Wardancer 1 - NNWM 2k17
Nov. 7th, 2017 08:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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heroicrecordsoh god here it goes
Wordcount: 4308/50000
My name is Atma and I have a story to tell you.
It’s a long one, so you may want to get comfortable. But, well, I have to tell someone, because there’s no way to believe this was real.
But, oh, it happened, and I have evidence. Think me no madwoman for but passing on this tale to you.
It’s almost like I’m a bard or something.
It all started the day I woke up in the infinite blackness.
“Ugh...”
The last thing I remember was being at my dojo. I was helping lead the swordsmanship class on kendo drills, having been the highest ranking swordsman for some time. Imagine, a short skinny girl clad in kendo armor giving loud, imposing commands in military Japanese to grown-ass men. And they shut up and listen, since if they don’t, I had authority to impose punishments. A couple of the guys scoffed, their masculinity fragile and unable to accept orders from a girl, but that soon changed when I was regularly beating their asses in sparring. For extra authority, I was pointing not with a shinai, but my “oar”, an overly large and extra heavy wood sword made for conditioning. It always impressed newcomers. One asked if he could hold it.
A few practice swings later and….
“Ugh...Ow...”
I blinked awake, expecting to be on the dojo mats.
Nope. Just darkness. A shitton of darkness. To quote a wise band of bards known only as Spinal Tap, it was “none more black.” I stood up and checked my head – no lumps. Suspicious. I looked to check my body and, well, it’s never a good sign when your uniform is replaced with a generic set of underwear. What’s more, my weapons were missing. Something was extremely amiss, and I demanded immediate answers, beginning to move in any direction, only to find myself be hit with some kind of wall.
“Okay, fucker. Show yourself. And give me back my clothes; the first look’s free but anything past this is gonna cost you dearly.” I shouted at, well, anyone.
That’s when it came blinking on, in front of me. Not a person, animal, not even a thing. Words. Words sat floating at me midair, glowing a brilliant vermilion in hue, reading but two things:
New Character
Load Character
“Load Character” was faded out, as it is in games with locked options.
“Er, what? Okay, you’re fucking with me. Either that or this is your fancy way of telling me you’re playing with me and this is all some game to you. Why not just cut out the middleman and tell me what you want from me?” I hate it when people beat around the bush. Drives me nuts.
No answer. The New Character text continued to blink, almost as if it was enticing me to interact with it somehow. Okay, but, well, usually you have a controller or mouse to do these things with, and I’d none to me. It was just me and my skivvies. My boring, unsexy skivvies that most certainly weren’t my own. Someone clearly didn’t think much of me.
I sighed, fingers to my forehead, head rolling back in annoyance. I figured the only way this was going to go forward was for me to try to touch it somehow. So I reached out and…
...No dice. Great.
“Look, idiot, I’m trying to click your New Character dealy here. Let’s get this game rolling so I can find you and beat your ass in. Whatever, I accept.”
Bingo.
With that, the text faded and some form of character creation process was loaded. On it was a model that looked like me, skivvies and all. A few things seemed odd; my name was already input (and I thank them for at least having the decency to use my preferred full name of Atma Weapon), the gender option and aesthetic options were locked out, and a rolling list of job classes were all grayed out save for one. A pity, it was full of some interesting choices I’d not seen in other games before, I’d like to have been an Errant or whatever an “Eyepatch Samurai” is.
The hell’s a “Battle-Skald?” It was the only thing accessible to me.
“Okay, whomever, I obviously pick Battle-Skald, it’s not like you’re giving me a choice here.”
It dinged and my character gained a basic outfit, which immediately reflected onto myself as well. I touched it and tugged at it; it was real alright. I could take parts off I wanted to, but it didn’t affect the me that was on screen. But, well…
“By Amaterasu’s tits, this is one of the most atrocious outfits I’ve ever seen.”
In only the finest silks, cloths, cottons, furs, leathers, feathers stood what to me looked like the local ren faire drunk. Golds and reds adorned me all over my head and torso. Atop my head sat what appeared to be an oversized beret or bonnet that sat flopping to my right side, in folds topped with gold with crimson innards, shining from its silky properties. My torso appeared to look like it was made out of a Turkish or Mongolian deel; it was mostly crimson with a gold trim and collar. I had fine thin leather gloves with fur lining, just enough to protect but keep my fingers nimble and dextrous. Around my neck was some sort of bolo tie emblazed a a large buckle resembling the flower on the old Japanese samurai Saito Clan crest.
What really stood out though was the fact that, for some godsforsaken reason, I had on a kilt.
A fucking kilt.
In the exact tartan and sporran pattern of my family of Clan Graham. Someone did their homework. The sporran came covered in furs and what appeared to be falcon’s claws. On my feet were tall, sturdy leather boots that matched my gloves, with thick, gold socks coming out.
If this all wasn’t ridiculous enough, to complete the ensemble, I had on a cape, or rather, a shawl, with the right side tossed over my left arm and around my neck. I had only one thought about this whole outfit as I tried to pick my jaw up off the floor.
