Chapter Text
Greg the Garlic Farmer and his adventures in MMO land.
(AN "EPIC NPC MAN"FANFIC)
CHAPTER ONE
THE QUEST FOR THE GOLDEN ROD BEGINS
Greg the Garlic Farmer was in Hell.
Again.
He was standing in a line with all the others, bluish and naked and dripping with slime. All naked versions of the Non Player Characters, destined to materialise fully clothed with lines of forced dialogue inside the world of Skycraft. The atmosphere was damp, with the little wisps of vapour arising from the vats obscuring his line of sight. It was dark all around.
He knew from experience that there wasn’t much there, only the line of NPCs and their vat and then some other vats with lines of other NPCs. He wondered if Hell had more than one room. He wondered why he wondered. He wondered if any of the others wondered.
“Server shutdown eh,” he asked the NPC next to him. That must be it. He didn’t remember a violent death. No players had shoved a sword through him for laughs or built a fire where he stood patiently with his little yellow quest mark. It must be when the game was taken off line for maintenance. It happened once a week and, while not actually painful, he had come to dread the blackness of the oblivion that overtook him each time. Waking up beneath the surface of the slime and sitting up in the vat with a gasp before climbing out was pretty horrific as well.
“Yeh, “said the other NPC gloomily. “Rumour is it’s the last one.”
“Rumour?”
“Yeh. Some of these guys are Auction House and banking NPCs in Gerdorm. There are rumours the whole game might go offline. They can’t hear the chat rooms but some of the players use those little bubbles, you know?” Greg did know.
“Pity” added the other NPC. I had a sweet spot selling balloons off a little trolley near the temple. Ah, well.”
“Wha..why..” Greg began but was interrupted by the familiar heaving sensation followed by a popping noise. The reset time was over, the game was live and it was time for him to get back to work.
He was standing outside the door of his little sod hut in the village of Honeywood. From his bare feet through to his tattered trousers and vest up to the yellow quest mark above his head, everything seemed normal. He straightened his shirt with relief and raised one hand, finger pointing skyward as someone approached. It was time for his standard quest script.
“Halloo Adventurer” he said chirpily. “Welcome to the village of..”
“What the hell is happening?” snarled the player .He was a tall handsome man with curly hair and long narrow face .The twin daggers he carried marked him as a rogue. His armour was finely crafted leather and the marker above his head indicated level 110. Greg hated high-level players, especially those from the opposing faction. They had a habit of riding through the village killing all the NPCs and burning the buildings, trying to taunt out their enemies to a battle. They were basically dicks.
“Let them wake up in a steaming vat of goo one day,” he thought rebelliously ”see if they like it”
"Adventurer," he began again.
“Stick it up your arse” the man cut him off. “Unless you can tell me what’s going on.”
Sod it thought Greg. He knew that most of the NPCs in this game had some self-awareness. They traded snippets of gossip at the vats during shutdowns, after all. But as far as he knew he was the only one who puzzled over his life and the game and the lives of the players He also wondered about the vats. He kept telling himself that he’d think about that one later. In the meantime he worked to look as cheerful and as nonthreatening as possible. He didn’t want to be reported as a bug. Or a glitch. Or any of those other unwanted in game problems that the developers spent the server shutdown times ironing out. But sod this guy. Maybe it was time to stand up and be counted.
“Well, that was needlessly aggressive, “he said “help me out, man. What’s the problem?”
“What’s the problem? What’s the PROBLEM?” the player repeated with a rising disbelieving inflection.” Look around you useless idiot. Notice anything?”
Greg looked around. The village of Honeywood looked much the same as it always did. There was Baelin the fishing trainer, condemned to endlessly throw an empty line off a rickety bridge. And there on the other side of the road the NPC blacksmith, Bodger, walked between his forge and his anvil, both placed with minimum adherence to best OH and S practice under a thatched awning.
“Not sure what you mean there, mate.” The he noticed that the water into which Baelin was throwing his line was grey and hatched like a piece of coarse cloth.
“That’s odd,” said Greg.
“Odd, you want ODD. I’m not even talking about the fact that I’m talking about it with YOU. Come here”
“Uh, not sure if I can do that. This is where I’m stationed. See…Oh..” Greg found his feet crossing the invisible but previously unpassable line that bound him to the square metre in front of his hut.
He was delighted .He dipped his toe across the line and brought it back again quickly. He inspected it .His foot was still there. Emboldened, he jumped over the line and back again. He laughed aloud.
