Continue Online The Complete Series Page 17

  “Mh. Turn it this way.” I tried to be decisive and issue orders as William Carver would have. Besides, there was a whole mess of dots on there for different locations.

  Oddly, her map was completely empty. I touched the spot where the inn chef’s information displayed for me. A box faded into view facing this new player.

  “Careful. He works nights and only helps those who know how to keep a clean workplace.” She had done her job. Hopefully, now my Carver points would allow me to do a bit more guidance.

  “Maybe you should brush up a little before you drop by. Maybe pick up litter between here and there.”

  I was willing to bet there was a skill or trait called [Tidy] that would pop into being if she worked hard enough.

  She nodded slowly while staring at the map.

  “Dayl,” I said.

  “Yes, sir?” He almost cracked his voice again.

  “She needs a bag—nothing fancy, something to pick up trash with.”

  “Miss, you can take one of the trash bags you used earlier. They’re free to anyone willing to help keep our city clean.” The younger guard looked so serious then, I’d bet he had to work hard to avoid the “my dad says” line.

  “There you go,” I said.

  She looked happy and a bit confused.

  “Now, I need to get home.” I’d gained two points for showing her where to go and speaking as I did but lost one of them for staying out too long after sundown.

  Standing hurt like hell, and I fell again.

  “Let me help, Mister Carver, sir.” She dove for an arm and nearly wrenched it out of the socket.

  I grumbled but didn’t argue. The pain wasn’t mild. Moments later I was up and vaguely stable.

  “I’m getting too old,” I muttered, half in jest. That lost me another point, along with gaining more information about Old Man Carver’s dislike for admitting his age in front of people. I sighed and started shuffling off, leaving the girl and guard behind.

  Home was northward, out on a small hill that would take too long to reach. My progress points danced as my slow pace home hurt things. Refusal to ask for help raised them back up. What a stubborn old man. Dayl was walking behind me a ways. His heavy metal footsteps stood out in the near silence of early night.

  I made it to William Carver’s house, I thought. There were no other homes anywhere close. Guess Old Man Carver had retired in a small cottage on the edge of town. Shrubs and a wooden fence surrounded the property. A second fence ran along the back and went for miles in either direction. Behind the house was a field that stretched into sheer fuzziness. There were creatures that looked similar to horses in the distance.

  I grunted and reached around inside my robe for a key to the door. Inside, his house was almost as tiny as mine. There were another two small rooms filled with books. I pulled one down at random and shoved it into a pocket for tomorrow’s bench sitting. Following that, I shuffled my old, tired NPC body to bed. Eyelids closed almost instantly, leaving me alone in silent darkness.

  Nighttime would last at least two real-time hours. Long enough for me to log out of the ARC and take care of myself. Maybe catch a quick nap. I resolved the reallife necessities. Alarms were set, and sleep claimed me. Old Man Carver’s exhaustion was contagious.

  An eye blink later, the alarm slammed on. I felt tired, having only sustained an hour of sleep, but it was better than nothing. I would have to ask Beth how to handle long-term assignments in the game. There had to be some method for dealing with it aside from autopilot.

  I logged into Continue. This time when I stepped through the doorway, there was no room for tests and trials. James and the [Messenger’s Pet] were absent. The game finished loading with me abruptly becoming an old man shakily trying to lift a crude coffee mug to his mouth for a sip. I fumbled a few drops before finishing the motion.

  Next time I should check the player status as Beth had done. That method would allow me to see what I was leaping into and maybe I could avoid dripping scalding-hot liquid. Strangely, the poor treatment cost me a few health points but didn’t change my progress bar.

  Progress: 14%

  Following additional prompts, I managed to stumble around the house. Apparently I was running late while trying to figure out everything. My tardiness was made clear by a tiny box which displayed hits to my completion percentage with warning notices.

  I looted a few more map scrolls and an apple. They were put into pockets to go with the key and book Old Man Carver’s robes already held. Huffing, I turned and closed the door, making sure everything was locked up. The cane helped minimize Old Man Carver’s unstable footsteps.