“How am I supposed to pick up women in this fucking getup? Even I can dress myself better at home, and all I own are novelty t-shirts. Come on, I can’t possibly go out looking like this. I’m never gonna get laid in this town again!” Don’t question my priorities. I’m Atma Weapon; I’ve been known to make straight women switch teams, if even just for a day, over me.
Now that I was done being dressed up as some kind of Middle Eastern or East Asian Scottish pile of silk-clad puke, I was taken to a starting equipment screen where, again, all my stuff was already chosen for me.
Starting Weapons: Highland Pipes and the Biwa
Starting Skills: Flyting and Power Ballads
Starting Knowledge: Heavy Metal
My stats were rolled and locked in, and I didn’t like what I saw.
I was rolled as CHA > DEX > WIS > INT > CON > ATK
The correct way to roll me, as everyone knows, is CON > ATK > CHA > DEX > WIS > INT
What can I say? I know what I’m all about, and I’m a fighter. I wondered how the hell it expected me to reconcile my high charisma stat with this outfit, but oh well. I’m taking it very strongly from my starting “weapons” and impossibly low attack power I wasn’t going to be a frontliner here and whomever was running this charade expected me to like it.
After all was said and done, a screen popped up that said “Is this character okay?” With a Yes and No, the cursor moving itself to Yes and fading the whole screen out. Eventually, I stood alone, my starting equipment at my feet. I figured no choice but to at least take it; maybe I could beat someone over the head with the biwa if I had to. I strapped my instruments to my back and a path appeared before me, a set of glowing, glass stairs.
At last, another voice spoke. It was a man’s voice, deep and serious. For some reason, an ominous chorus chanted low in the background.
“Welcome to Wardancer! You have been chosen as a beta player in our new MMO. Go, now, and face your destiny, young one. Will you follow the choir, or march to your own beat? We are eager to see how your song plays out, young warrior. Now, go forth. Enter the game.”
I bit my lip to keep me from laughing. What godawful taglines. An MMO? Really? Someone had a sick sense of humor. I steeled my courage and made my way carefully up the steps, a door appearing once I got near the top, and I entered a bright light.
Immediately, I found myself now in a vast expanse. A field, lined with grass, flowers, and few trees. In the distance, I could see the gate of a castle town. Around me, the world stretched for miles. Either someone was really good at set display, or I’d been hauled off while unconscious to somewhere very far away and very wide. I could probably go anywhere, but being armed only with a stringed instrument I couldn’t play and what’s regarded as either one of the saddest or most annoying instruments of all time, I figured I’d take my chances at the castle town.
At least there, I could get information, see if anyone else here was here unwillingly, and get food and lodging. And maybe, if they could get past the outfit, nab a woman. That would be nice. Some tracts of land as large as this expanse would soothe what ailed me right now. In fact, forget the information and lodging. I’ll just take a few streetwalkers and add them to my party and raise them right. Those are some of the toughest broads; guaranteed to be armed with some kind of knife or dagger, which is a hell of a lot more than I had at the time.
The walk was nice. Short, but nice. I swear I could smell the grass and flowers beneath my feet as I marched triumphantly forward, not trying to let my state of dress get to me. When I arrived, the bridge was up, and a guard stood on this side it to greet people. I walked up to him and decided if he hadn’t run from this crime against all types of fashion by now, he wasn’t going to.
“Good day, sir. Working hard or hardly working?” I asked, smiling.
“I-It’s The Wardancer! Someone hail the king and let him know she’s arrived! Let the bridge up and let the woman through; we mustn’t lose more time than we already have!” The guard said, doing his best not to let the fact his face showed a bit of shock. The bridge came down and opened the town up to me, but something didn’t sit right with me about what he said.
Namely the everything.
“Er, what? Excuse me? The who what now? No, I’m just Atma, Battle-Skald or whatever it was the, ahem, character creation process said.” Wardancer? Wasn’t that some viking thing where they’d do hella shrooms and trip out with a huge axe, scaring the shit out of all in their path? I may be a viking and hadn’t done shrooms but wouldn’t say no if this guy was offering, but clearly I wouldn’t be doing any berserker rages with a Japanese lute and a bag that cries when you squeeze and blow it.
But that’s what she said.
“I-It’s The Wardancer! Someone hail the king and let him know she’s arrived! Let the bridge up and let the woman through; we mustn’t lose more time than we already have!” The guard repeated, in the exact tone and shocked expression.
“Okay, okay, I get it. This is supposedly an MMO so someone paid you to act like an annoying NPC. Got it. You’re apparently misinformed, though, you got the wrong Battle-Skald.”
“I-It’s The Wardancer! Someone hail the king and let him know she’s arrived! Let the bridge up and let the woman through; we mustn’t lose more time than we already have!”
“Okay. Bye.”
With that and me walking off, I could hear that phrase activated a fourth time. Apparently if you say or do anything around that guy, it sets it off all over again. Poor guy’s going to be deluded all day. Wardancer? Pff. I have a town to explore and information to gather.