His life had just changed. The life that had been the same over and over and over. Into the hut as night fell on Skycraft, out of it as the new day dawned, ready to stand in position. Silly red elf hat for midwinter, basket of eggs with a blue quest marker for spring, candy barrel for Halloween, etc. etc. New players stumbled down the road from the spawning zone, eager for his quests. High-level players stopped in front of his hut to duel. It wasn’t a bad life. And death. And life. And restart. And life. He had a hazy memory of a time when it had been even more restful, before the thoughts and the doubts had crept in.
“Have you quite finished mucking around? We have a problem here.”
The player, Ben110, pointed towards Gerdorm. Gerdorm was the huge central city of the game of Skycraft. The city loomed large on the horizon. “Look!” He said it with his arm shaking. “Look at that!”
The walls of the city were fading. Some parts were merely transparent, others showed as uniform grey patches.
“Maybe the rumours were true, “said Greg softly.
“Rumours?”
“About a permanent shutdown. They say that the game is over and that there won’t be any more new content or even maintenance of the old content. Didn’t you know?” Greg turned to look at the player whose face was twisted with genuine anguish.
“Noooo. I don’t read the forum notes, trade chat is off and most of my friend’s list blocked me years ago.”
“Wow, there’s a surprise,” thought Greg but he pasted an expression of friendly concern on his face.
Ben suddenly stopped moving mid gesture and stayed in place, swaying slightly. Greg waited patiently.
After about ten minutes Ben came back.
“Goddammit, ”he swore. “The Devs have stopped any repair or patch work. They’re letting the servers run down. Stupid lawsuit about copyrighted concepts or something ”
“Oh, dear”
“Oh dear? Oh DEAR? Is that all you can say? This is the end of EVERYTHING. What the hell would you know about it or what it means to me?”
“Well, let’s see “said Greg carefully. “It means that the game will run down, you and all your mates will go off and play something else or even find something in the real world to amuse you and I and my fellow NPCs will be dispersed into an endless black void. I think that about sums it up?”
Ben dismissed his concerns with a wave of his hand.” Never mind that,” he said impatiently. You don’t understand. This is my life .Not the crappy caravan I live in in my dad’s backyard. Not the crappy jobs in crappy stores making nice to crappy customers. Not even the crappy girlfriend I don’t even have. It’s THIS. I’ve spent seven years playing this game and getting to end game content before each expansion pack. This expansion ends with an epic item quest and I’m going to get that damn item. I’m going to finish the legendary quest line before the whole game goes to hell.’
He looked at Greg with sudden interest. “And you, the NPC who can talk and move around and answer back like a smartarse-you’re going to help me.”
Greg was startled. He looked around cautiously as though Ben might be talking to another, more competent NPC who had appeared from nowhere.
“Me? I’m just a starter zone level 30 NPC. All I do is hand out low-level quests. Trust me, I ‘d be useless ”
“I don’t care. It’s not like I have any friends who’d be willing to help me out. You’ll have to do. I’ll hack into the damn game if I have to, to keep it going”
“You can do that?” Now Greg was interested. Anything that staved off the blackness was worth a shot in his books .He dreaded it more each time now.
“Damn right I can. Been banned three times on two different accounts. I don’t not have a life for nothing. So let’s roll”
“Uhm, where or what exactly?”
“The legendary quest you moron .I came here to find the quest giver. His name’s Baelin.”
“Uhm “said Greg again.
Ben stared at him for a moment and said through set teeth “Baelin. The quest giver’s name is Baelin. That’s why I’m in this poxy little town talking to the sort of poxy level 30 who gives quests to kill rats and pick flowers. Tell me where this Baelin is .It should be within your abilities, it’s the sort of thing every noob who trips over themselves walking into this town asks you.”
Greg pointed to Baelin. The fishing trainer was standing on the bridge that led to honey wood. It was an arched wooden bridge with red painted handrails and Baelin stood at its apex dangling his line over the side. His body was heavyset with thick thighs and forearms .He wore a brown peasant's smock and a large fishing hat which half covered his bearded face. He was smiling. He was always smiling.
Ben stared again.
“You are kidding me. That’s a low level fishing trainer. He doesn’t have any quest marker, let alone a legendary one.”
“What does a legendary quest marker look like?” asked Greg with interest.
“Like a normal one only a bit darker, thicker and longer.”
“That sounds rather inappropriate ”
“Hang on.” Ben. “AFK”
Greg waited until Ben was back and Ben was raging.
“Can you believe that? Some one’s deleted the Wiki. Copyright. How am I supposed to do the bloody quest line now?”
“You could always do it by following the clues and doing the quests like they designed it,” said Greg meanly. “Some people do.”
“I’m not some roleplaying twat,” said Ben. “If I’d wanted to ponce around pretending to be Lord La-di-da and reading all the rubbish stories that you lot spout when you’re giving quests and rewards, I’d only be halfway through the damn game. I got out of the starting zones as fast as possible and levelled up with PVP and dungeons. The way real players do. Damn.”