  Once shuffling down the path, I saw other townsfolk. Most of them waved. I nodded back frequently and felt like a complete impostor. These people knew William Carver the NPC, not Grant the player posing as Carver the nonplayer. At least I got a few more points for my vague replies to people. Old Man Carver didn’t seem big on social pleasantries.

  Judging by morning traffic, stalls being set up, and bustle, this city contained two thousand people. We were sprawled out over a few miles. There was an entire marina for boating, but it stopped short of being a trade port with giant ships coming in.

  The ocean smell was masked by bakery goods and meats. I carefully looked at the scroll, trying to map out where I was via all the little dots of information around me. There was an alleyway near here that was dangerous at night. Notes on the map told me that this was an event location.

  Now that was unfair. A guide NPC had access to that sort of information? I could lead players into an alley at night and see if they survived the attack? For what? Turned out result possibilities were noted as well. Rewards ranged all over. One possible reward was contacts with a Thieves’ guild, if you subdued but didn’t kill, or managed to steal from the attackers and get away. Another route pointed toward the guards and city if you helped other civilians who might end up involved.

  Really, who even thought of this stuff? Everything about it seemed designed to lead a player around based on their gut reactions.

  The bakery near me provided a chance for new players to earn coin for work. They often hired Travelers for all roles: sweeping, mixing, folding the dough, or running the cash register.

  I shook my head and tried not to read too much into it. Basically, there were options all over town. No two players would take the exact same path, show the same interests, or respond to events in the same manner. Each one would have different rewards and a nearly unique experience. Not every player would talk to a guide, like the NPC I was pretending to be. Some had foreknowledge from friends and family. Some were savvy enough to find buildings that might teach them what they wanted.

  There were two buildings on the map loosely labeled “Training Hall.” From the information I read while walking, those locations seemed a lot like gyms for weapon trainers. I had to see what those were like. Thankfully there would be no drill sergeants spitting words at my face, I hoped.

  From a tree overhead, there was a rush of noises. Rustling preceded a solid whack as something collided with the trunk, then what had to be a chipmunk chattering. Giant acorn-like objects fell from the tree as the squabbling noises kept going.

  I stopped and watched. The beach was in sight, but this was interesting enough to suffer a hit to my progress bar. Soon other creatures joined in. My poor eyesight couldn’t make out if they had been there the whole time or leapt from adjourning trees. They were clearly fighting something. That something was hissing back.

  A smile crept across my crinkling face. I kept watching for the inevitable outcome. After thirty more seconds of squabbling, my little troublemaking buddy fell from the branches above.

  He was pelted by a good fifteen more acorn objects. In his teeth, he had managed to secure one of the other creatures. It looked like a sleeker chipmunk with a strange set of emerald jewels right above either eye.

  “Identification,” I whispered. It wouldn’t do to have any of the other NPCs hear me
using a player skill.

  Skill Used: [Identification]

  Race: [Coo-Coo Rill]

  Status: Deceased

  Details: [Coo-Coo Rill]s are communal animals. They often steal bright, shiny objects for their nests. More than one person has lost jewelry or coins to a colony’s hoard of treasures.

  Warning: Attacking a nest for treasure will often result in fighting a colony of [Coo-Coo Rill]s.

  “Really?” I asked.

  The [Messenger’s Pet] huffed and shook his head.

  “You weren’t trying to steal their treasures, were you?”

  He let out an angry hiss at the branches above. More trees rustled overhead, and another round of acorns flew toward both the miniature dragon and me.

  “Bah.” I shook my cane at the tree and kept walking on toward my bench.

  There was a bright, shiny arrow bobbing above the ground as a guide. “Park your old butt here!” it seemed to say.

  Sitting hurt as much as walking though.

  Old age was no picnic. I spent the first thirty minutes of William Carver’s bench warming time trying to play fetch with the miniature dragon. I still had no idea if the little fellow had a name or not.