I make my way on in and know that one of the best places to get information in any new town, especially in things like MMOs or tabletop campaigns, is always the tavern. Which is almost always also the inn. And the diner. Sometimes, a brothel! Er, not that I’d know much about that. It’s easy to stay in business when you have a monopoly on half of what you can find in a town. Now, I don’t drink, not anymore at least. Delerium Tremens is a hell of a drug. But drunks? Drunks leak out the best information easiest if you just buy them a couple rounds. It’s cheaper than a tour guide.
I stand by the door and check my sporran, and sure enough, is the standard amount of piddling starting cash you get in most games that’ll get you maybe a cup of coffee and one healing if you’re lucky. But in a tavern? This shit goes far. They always give them wildly unrealistically low prices, like pennies for dinner, a nickel for beer. If it was this cheap in real life, half the nation would never leave its drunken stupor. This should be all I need; once I extract enough info from drunks I’m hauling ass out of here and back home. They can’t keep me here forever.
I look up at the menu; apparently today’s Taco Tuesday. Now, I like all kinds of tacos, and you can take that any way you like, it will be true, so I figure why not. I’m pretty hungry. Dealing with people’s shit will do that. I take a seat and order up. That’s when I overhear a voice at the table next to me I swear I’ve heard before.
“Good choice. My friend Gus and I always stop here on Taco Tuesday after a long grind. You should see what they’ll do tomorrow, because here, every day is Taco Tuesday. If what the spirits are telling me is correct, it’s actually Friday.” The first familiar voice said.
“No, it’s Saturday. You need to tell the spirits to update their calendars, Shawn. Or maybe not play a class that requires you not making intelligence your dump stat.” The second familiar voice replied.
“Points, schmoints. Everyone knows what the Californian Medium class needs is charm. We’re repping the West Coast, sheesh. Besides, like playing a healer class and just naming it Pharmacist because you are one make you any smarter.”
I looked up because I just couldn’t believe it, but I do believe I just got seated next to Shawn Spencer, noted psychic detective, and his partner, Burton Guster. Shawn waved and pulled out another seat, inviting me over. I figured what the hell. Either they’re real and got kidnapped too, or if this is a game, someone’s roleplaying them, and doing it pretty spot on. A psychic would be a great way to get some information.
“You look new around here so I figured you could use some company. I’d remember an outfit like that, easily.” said Shawn. “In fact, didn’t I have a vision today, Gus, that we’d meet someone so amazingly fashionable?”
“Shawn, what you said is that they told you that you’d meet the living embodiment of an eyesore.”
I interrupted then. Unfortunately, for me, I agreed with Gus about the outfit.
“Don’t worry, I think the outfit’s pretty atrocious too. I wasn’t allowed any control over my character creation and I got stuck with this.” I sighed as my food arrived. Much to my surprise, I could actually taste it, and it was pretty damn good. “I’m Atma, apparently I’m a Battle-Skald, but the guard out front started freaking out when he saw me and called me a Wardancer and that I should see the king right away. It’s all he could say, too. You know anything about that?”
“I’m Shawn Spencer, the Californian Medium, and this is my partner, Randolph Joykiller, the Pharmacist. Sounds like you’re not just looking for tacos, though. My senses do tell me that people around the city have been mumbling something about a legendary hero; maybe you just give off that vibe?”
“It’s Gus, not Randolph. And it’s not just your senses, Shawn, unlike you, I actually talk to other people here instead of just relying on my stat sheet. Yes, there’s been rumors of someone called a Wardancer who’s supposed to show up, and a Battle-Skald sounds awfully a lot like that.”
“Well, shit. So, uh, been around here long? How did you arrive? And California, you say? I’m from Wine Country myself. Are they just targeting the best state for ‘players’ for this charade or what?”
I began my interrogation and found out they’ve been here quite some time and even have their own detective agency set up here as a guild, but have been looking for new members. But around here, guilds are called ‘bands’ and they’ve been specifically seeking out a bard of some kind. Like me, they were told they’re beta testing some game, and it seemed a bit too real to be that, but they couldn’t find a way to log out so they’ve been stuck since, making the best of it.
After a long lunch we formed a pact for now; I would join their party as their bard and we could convert the agency into a combination agency and guild. Or band, I should say. We agreed we should see the king to confirm if I am some Wardancer or whatever and began our walk to the castle. They pointed out the sites and where their agency was, and along the way we all heard many people repeating the guard’s line as well as similar ones as I made my way past.
We got to the front door of the castle proper, and after another guard freakout, we were let in under emergency need, and an audience was immediately arranged. We made it down the hall to the throne and, sure enough, there’s a king, and he’s giving a similar shocked expression as everyone else.
“I-It’s the Wardancer! She’s returned to us!” He looked like he wanted to cry. “For so long, our people have been without their champion, and we are now in dire need of help! The Demon Lord Hjalmar has reawakened, and if he is not defeated soon, all will be lost!”
“Uh huh. Yeah. I literally just got here though. I’m not even a bard off in my other life; I’m a swordsman. I teach martial arts. Wouldn’t it be better if your legendary hero had a sword or something, sir?” I was hoping he’d agree and that I’d least get a cool sword out of this.
