Entry Eleven

  The Bimster

  That could have gone better, I thought. Still, I learned a few things about the game design. For one, if things couldn’t be bought, then I was pretty sure that things couldn’t be sold. Dungeon-delving wouldn’t be driven by the all-too-familiar scavenge-sell-scavenge-sell-rinse-repeat cycle that underpinned a lot of RPG advancement systems.

  Most likely, the game’s reward system would be story-driven or perhaps skill/perk-driven. Rather than adventuring to get rich, which I apparently couldn’t do even if I wanted to, I would be adventuring to further the plot of whatever story arcs I would soon stumble upon. In the process, I would likely also be leveling up, increasing my stats, unlocking spells, etc. I’d played some games like that, but not many. Most RPG quest systems had monetary incentives for the players in addition to their other incentives. Why? Because RPG players, like the one named Nate Daniels, were heartless, greedy bastards.

  I started down the oddly colorful, cobblestone lane. Passing a small clothing store, I saw a short, bald, mega-old elven guy ambling in my direction. Tipping his grey, pointy, goateed face to me in a polite nod, he said, “Fair morning, sire.”

  I could get used to this “sire” stuff. I smiled. “And a fair mornin’ to thee,” I responded with some admittedly disingenuous joviality and a ridiculous Irish accent. At least I knew what time of day it was now. I glanced up at the sky, found the sun (luckily, there was only one), and made a mental note of which direction north was in. I held out my fist toward him. “Bump it, my man!”

  The elven geezer looked down at my hand, but his AI obviously didn’t know what a fist bump was. Feeling a Terminator-esque, young John Connor moment coming on, I decided to see if it was a “learning computer.” I glanced down at his hand and mimed a fist bump with mine. “Don’t leave me hangin’, bruh!”

  He did it. He actually did it! The little dude made a fist and gave me a weak, embarrassed bump as his cheeks and, adorably, the top of his bald head reddened with embarrassment. I laughed as the old guy chuckled nervously. “Nice!” I said, pointing at him with mock sternness. “Now, don’t get all self-aware on me and try taking over the world, alright?”

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  The NPC shook his head slowly, his grin widening. Dude had absolutely no teeth. Not a one. He also had absolutely no clue what I was talking about.

  “Alrighty then, might you be able to direct me to the palace?”

  The elf’s lips formed a question, but he didn’t say anything. He even did that “what the hell are you talking about” double-blink thing. Damn. Good. AI.

  “The palace, or whatever you have here in Westhaven,” I added.

  “Westvael, si…”

  “West-something-something. Don’t you have a castle here or a government house? Chieftain’s hut? Mayor’s yurt?”

  The NPC must have parsed some scrap of meaning from my question because the little guy hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Sire, Mayor Hassine’s office is in that direction. Turn left at Brennar’s stable and look for the sign of the Songbird.”

  And there it was, ladies and gents, my first riddle! Maybe the tutorial was finally starting. I’d have to leave a note in my game review for the devs to pick up the speed during the early game. Scratching my chin in contemplation, I asked. “What kind of sign might this be? A mysteriously bird-like rock formation, or a feather-shaped cloud, or…”

  “It’s wooden, sire,” the NPC interrupted. “It hangs above her door.”

  “Oh. That’s apropos.”

  He shrugged. “She likes birds. Yeah.”

  “Alrighty then.” I said, nodding. “Thanks a lot, man.”

  He beamed, turning his cheeks into two big, round buttons that just begged to be pinched. Shyly, tentatively, he held his fist out again.

  Adorbs! I grinned. I couldn’t help it. I gave him another fist bump that made his wrinkled face light up. “You are quite welcome, sire, man.”

  Chuckling, I asked, “What’s your name?”

  The old elf stood a little straighter as if honored by the fact that I’d asked him the question. “I am Bimble. Bimble Opperruddy.” He crossed his right arm in front of himself and tapped his fist to his chest in what was apparently a greeting or salute of some kind.

  I replicated the salute as best as I could and added a little head bow for good measure. “Nate. Nathan Daniels, the mighty, the bodacious, the incredulistic, the savior-of-all-mankind (twenty-seven times), the wooer of maiden’s hearts, the tamer of dragons, the…” I couldn’t think of any other BS titles to add, but the dude clearly got the drift. His eyes had gone anime-wide.

  “Sire!” he declared, bowing deeply in front of me.

  THAT was more like it. I patted him on his bald head. “Pish posh,” I said. Before he could go on groveling, I turned and walked on, leaving him with a “Catch ya later, Bimster,” that probably made the NPC auto-blush some more. He was cute and all, but it was time to find the mayor lady and get my first quest!