Chapter 3: CHAPTER 3 [A Strong New World]
Race: human. I had decided that back when I was a young gamer before anyone had ever heard of Elysium. Elves were too watery, dwarves were ugly, and halflings had hairy legs. And forget about ores, trolls, and goblins—they were just evil. I mean, sure, lots of people enjoyed playing them, and that's fine; some people like lollipops and others prefer pickles. But I stuck with humans, seeing as how that's what I was most used to.
And that was pretty much it. Elysium was different from the games I'd played since you picked your class and specialisation after the tutorial—a starting location without aggressive monsters, where players can't kill each other. This area was called Noobland (some developers have a sense of humor).
Now, I had to decide who I wanted to be by choosing an instructor and getting a class quest from him. For instance, if I wanted to be a mage, I had to find the mage instructor and get a quest. If I wanted to be a thief, I would have gotten my assignment, and head off to steal something, grab a drink, and land in prison. Want to be a hero? Go for it!
Attribute points were assigned more or less how they always were: players distributed them themselves with each new level. One important difference was that Elysium didn't have any multiclasses; everyone picked a specialisation for themselves, and that was it. That specialisation would be the only one you'd work on. No archetypes like mage/thieves or warrior/clerics.
I agreed to let the program base my physical appearance on my actual appearance and decided not to read all the digital garbage they threw at me. And with that, I was treated to solemnly drawn-out music reminiscent of a drunken bagpipe band. I grunted. On the screen, a message let me know that the character Leyton had been created.
"Thank God. We'll start with a prayer," I said as I lay down in the bathtub/capsule, manipulated what the installers told me to manipulate, and saw a light at the end of a tunnel that led my new character into a whole new world.
"Ha! It's Beloomut!"
That was my first reaction to the Elysium world. The light spat me out onto a fairly narrow street lined with stumpy wooden houses that reminded me of Beloomut, a small provincial town where I spent many happy summer vacations as a child. Even the newest buildings there looked exactly like what was on either side of me. For a split second, I could smell the fields of my childhood, the bonfires we lit in the evenings, baked potatoes, and the dust under my bike tires.
Turning around, I looked at where I had come from.
It was a carved arch surrounding a pearly film. The childhood aromas wafting around in my head were quickly blown away when some guy dressed in something markedly exotic tumbled out of the arch, glared at me ferociously, and announced, "Geez, dude, why are you standing in the way like that?"
And off he ran. I turned to look down at myself and realised I wasn't dressed any better. Thinking about it now, the word "dressed" doesn't begin to describe the picturesque rags I wore. Maybe you've seen those old kalikas [4] in movies set in Vladimirian Rus? It's the same thing, only I don't have a harp. A tattered shirt made out of canvas...or hemp, I have no idea, pants made out of the same thing, and a bag fit for a beggar, with a wooden cup and a few clumps of bread inside. Oh, and the smell—again, fit for a beggar.
And that brought up an interesting point: the Elysium press release said players could play as anyone. What about a bum on the street? What skills would they have to develop? "Begging," "tin-can scavenging," and "stink," a passive ability that weakens opponents for five minutes? I'm kidding, of course. Although to be fair, one popular internet portal I read mentioned that beggars made the best RPG players because they were used to
poking around all the nooks and crannies they could find in a relentless search for anything people left lying around.
And that's exactly what the game was about—picking up the loot you got from monsters, crates, pitchers, and anywhere else some sick developer dreamed up. Ultimately, bums on the street spend their time looking for anything interesting lying around, trying it on, and eventually just keeping the best trash they can find. So what's the difference between a gamer and a bum? Okay, forget it. None of that matters. We don't need a beggar; I am a warrior, a powerfully built tank of a man; a pillar of the band; and the hope of orphans, the wretched, and the destitute. A barbarian or a paladin, although it doesn't look like there are any paladins here.
So, I started walking down the street.
"Hey, man, want to join our group? We're going to take a look around Noobland, do some quests, jump up a few levels."
I turned to see a stocky dwarf with a ragged beard and leather clothes that were actually kind of decent.
Next to him, was a pair dressed the same as I was.
"Come on," said the little guy, whose name, judging by the label above him, was Ronin. "We'll find one more and get going. I know where to find some good quests, so it'll be great. Then we'll head over to Brad.
Brad, Brad, I mentally paged through the guides I'd read briefly. A-a-ah, Brad—the city players go to after Noobland. The gate to the big world.