“I know not of what you mean. But I demand proof you can play and that you are whom we think you are; we’ve had many people imitating the hero and the proof’s always in song. I demand you used your stringed instrument and sing me a verse or two.” The king said sternly.
I snorted. Me? Singing? Luting? Yeah, this was gonna end with proof of me not being the hero and getting to go home for sure. I could play drums and do some traditional dances, but no way was I a legendary musician.
I turned to Shawn and Gus. Quick team meeting.
“Guys, I can’t play or sing for crap. He’s gonna be done with us in a few minutes and we can go home, hopefully.”
“Okay, but you sure look the part. I mean, that silk on you alone’s got to be worth more than what the guards have equipped.” Shawn retorted.
“Good. I got a job back home I really need to beg back if this goes on much longer. So go ahead and embarrass yourself for our sake. We’d appreciate it.” Gus got back up and adjusted his robes as Shawn pat me on the back and pushed me forward.
I pulled out my biwa and remembered a few verses of a song about one of my own story characters, Siofra, that my friend Abby had written for me.
“Here goes only everything...” I cleared my throat and began to strum and sing. The first verse came out.
“In lands both far and bountiful
Of which I’d like to sing
Where flowered alarunes of the wood
Dethroned the rightful king...”
Something was wrong. Very very wrong. As I sang, it came out good. Almost too good. And my biwa rendition of Siofra’s guitar ballad was a not bad cover at all. I pulled out the second and third verse to test what was up.
“Siofra battled tireless
Expecting great reward
The blooming monsters fell to her
And to her mighty sword…
When all at once she felt a draw
From battle to the bed
The pheromones of enemies
Were messing with her head…”
I could hear Shawn snorting at the lyrics and say how “not bad” I was. Gus just agreed and I overheard something about how he could dig it. The king’s face was slowly going from stern to hopeful. Oh god, I had to crash the ending. I mustered up everything I had, hoping I could somehow control my hands to break the biwa or croak out a belch or something.
Amaterasu, please, save me. Get me out of this mess. I prayed in my head with all my might to “Please, let me fuck up something royally just once in my life and let it be this.” And onto the end.
“The pollinating lady plant
Loved stronger than a bull
But Siofra girded her loins,
Indefatigable…
Deflowering the maiden fair
Took only half an hour
And then the tables turned again
Siofra back in power…
The kingdom’s gratefulness was vast
Until one fateful day
The king heard brave Siofra off-
erring his queen a ---”
Shawn just cracked up harder, overshadowing my last few words but not my strumming, and I ended it on a perfectly executed biwa solo. It was like my throat and hands were possessed. Was this the power of the Battle-Skald?
The power of the Wardancer?
The two men who joined me on in began to clap, as did the King, standing up to a strong ovation. Tears ran down his face as he proclaimed loudly.
“We did it! She’s come at our most dire hour at last! Guards, tell the townspeople to meet us outside the castle gates, that we have an important announcement!” He jumped up off his throne and out, to make the proclamation that I was, indeed, their hero.
I just stared in shock at myself and then back at my new friends. It was all I could do to say nothing at all and just give a look like someone had shot my girlfriend.
“We thought you said you couldn’t sing! Not only did that rock, in a classy ren faire sort of way, but it was hilarious! Where’d you ever hear that one? I’mma need a CD of that, signed ‘To my new best friends and taco enthusiasts, Shawn and Gus’ if you would whip one up.” quipped Shawn.
“I think she’s just trying to rope us into whatever crazy adventure she’s about to need to go on, since let me tell you, these kinds of things always end up like that. We’d get killed out there.” huffed Gus.
“I just….” I strummed a few more notes, all perfect in harmony. “It was like something or someone else had taken over me. Like some kind of black magic shit. Oh gods, let’s go outside and hear the king before he says what he has to say.”
We ran out after and the townspeople had already massed together. The king stood at a podium, guards on either side, and motioned for his people to calm down.
“Citizens of Castle Town Adoch. I have gathered you here to present to you your hero. She has come from faraway lands but possesses the skills needed to defeat Demon Lord Hjalmar and free the realm of Melodia from certain doom!” The king then pointed to me, beckoning me forward to stand next to him. I contracted a hard case of thousand-yard stare. “Ladies and Gentlemen, this woman is no Battle-Skald. She is, indeed, the Wardancer reborn! Come, brave hero, tell us your name.”
“A-Atma...Atma Weapon.”
“What a fine name for a hero! The Weapon Wardancer!” The king began to clap again as the crowd joined in, cheering and hollering.
They began chanting all at once. “Three cheers for Atma! Three cheers for the Wardancer! Wardancer! Wardancer! Wardancer! WARDANCER!”
I backed off a bit and talked to my new cohorts. I was now seriously worried I’d never see home again. I also was seriously worried about something else.
“Guys...I thought this was a game we were playing.”
“Well, Dorothy, I hate to say it, but I agree I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”
And with that, I went from but a martial arts instructor to the land of Melodia’s last and only hope.
