most of those were self explanatory, though he would look back at them later. Those 'Masteries' seemed especially important, but there wasn't enough time to look through them all right now.

He frowned.

"Auto Assist and Pain Limiter? Hell's all this?"

It was going to take a while for him to figure everything out, and this damned game did not even have the courtesy to come with a bloody manual.

 

[Madison Mortiere]

Another day, another shift outside Honeyhome trying to wrangle up these idiots that keep screaming down from the sky and crashing into the nearby woods.

I'm not sure why it has to be me. The Lions know who I am, right? The spooky bitch who can't smile without scaring the children? The one always dressed in black and night drinking with the inhabitants of graveyards? Is that who they really want to go deliver good tidings and tidy packages of starter goods to freshly-minted starcalled?

"Hi there, I know I'm flanked by the dead and have my face painted up like a skull and all, but I promise you that I'm not--OH PUT THE GODDAMN STICK DOWN YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE YOUR AUTO-ASSIST WORKED OUT YET--"

Happens far more than I care to admit.

And then they get even more upset when they can't PvP the necromancer in the woods like all their stupid video games told them they could.

Hey--I've filed the reports with the Pride. Apparently they don't have anyone else they can spare to send out here.

So as I sit here outside town, halfheartly watching another light fall from the sky and disappear into the forest beyond, I can't help but wonder how this one's going to go. Will it be some depressed 20-something with a death wish who will immediately try to out-edge me? Some young kid (unsupervised by their terrible parents) with illusions of anime grandeur already practicing the whole-ass lines of dialogue they'll scream with each swing of their weapon? Or could it be--

...Actually, that's really it right there. A lot of us fall into either camp. I mean, you've seen the giant battles against game world-ending threats. No wonder the landers hate us; their safety rests in the hands of living, breathing TV Tropes pages.

I take another pull from my flask, exhale deeply, and then look to the two skeletons that flank me. "Let's get to it," I mutter as I stand. The boys rattle and grind as they pick up their canvas bags, and we're off into the woods.

---------

"They're things that sucker you into thinking you'll be okay," I reply, without even granting him the courtesy of a cough to announce my arrival.

(Even though I gave up shadow magic a while back, I'm still very good at emerging from the dark corners of any given area. Skills learned from being a middle child.)

"Madison Freebird, of the Lions Pride." I look the newcomer over for a moment. Intriguing--not many people would pick this for their digital meat prison. Not a cotton candy-haired maiden with the Curves sliders pushed to their absolute limit, not a sleek avatar based on whatever fucking Anime Sword is being featured on the latest Crunchyroll original; just a weathered old man, relatively unassuming in every manner and metric possible. Like someone ripped any old Gramps off the bench while he waited for the next bus.

I snapped my fingers, and my skeletons set down their bags and unzipped them. "I recommend keeping the pain limiter on, at the very least. You'd be surprised how much it sucks feeling everything one for one like you would in the real world."

 

[Santiago Marlin]

The old man shivered as he turned towards the sound of the cough, and he let out a sharp exhale, before promptly taking a step back and raising his fists with narrowed eyes.

Despite the unflattering performance earlier, and the slight shiver he held even now as his eyes darted between the black-clad witch-woman and the restless ghouls alongside her, there was a real form to his stance- if quite rusty.

But before he could act, he was interrupted by the deluge of information the witch-woman promptly dumped upon him, and suddenly all his apprehension was transmuted to befuddlement.

He stared at her, at the deathly pallour of her skin, the sinisterly purple eyeshadow, and... suddenly, the gears clicked in his eyes.

"Ah, I get it." Santiago snapped his fingers, the remaining tension leaving his body despite the absurdity of the situation.

"You're just one of those goths, aren't ya?"