  The carcass of the dead [Coo-Coo Rill] had been deposited in front of my bench.

  Citizens of this world walked around it with a giggle or frown. One woman clearly found the situation borderline hysterical. Probably my feeble tossing of nuts to the little dragon had something to do with it. A shimmering blue headband was wrapped around her hair. One stray chunk was tucked behind an ear as she sat down beside me. The woman was clearly important. Old Man Carver didn’t have a wall of information about her stored away, but there was one major message box.

  Secondary Goal: Old Man Carver has been trying to learn about this woman for years but has come up empty. Learning more about her past will greatly increase your progress as Old Man Carver. This will help settle his spirit during passing.

  Reward: Significant progress toward your completion (dependent upon information found)

  Note: Old Man Carver is typically direct and has tried numerous tactics to get information in the past. The woman (Mylia Jacobs) finds this amusing and is deliberately obtuse.

  Progress: 21%

  Was Carver stalking this girl? Clearly it wasn’t offensive since she sat next to me with half a smile. Everything hurt so much when moving that I doubted Carver was trying to peep into showers.

  “Morning, Mylia,” I started politely and watched the meter for possible reactions.

  “Mister Carver. How are you this fine day?”

  “Enjoying the view.” I even managed not to look anywhere near her when saying it. Otherwise, it would be kind of creepy.

  “And your little friend?” She was gesturing toward the tiny dragon playing with a young boy. The [Messenger’s Pet] was hopping around eagerly.

  “He followed me.” My answer was vague. I wasn’t exactly sure why the [Messenger’s Pet] had hung around.

  “What’s his name?”

  “No idea. I’ll ask him,” I responded.

  “Oh? Is he a tiny dragon?” Mylia looked eager to pet the tiny creature but managed to hold herself back.

  “Not exactly. A Messenger’s Pet.” I was trying to sound impressive by knowing the dragon’s species, which was clearly a bad idea. My progress bar dropped two percent from that one. Old Man Carver didn’t give away much information if he could help it.

  “Oh.” She looked worried and frowned for a moment. “Aren’t those bad?”

  “Mh. What’s he going to do to me?” I felt little fear of the tiny dragon, but he did have teeth and breathed fire. If he were to attack, it would suck due to the pain feedback. That would be anti-neat and pain-tastic.

  “I don’t know, but it’d be a shame if something did happen.” She turned in my direction and made it easier to see her entire face.

  “Mylia, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d miss this old man.” I tested out the third-person speech and tried not using titles like miss or ma’am. The progress bar went up a little. My eyes drifted to the azure scarf she had wrapped around most of her head.

  “Not me, Mister Carver. The kids though, they might miss your stories.”

  “Everyone loves a good story.” There were two rooms in Carver’s house full of books that proved the point.

  “I imagine they love the story-teller too.” Mylia managed to sound playful. She had half a smile that almost reached her worn eyes.

  “Hah.” Old Man Carver didn’t seem very lovable. Maybe he was hard on the outside and soft on the inside. Like a very weird cookie. Probably raisin-filled.

  “Come on, Phil, we’re running behind,” she said.

  The younger boy looked up and nodded. His eyes were tired too. Not from abuse but from malnutrition. Mylia Jacobs wasn’t much better. Both of them were probably underfed. It wasn’t in her clothes or his, but there was a familiar draw to the face.

  “Mh. Good-bye, Mylia.” My words were almost absent-minded as I studied them walking off. Mylia wasn’t excessively attractive. The only vaguely cute aspect about her was the azure band wrapped atop her head.

  The small dragon nipped at my heel, looking for attention. It was near noon, and the bar set aside for hunger was dwindling. I absently pulled out my apple and ate a few bites while thinking of additional tasks.

  “Mh.” Chewing hurt like everything else.

  No new players that needed my attention had started today. Sitting on the bench, I watched one bewildered person start and be cornered by a friend almost immediately. Clearly they were starting to play with someone from real life. The more senior player gave me a wave and hauled their friend onward.