Me? I only hoped that I could survive.
Wordcount: 4308/50000
My name is Atma and I have a story to tell you.
It’s a long one, so you may want to get comfortable. But, well, I have to tell someone, because there’s no way to believe this was real.
But, oh, it happened, and I have evidence. Think me no madwoman for but passing on this tale to you.
It’s almost like I’m a bard or something.
It all started the day I woke up in the infinite blackness.
“Ugh...”
The last thing I remember was being at my dojo. I was helping lead the swordsmanship class on kendo drills, having been the highest ranking swordsman for some time. Imagine, a short skinny girl clad in kendo armor giving loud, imposing commands in military Japanese to grown-ass men. And they shut up and listen, since if they don’t, I had authority to impose punishments. A couple of the guys scoffed, their masculinity fragile and unable to accept orders from a girl, but that soon changed when I was regularly beating their asses in sparring. For extra authority, I was pointing not with a shinai, but my “oar”, an overly large and extra heavy wood sword made for conditioning. It always impressed newcomers. One asked if he could hold it.
A few practice swings later and….
“Ugh...Ow...”
I blinked awake, expecting to be on the dojo mats.
Nope. Just darkness. A shitton of darkness. To quote a wise band of bards known only as Spinal Tap, it was “none more black.” I stood up and checked my head – no lumps. Suspicious. I looked to check my body and, well, it’s never a good sign when your uniform is replaced with a generic set of underwear. What’s more, my weapons were missing. Something was extremely amiss, and I demanded immediate answers, beginning to move in any direction, only to find myself be hit with some kind of wall.
“Okay, fucker. Show yourself. And give me back my clothes; the first look’s free but anything past this is gonna cost you dearly.” I shouted at, well, anyone.
That’s when it came blinking on, in front of me. Not a person, animal, not even a thing. Words. Words sat floating at me midair, glowing a brilliant vermilion in hue, reading but two things:
New Character
Load Character
“Load Character” was faded out, as it is in games with locked options.
“Er, what? Okay, you’re fucking with me. Either that or this is your fancy way of telling me you’re playing with me and this is all some game to you. Why not just cut out the middleman and tell me what you want from me?” I hate it when people beat around the bush. Drives me nuts.
No answer. The New Character text continued to blink, almost as if it was enticing me to interact with it somehow. Okay, but, well, usually you have a controller or mouse to do these things with, and I’d none to me. It was just me and my skivvies. My boring, unsexy skivvies that most certainly weren’t my own. Someone clearly didn’t think much of me.
I sighed, fingers to my forehead, head rolling back in annoyance. I figured the only way this was going to go forward was for me to try to touch it somehow. So I reached out and…
...No dice. Great.
“Look, idiot, I’m trying to click your New Character dealy here. Let’s get this game rolling so I can find you and beat your ass in. Whatever, I accept.”
Bingo.
With that, the text faded and some form of character creation process was loaded. On it was a model that looked like me, skivvies and all. A few things seemed odd; my name was already input (and I thank them for at least having the decency to use my preferred full name of Atma Weapon), the gender option and aesthetic options were locked out, and a rolling list of job classes were all grayed out save for one. A pity, it was full of some interesting choices I’d not seen in other games before, I’d like to have been an Errant or whatever an “Eyepatch Samurai” is.
The hell’s a “Battle-Skald?” It was the only thing accessible to me.
“Okay, whomever, I obviously pick Battle-Skald, it’s not like you’re giving me a choice here.”
It dinged and my character gained a basic outfit, which immediately reflected onto myself as well. I touched it and tugged at it; it was real alright. I could take parts off I wanted to, but it didn’t affect the me that was on screen. But, well…
“By Amaterasu’s tits, this is one of the most atrocious outfits I’ve ever seen.”
In only the finest silks, cloths, cottons, furs, leathers, feathers stood what to me looked like the local ren faire drunk. Golds and reds adorned me all over my head and torso. Atop my head sat what appeared to be an oversized beret or bonnet that sat flopping to my right side, in folds topped with gold with crimson innards, shining from its silky properties. My torso appeared to look like it was made out of a Turkish or Mongolian deel; it was mostly crimson with a gold trim and collar. I had fine thin leather gloves with fur lining, just enough to protect but keep my fingers nimble and dextrous. Around my neck was some sort of bolo tie emblazed a a large buckle resembling the flower on the old Japanese samurai Saito Clan crest.
What really stood out though was the fact that, for some godsforsaken reason, I had on a kilt.
A fucking kilt.
In the exact tartan and sporran pattern of my family of Clan Graham. Someone did their homework. The sporran came covered in furs and what appeared to be falcon’s claws. On my feet were tall, sturdy leather boots that matched my gloves, with thick, gold socks coming out.
If this all wasn’t ridiculous enough, to complete the ensemble, I had on a cape, or rather, a shawl, with the right side tossed over my left arm and around my neck. I had only one thought about this whole outfit as I tried to pick my jaw up off the floor.
