CH 3 — The Hopeful Skeptic
It was a beautiful night to die, but Vallens wasn’t ready to give up the fight. Rapid bursts of flame and lightning lit the dark sky, uprooting trees and shrubs. Specks of dirt and brush threatened to overwhelm ver, only to be repelled by a translucent shield.
Vallens’ opponent, a small man buried beneath cerulean robes and a comically large hat, snarled and commanded his demon to sink its claws into ver familiar.
But unlike the demon with its twisted horns and gigantic physique, Françoise was sleek and nimble. The skeletal figure of a large panther, Françoise neatly evaded the demon, coming down on top of it with claws extended.
There was a crack that tore open the sky and bathed the world in white. The man shrieked, and the crunching of bone and sizzling of flesh brought a smile to Vallens’ face.
“Is that really the best you lot can do?” Ve was not one to boast, but it was amusing to see this worm of a man fail. Just five minutes ago, he was threatening to slaughter Vallens and run off with ver staff and other valuables, only to become the victim himself.
What a joke.
His once formidable demon tottered and swayed, the light gone from its eyes. Vallens braced vemself for the inevitable meaty thud of body on earth, and wasn’t disappointed. The very ground beneath ver feet trembled from the impact. And the man…
Françoise greedily chewed on his neck, bringing forth a fresh spray of blood.
“Gross.” Ve was never a fan of blood and gore, and failed to understand why it was even included. Ve had that feature disabled in ver settings, but had no control over it now.
Françoise retreated from the impromptu meal, the intricate bones of its tail catching the glow from the moon. Its eyes—or the space where its eyes should’ve been, rather—darkened with satisfaction as Vallens stroked its head.
“Good girl,” ve murmured.
But the fight wasn’t over yet. Vallens murmured a spell as ve approached the fallen mage. Pale gray tendrils reached out beyond the dissipating demon and fraying caster. The faithful panther followed close behind, occasionally pausing to sniff the air or cock an ear. Vallens’ senses weren’t as refined; ve relied on the glow of ver own magic for further illumination.
The tendrils dove into the untouched wilderness, where any brave adventurers were gearing up to strike. The less experienced may assume that the fallen mage’s allies would rush out the second things went south, a mistake Vallens made in ver youth.
Ve only relaxed when the tendrils dispersed into plumes of smoke. Sighing, Vallens shook ver hand and doubled back to the downed body. A quick glance, to see if there was something ver spell missed, before squatting beside the man. Not for the first time, ve wondered about the logistics of reviving a player’s body. Not in the sense of restoring them to full health, no.
Certain NPCs, monsters, and animals could be brought back. Not as the being once perceived by others, but as a reanimated corpse. And given how wonky this current reality turned out to be, why wouldn’t it be possible? Then again, what use was a dead mage to vem? Ve needed something with a bit more muscle and girth. And this guy was practically swimming in his robes.
Vallens stripped the man of his robes, seeking a pouch or fallen spellbook. But ve found no book, no pouch, not even a stave. Snarling, Vallens kicked the corpse. “Cheap bastard!”
And only then, the body unceremoniously rolled a few paces, did Vallens see it. A pale glowing pouch! Ve immediately swiped it and dug through the bag, relieved to find a handful of coins, gems, a rather nice dagger, and a book bound with leather (not human). The coins tallied up in a corner of ver HUD, and while it wasn’t a lot, it was still oh so satisfying!
There, down on ver knees, Vallens allowed vemself a moment of sheer dramatics. “Oh, Françoise. How did it come to this?”
Françoise, a mass of code and pixels, said nothing.
“Good thing we’re the only ones here, else I’d look like quite the fool.” Ve rose but left the empty pouch to turn to dust. “Lovely haul, though. I almost have enough to make my escape.” To where, ve did not know. Ve just knew there had to be more than fucking Wolefin. Ver map told vem that. An unmarked location, sure; big question marks in a Sanskrit font. Anywhere was better than this cursed city with its listless citizens.
Too many people were content to stick with the status quo and wish for rescue. Very few were willing to brave the elements and seek the greater beyond. But not Vallens. Ve had places to be and refused to be remembered as some shameless VR junkie.
Vallens dusted vemself off and turned ver sights back to the dreaded city of Wolefin. The landscape and few surviving trees blocked ver direct view, but it was there. Some patched together city based on vibes and nostalgia. Ve sighed. Home sweet home.
“Home” was a less than substandard dwelling in a tiny one bedroom apartment. To add insult to injury, ve were expected to pay to live there. The amenities were pathetic and insulting. Vallens bumped ver head on the low ceiling every morning, because someone had the misguided notion that loft beds were efficient and desirable.
All that for 2k a month, and the so-called luxury apartments were no better.
No matter. Ve would wrap up ver affairs and leave Wolefin in the dust. Just vem, Françoise, and a sturdy mount in need of rescue from the stables. How ironic, to have a casual hobby morph into the rat race of a life ve left behind.
Growing up, Vallens’ life was moderately comfortable, compared to ver peers. Ve didn’t always have the latest tech or designer shoes, but ve had a warm bed, ver own room, and three round meals a day. Harder times fell upon vem after moving out and seeking higher education. There were months when ve subsisted on ramen, rice, and beans.
But that struggle was worth it, once ve had a firm foothold on that corporate ladder. No more roommates or crummy apartments. No more cheap dinners and tolerating dates for a warm meal and decent lay. And this, this miserable existence...this was ver reward?
Vallens crept into ver room, the weight of the night baring down on vem like a rabid dog. A nagging voice in the back of ver head insisted they stick around and begin the climb anew. That there was nothing for them beyond these walls. That ve were destined to be just another face in the crowd.
“Fuck that,” ve whispered, crawling between the ceiling and the firm mattress of ver bed. “I’ll die a dozen deaths before I accept that.”
Ve had a real distaste for the hopeless optimists of the world, the ones who always looked on the bright side. The same happy-go-lucky fucks who claimed everything happened for a reason.
But for tonight, Vallens felt a flicker of hope. None of that carefree nonsense, but a desire for a change of scenery. No matter the results, ve wanted to say ve at least tried, rather than cringing from the public and wanting to be saved. Hope could be more than a dream.
It was a catalyst.
Sienna Eggler