"Sounds good," I told the little guy. "Send me the group. Though I should tell you ahead of time that I'm going to be a warrior."
"No problem," he answered. "Be whoever you want. Here's the group."
A window popped up that read:
Ronin is inviting you to join his group.
[Accept?]
Needless to say, I clicked "Accept."
You joined a group! Leader: Ronin.
"So, Ronin, can we go now, or what?" I asked my new leader.
"No, we're going to find one more first," the dwarf answered as he attentively scanned the players walking and running by. And the stream of players entering the game was still going strong, lending credence to the traffic numbers I hadn't really believed.
"All right, cool. Then I'll be over in that corner looking through the settings."
I walked over to a fence in front of a building, crouched down to lean against it, and pulled up the attribute menu.
Basic attributes:
Strength: 1
Intellect: 1
Agility: 1
Stamina: 1
Wisdom: 1
Well, I thought. Not great. Whatever. I'll go do some fighting with that dwarf, unlock a few levels, and that will help. He obviously isn't just trying to help people—there's something in it for him, too. Every operator has his weak spot, though. You just have to find it.
While I was there mulling things over and waxing eloquent on the meaning of life, life wasn't just standing there waiting for me. The same misfits kept marching by like a rag parade, though the rags differed in color, the number of holes they had, and how they were patched. Admin certainly spared no expense when it came to design. Oh, and one of the tramps had been snagged by our fearless leader Ronin. Noticing me watching him, he beckoned me over with his shovel-like hand:
"Hey, warrior, get over here. The group's ready, so let's head off to see Auntie Doris and start our first quest. Some lake goblins are bothering her during the day and keeping her up all night with their noise. And you know Auntie Doris—she's the kind of woman you respect and appreciate. So let's go find those goblins their own little corner of hell."
"That sounds fine," I started. "But what are we going to use to kill them? Our bare hands?"
"Oh, right," Ronin seemed taken aback. "You don't have anything. No money either. Right? Nobody has anything? Yep, thought so. Okay, let's do this: I'll buy you each a club from the NPC in the store over there. He'll give me a good deal. And in return, you'll give me all the loot you collect today."
And there we have it! A smooth talker, that one. So, that's how they did business around there. Let's see: five shmucks, 6-7 hours of fighting to get through 2-3 levels… that was a lot of marketable loot, even if it was cheap. Farm that for a couple weeks by plowing money back into gear that costs next to nothing, and you had your start-up capital. And you even got some experience to boot. Plus, there was no risk whatsoever, and it wasn't as if we had a choice. If we said no, there was always someone else lining up to take our places. But I wagered, later, right before it was time to leave Noobland, he would say, "Sorry, guys, there's something I really, really have to go take care of." And he would go create a new group. If someone he helped along ever made it big, he could even sidle up to them later with a small reminder, "Hey, you don't remember when I bought you your first club, do you...?"
And wipe away a tear…
Two of our groupmates gleefully shouted that they were in, even if the little man was a dwarf, while an elf named Max (the one Ronin recruited last) stood there weighing the decision. Soon, he too acquiesced and nodded. Well, as long as everyone else was down for it, so was I. Life's more interesting in a group.
After we all decided to make a go of it together, giving up our loot to the entrepreneuring dwarf in the process, he quickly took us to the local supermarket and bought us the simplest clubs he could find. There was a lot in the store, though it was all kind of plain.
On the other hand, I wasn't expecting anything special at that point.
Simple Club
Single-handed weapon
Damage: 6-10
Damage type: bludgeoning
Durability: 80/80
The dwarf then grandly announced, "And now that you hold in your hands your very first weapon in the Elysium world, remember this moment and never forget it!" That served only to confirm my suspicion that if any of us ever became a serious player in the game, sooner or later he'd come knocking like the ghost of Christmas past.
Auntie Doris lived in an adorable little house seven or so minutes walk from a beautiful lake. Ronin thumped on the carved walnut door and, as we entered, whispered a quick command in our direc-tion, "Wipe your feet. If you track dirt into the house, we'll never see the quest. She's a huge clean freak."
Inside, the house wasn't just clean; it was as sterile as an operating room. Auntie Doris herself turned out to be a little old lady with gray curls, a clean apron, and a white bonnet. She looked exhausted.
"How are things?" asked Ronin. "How are you feeling, Auntie Doris?"
"Ah, what a polite dwarf! Not great," replied Auntie Doris sadly. "I can barely sleep with all the noise and uproar every night."
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