“How am I supposed to pick up women in this fucking getup? Even I can dress myself better at home, and all I own are novelty t-shirts. Come on, I can’t possibly go out looking like this. I’m never gonna get laid in this town again!” Don’t question my priorities. I’m Atma Weapon; I’ve been known to make straight women switch teams, if even just for a day, over me.
Now that I was done being dressed up as some kind of Middle Eastern or East Asian Scottish pile of silk-clad puke, I was taken to a starting equipment screen where, again, all my stuff was already chosen for me.
Starting Weapons: Highland Pipes and the Biwa
Starting Skills: Flyting and Power Ballads
Starting Knowledge: Heavy Metal
My stats were rolled and locked in, and I didn’t like what I saw.
I was rolled as CHA > DEX > WIS > INT > CON > ATK
The correct way to roll me, as everyone knows, is CON > ATK > CHA > DEX > WIS > INT
What can I say? I know what I’m all about, and I’m a fighter. I wondered how the hell it expected me to reconcile my high charisma stat with this outfit, but oh well. I’m taking it very strongly from my starting “weapons” and impossibly low attack power I wasn’t going to be a frontliner here and whomever was running this charade expected me to like it.
After all was said and done, a screen popped up that said “Is this character okay?” With a Yes and No, the cursor moving itself to Yes and fading the whole screen out. Eventually, I stood alone, my starting equipment at my feet. I figured no choice but to at least take it; maybe I could beat someone over the head with the biwa if I had to. I strapped my instruments to my back and a path appeared before me, a set of glowing, glass stairs.
At last, another voice spoke. It was a man’s voice, deep and serious. For some reason, an ominous chorus chanted low in the background.
“Welcome to Wardancer! You have been chosen as a beta player in our new MMO. Go, now, and face your destiny, young one. Will you follow the choir, or march to your own beat? We are eager to see how your song plays out, young warrior. Now, go forth. Enter the game.”
I bit my lip to keep me from laughing. What godawful taglines. An MMO? Really? Someone had a sick sense of humor. I steeled my courage and made my way carefully up the steps, a door appearing once I got near the top, and I entered a bright light.
Immediately, I found myself now in a vast expanse. A field, lined with grass, flowers, and few trees. In the distance, I could see the gate of a castle town. Around me, the world stretched for miles. Either someone was really good at set display, or I’d been hauled off while unconscious to somewhere very far away and very wide. I could probably go anywhere, but being armed only with a stringed instrument I couldn’t play and what’s regarded as either one of the saddest or most annoying instruments of all time, I figured I’d take my chances at the castle town.
At least there, I could get information, see if anyone else here was here unwillingly, and get food and lodging. And maybe, if they could get past the outfit, nab a woman. That would be nice. Some tracts of land as large as this expanse would soothe what ailed me right now. In fact, forget the information and lodging. I’ll just take a few streetwalkers and add them to my party and raise them right. Those are some of the toughest broads; guaranteed to be armed with some kind of knife or dagger, which is a hell of a lot more than I had at the time.
The walk was nice. Short, but nice. I swear I could smell the grass and flowers beneath my feet as I marched triumphantly forward, not trying to let my state of dress get to me. When I arrived, the bridge was up, and a guard stood on this side it to greet people. I walked up to him and decided if he hadn’t run from this crime against all types of fashion by now, he wasn’t going to.
“Good day, sir. Working hard or hardly working?” I asked, smiling.
“I-It’s The Wardancer! Someone hail the king and let him know she’s arrived! Let the bridge up and let the woman through; we mustn’t lose more time than we already have!” The guard said, doing his best not to let the fact his face showed a bit of shock. The bridge came down and opened the town up to me, but something didn’t sit right with me about what he said.
Namely the everything.
“Er, what? Excuse me? The who what now? No, I’m just Atma, Battle-Skald or whatever it was the, ahem, character creation process said.” Wardancer? Wasn’t that some viking thing where they’d do hella shrooms and trip out with a huge axe, scaring the shit out of all in their path? I may be a viking and hadn’t done shrooms but wouldn’t say no if this guy was offering, but clearly I wouldn’t be doing any berserker rages with a Japanese lute and a bag that cries when you squeeze and blow it.
But that’s what she said.
“I-It’s The Wardancer! Someone hail the king and let him know she’s arrived! Let the bridge up and let the woman through; we mustn’t lose more time than we already have!” The guard repeated, in the exact tone and shocked expression.
“Okay, okay, I get it. This is supposedly an MMO so someone paid you to act like an annoying NPC. Got it. You’re apparently misinformed, though, you got the wrong Battle-Skald.”
“I-It’s The Wardancer! Someone hail the king and let him know she’s arrived! Let the bridge up and let the woman through; we mustn’t lose more time than we already have!”
“Okay. Bye.”
With that and me walking off, I could hear that phrase activated a fourth time. Apparently if you say or do anything around that guy, it sets it off all over again. Poor guy’s going to be deluded all day. Wardancer? Pff. I have a town to explore and information to gather.