  I grunted and pulled out the book hidden in my robe. Reading to pass the time would be helpful. [Inspection] revealed a surprise. Maybe that’s why this book had been easiest to grab.

  Item: Carver’s Journal, (Vol. 1)

  Description: William (Old Man) Carver has kept a log of highlights from this world. It contains musings and general observations. He’s collectively titled these works, ‘Notes from a Stranger in a Strange Land’. This reference is said to be from Old Man Carver’s childhood.

  “Mh.” I started reading through the book.

  Somewhere during these boring actions the [Messenger’s Pet] had decided to take a nap in a spot of sun nearby. His location would probably be safe from both the idle footsteps of people and the attacks of angry [Coo-Coo Rill]s.

  Three weeks in this city and I’ve noticed a lot of issues. I finally ditched those other idiots and found my own place. Michelle was too content to stay in our hometown and work a forge. Yates insisted on learning magic, even though it was weird, and I wanted to kill his monsters with a sword.

  Maybe I’m an idiot too. But here, in this world, you can be anything. Why would I settle for being mundane? I have a goal, and that goal is to kill a dragon.

  I snorted in laughter, which made the tiny dragon perk his ears for a moment. At least Carver had aimed high. Had he succeeded? I had about four weeks of bench-warming to endure, so I avoided reading spoilers if at all possible. According to the journal and my own personal in-game display, this was from about twenty-five years ago.

  A few more pages in, and I could see Old Man Carver’s general distaste for other people. He regarded their choices and their methods as dull and uninteresting. Not to say he didn’t occasionally pair up with people. The first misadventure he’d had involved a female elf from the general description. They tried to stop giant wasps from chewing up a great tree of some sort.

  He outlined the qualities of said female elf and went into excessive detail about her exuberance for all new things. The entry ended with a parting of ways. The tree was also saved, but from how everything was written, saving nature had been a secondary mission. I rolled my eyes. Old Man Carver sounded like a young teen in this one, not that there was an age listed anywhere.

  Glancing around revealed that all wa
s fairly peaceful. Guards patrolled, and townsfolk visited the beach. It looked cleaner since that new player had spent hours picking up trash. Noon was growing closer and things were warming up. Old Man Carver’s robe wasn’t exactly comfortable in this sun.

  I looked around for a shady perch. There was a similar bench with an awning attached. Moving there earned me another percent on my progress bar and turned down the heat.

  After my very grateful parting with the elf, I set my compass south. There is a desert that boasts of giant lizards. I assume they’ll be good practice for fighting a Dragon. Before that, the sword I picked up in my hometown is due for a repair. Maybe I’ll stop by home and see if Michelle can actually craft something as decent as he thinks.

  He keeps bragging about his skills. Idiot. I’m glad he’s not out here with me; I’d probably have to rescue him from every tiny monster that attacks. That guy is so weak a feather would beat him up.

  I hope he never reads this journal. Free gear is nothing to sneeze at. Ugh. He’ll probably demand that I give him all the resources I’ve gathered out here. He bled me dry over a pair of greaves. I can’t imagine how much worse a decent sword will be.

  “Hey. Old Man Carver.” A voice out of the blue disturbed my review of my—Carver’s—past. Goodness, this was confusing.

  “What?” The heat, being interrupted, and a faint promise of pain if I moved too suddenly all combined to make me irritated. My curt response was worth another percent. I bet yelling from my lawn at the town’s children would send my progress through the roof.

  “I need a quest from you. Then give me a map.” The other figure was a brown-haired boy in his early twenties.

  Thank goodness this game had an age requirement or I would be flooded with children demanding things. He still had that semi-lean form that young adults wear so well before everything goes south later in life. I stared at him and uttered the first mildly Carver thing to come to mind.

  “You’re a rude brat, aren’t you,” I said. Score another percent for me.

  “Listen, old man, I can’t waste time here. Give me a quest, and I’ll be out of your hair and on my way.” He waved his hand in my face.