I make my way on in and know that one of the best places to get information in any new town, especially in things like MMOs or tabletop campaigns, is always the tavern. Which is almost always also the inn. And the diner. Sometimes, a brothel! Er, not that I’d know much about that. It’s easy to stay in business when you have a monopoly on half of what you can find in a town. Now, I don’t drink, not anymore at least. Delerium Tremens is a hell of a drug. But drunks? Drunks leak out the best information easiest if you just buy them a couple rounds. It’s cheaper than a tour guide.
I stand by the door and check my sporran, and sure enough, is the standard amount of piddling starting cash you get in most games that’ll get you maybe a cup of coffee and one healing if you’re lucky. But in a tavern? This shit goes far. They always give them wildly unrealistically low prices, like pennies for dinner, a nickel for beer. If it was this cheap in real life, half the nation would never leave its drunken stupor. This should be all I need; once I extract enough info from drunks I’m hauling ass out of here and back home. They can’t keep me here forever.
I look up at the menu; apparently today’s Taco Tuesday. Now, I like all kinds of tacos, and you can take that any way you like, it will be true, so I figure why not. I’m pretty hungry. Dealing with people’s shit will do that. I take a seat and order up. That’s when I overhear a voice at the table next to me I swear I’ve heard before.
“Good choice. My friend Gus and I always stop here on Taco Tuesday after a long grind. You should see what they’ll do tomorrow, because here, every day is Taco Tuesday. If what the spirits are telling me is correct, it’s actually Friday.” The first familiar voice said.
“No, it’s Saturday. You need to tell the spirits to update their calendars, Shawn. Or maybe not play a class that requires you not making intelligence your dump stat.” The second familiar voice replied.
“Points, schmoints. Everyone knows what the Californian Medium class needs is charm. We’re repping the West Coast, sheesh. Besides, like playing a healer class and just naming it Pharmacist because you are one make you any smarter.”
I looked up because I just couldn’t believe it, but I do believe I just got seated next to Shawn Spencer, noted psychic detective, and his partner, Burton Guster. Shawn waved and pulled out another seat, inviting me over. I figured what the hell. Either they’re real and got kidnapped too, or if this is a game, someone’s roleplaying them, and doing it pretty spot on. A psychic would be a great way to get some information.
“You look new around here so I figured you could use some company. I’d remember an outfit like that, easily.” said Shawn. “In fact, didn’t I have a vision today, Gus, that we’d meet someone so amazingly fashionable?”
“Shawn, what you said is that they told you that you’d meet the living embodiment of an eyesore.”
I interrupted then. Unfortunately, for me, I agreed with Gus about the outfit.
“Don’t worry, I think the outfit’s pretty atrocious too. I wasn’t allowed any control over my character creation and I got stuck with this.” I sighed as my food arrived. Much to my surprise, I could actually taste it, and it was pretty damn good. “I’m Atma, apparently I’m a Battle-Skald, but the guard out front started freaking out when he saw me and called me a Wardancer and that I should see the king right away. It’s all he could say, too. You know anything about that?”
“I’m Shawn Spencer, the Californian Medium, and this is my partner, Randolph Joykiller, the Pharmacist. Sounds like you’re not just looking for tacos, though. My senses do tell me that people around the city have been mumbling something about a legendary hero; maybe you just give off that vibe?”
“It’s Gus, not Randolph. And it’s not just your senses, Shawn, unlike you, I actually talk to other people here instead of just relying on my stat sheet. Yes, there’s been rumors of someone called a Wardancer who’s supposed to show up, and a Battle-Skald sounds awfully a lot like that.”
“Well, shit. So, uh, been around here long? How did you arrive? And California, you say? I’m from Wine Country myself. Are they just targeting the best state for ‘players’ for this charade or what?”
I began my interrogation and found out they’ve been here quite some time and even have their own detective agency set up here as a guild, but have been looking for new members. But around here, guilds are called ‘bands’ and they’ve been specifically seeking out a bard of some kind. Like me, they were told they’re beta testing some game, and it seemed a bit too real to be that, but they couldn’t find a way to log out so they’ve been stuck since, making the best of it.
After a long lunch we formed a pact for now; I would join their party as their bard and we could convert the agency into a combination agency and guild. Or band, I should say. We agreed we should see the king to confirm if I am some Wardancer or whatever and began our walk to the castle. They pointed out the sites and where their agency was, and along the way we all heard many people repeating the guard’s line as well as similar ones as I made my way past.
We got to the front door of the castle proper, and after another guard freakout, we were let in under emergency need, and an audience was immediately arranged. We made it down the hall to the throne and, sure enough, there’s a king, and he’s giving a similar shocked expression as everyone else.
“I-It’s the Wardancer! She’s returned to us!” He looked like he wanted to cry. “For so long, our people have been without their champion, and we are now in dire need of help! The Demon Lord Hjalmar has reawakened, and if he is not defeated soon, all will be lost!”
“Uh huh. Yeah. I literally just got here though. I’m not even a bard off in my other life; I’m a swordsman. I teach martial arts. Wouldn’t it be better if your legendary hero had a sword or something, sir?” I was hoping he’d agree and that I’d least get a cool sword out of this.
“I know not of what you mean. But I demand proof you can play and that you are whom we think you are; we’ve had many people imitating the hero and the proof’s always in song. I demand you used your stringed instrument and sing me a verse or two.” The king said sternly.
I snorted. Me? Singing? Luting? Yeah, this was gonna end with proof of me not being the hero and getting to go home for sure. I could play drums and do some traditional dances, but no way was I a legendary musician.
I turned to Shawn and Gus. Quick team meeting.
“Guys, I can’t play or sing for crap. He’s gonna be done with us in a few minutes and we can go home, hopefully.”
“Okay, but you sure look the part. I mean, that silk on you alone’s got to be worth more than what the guards have equipped.” Shawn retorted.
“Good. I got a job back home I really need to beg back if this goes on much longer. So go ahead and embarrass yourself for our sake. We’d appreciate it.” Gus got back up and adjusted his robes as Shawn pat me on the back and pushed me forward.
I pulled out my biwa and remembered a few verses of a song about one of my own story characters, Siofra, that my friend Abby had written for me.
“Here goes only everything...” I cleared my throat and began to strum and sing. The first verse came out.
“In lands both far and bountiful
Of which I’d like to sing
Where flowered alarunes of the wood
Dethroned the rightful king...”
Something was wrong. Very very wrong. As I sang, it came out good. Almost too good. And my biwa rendition of Siofra’s guitar ballad was a not bad cover at all. I pulled out the second and third verse to test what was up.
“Siofra battled tireless
Expecting great reward
The blooming monsters fell to her
And to her mighty sword…
When all at once she felt a draw
From battle to the bed
The pheromones of enemies
Were messing with her head…”
I could hear Shawn snorting at the lyrics and say how “not bad” I was. Gus just agreed and I overheard something about how he could dig it. The king’s face was slowly going from stern to hopeful. Oh god, I had to crash the ending. I mustered up everything I had, hoping I could somehow control my hands to break the biwa or croak out a belch or something.
Amaterasu, please, save me. Get me out of this mess. I prayed in my head with all my might to “Please, let me fuck up something royally just once in my life and let it be this.” And onto the end.
“The pollinating lady plant
Loved stronger than a bull
But Siofra girded her loins,
Indefatigable…
Deflowering the maiden fair
Took only half an hour
And then the tables turned again
Siofra back in power…
The kingdom’s gratefulness was vast
Until one fateful day
The king heard brave Siofra off-
erring his queen a ---”
Shawn just cracked up harder, overshadowing my last few words but not my strumming, and I ended it on a perfectly executed biwa solo. It was like my throat and hands were possessed. Was this the power of the Battle-Skald?
The power of the Wardancer?
The two men who joined me on in began to clap, as did the King, standing up to a strong ovation. Tears ran down his face as he proclaimed loudly.
“We did it! She’s come at our most dire hour at last! Guards, tell the townspeople to meet us outside the castle gates, that we have an important announcement!” He jumped up off his throne and out, to make the proclamation that I was, indeed, their hero.
I just stared in shock at myself and then back at my new friends. It was all I could do to say nothing at all and just give a look like someone had shot my girlfriend.
“We thought you said you couldn’t sing! Not only did that rock, in a classy ren faire sort of way, but it was hilarious! Where’d you ever hear that one? I’mma need a CD of that, signed ‘To my new best friends and taco enthusiasts, Shawn and Gus’ if you would whip one up.” quipped Shawn.
“I think she’s just trying to rope us into whatever crazy adventure she’s about to need to go on, since let me tell you, these kinds of things always end up like that. We’d get killed out there.” huffed Gus.
“I just….” I strummed a few more notes, all perfect in harmony. “It was like something or someone else had taken over me. Like some kind of black magic shit. Oh gods, let’s go outside and hear the king before he says what he has to say.”
We ran out after and the townspeople had already massed together. The king stood at a podium, guards on either side, and motioned for his people to calm down.
“Citizens of Castle Town Adoch. I have gathered you here to present to you your hero. She has come from faraway lands but possesses the skills needed to defeat Demon Lord Hjalmar and free the realm of Melodia from certain doom!” The king then pointed to me, beckoning me forward to stand next to him. I contracted a hard case of thousand-yard stare. “Ladies and Gentlemen, this woman is no Battle-Skald. She is, indeed, the Wardancer reborn! Come, brave hero, tell us your name.”
“A-Atma...Atma Weapon.”
“What a fine name for a hero! The Weapon Wardancer!” The king began to clap again as the crowd joined in, cheering and hollering.
They began chanting all at once. “Three cheers for Atma! Three cheers for the Wardancer! Wardancer! Wardancer! Wardancer! WARDANCER!”
I backed off a bit and talked to my new cohorts. I was now seriously worried I’d never see home again. I also was seriously worried about something else.
“Guys...I thought this was a game we were playing.”
“Well, Dorothy, I hate to say it, but I agree I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”
And with that, I went from but a martial arts instructor to the land of Melodia’s last and only hope.
Me? I only hoped that I could survive.