He strode over to the bridge .The fishing trainer was standing on the bridge in ragged pants and vest with his straw hat shading his face, chewing on a stalk of grass. He turned his head as they approached and smiled idiotically.
“Mornin’, nice day for fishing ain’t it?” He threw his twine line over the side of the bridge.
Greg closed his eyes and shuddered slightly. He knew that Baelin, if someone continued to poke him, would cycle through “Mornin’, nice day for fishin’, ain’t it” via a series of bucolic laughs and belches to eventually hitting the player with his fishing rod and uttering “You leave them fishes to me, Boi.” All said in a fake Devonshire accent. Greg had heard it hundreds if not thousands of times. "You could try his inventory, maybe there’s something in it”
“Good idea. SHOP.” Unfortunately Ben was facing Greg who was then forced to display his cheese and milk and garlic for sale and was then shoved impatiently out of the way.
“SHOP. IDIOT.” This time Ben was facing Baelin so Baelin opened his trade window. Greg knew that a big tray divided into squares could be seen by the player and he would choose goods by pointing to them.
Ben looked then spat “Fishing rods, lures and recipes for cooking the sort of poxy fish you get in this lake which is now all pixels anyway.”
They both looked over the edge of the bridge. The patchwork had spread and Greg thought he could see where part of the bridge itself had vanished.
They heard footsteps coming across the bridge from the other side, where the road led out from the starting zone. They turned around. Another player was crossing the bridge. She looked vaguely familiar to Greg, but she definitely wasn’t an NPC.
“Oh thank goodness. Other people.” The voice was low and musical and belonged to the player now standing next to Baelin .The fishing trainer’s usual expression of stunned idiocy suddenly seemed appropriate. The warrior maiden wore a silver coronet over her blond hair and the chainmail micro bikini set, which Greg recognised with approval as the Armour of Argon, upgraded to level 110 (requiring exalted with the House of Argon 3000/3000). She carried a sword across her back. Her nameplate said “Britt”.
“I heard that the Devs have just left the game to degrade.” she said. “It’s a pity .I love this game, especially all the early content. It was so much fun learning all about becoming a warrior and fighting and doing quests. I’m going back to all the old zones to say goodbye one last time before it crashes for good.” A perfect tear came out of a deep blue eye and coursed down a perfect cheek. Greg’s heart lurched and Ben made a derisive noise.
“God I hate emotes. Nose wrinkle; raise eyebrows, cry, vomit, and all that stuff. What a waste of time. You’re squandering game time and your own brainpower making yourself act like a real human .Who wants to? Who cares?”
She sniffed her tear back and looked irritably at Ben and then curiously at Greg.
“Aren’t you the vendor guy who stands outside the cottage in Honey wood?” she asked. He nodded dumbly.
“What happened?”
Greg opened his mouth but Ben interrupted.
“He’s supposed to be helping me. I want to finish the legendary quest before the game crashes.”
“Oh the one where you get the legendary fishing rod of Baladoon? Ye, my boyfriend started that quest. Ex- boyfriend “she added bitterly.
“Ex?” Asked Greg hopefully.
“Yeh. Would you believe it? I met him in game when I was a real noobie. I levelled up because he wanted someone to play with, did the daily grind for months, put all my gold in his guild bank, then he runs off with some cow of a mage who can do 100k dps. And now he’s raiding HER dungeon every night”
“Has he come back to say goodbye too?” asked Greg trying to make conversation. It wasn’t something he’d had a lot of practice at in the last five years. His material came ready packaged.
She shook her head. “Oh. No, he hasn’t played for months.”
There was an awkward silence.
“Well, I guess that means you’re not a dude at least” said Ben eventually “ so back to the subject at hand. Do you know how to start the quest chain for the legendary item?”
Britt waved at Baelin. “You have to buy a special lure from him to fish up golden minnow. You give five of those to him then he gives you the starter quest.”
“At last someone who knows something. You’re not just useful for making the sandwiches eh? Stick around chickybabe. I may have more work for you.”
Britt rolled her eyes and winked at Greg.
“Let’s watch” She undulated across the bridge and sat down, her feet dangling in the water. Greg scrambled after her.
They sat side by side on the grassy bank by the pond watching Ben inexpertly cast a line with the rod he had bought from Baelin. Greg became aware of the warmth of the sun and the sound of crickets and even the faint smell of pondscum. He wrinkled his nose then looked puzzled and opened his mouth.
“ I know what you’re going to say,” said Britt. “I can smell it too. I can feel the sun on my head and the wind in my face. It’s weird, now the game is disintegrating; I’m feeling real things better. And, you know, it feels ok”.” She tilted her head.” I remember reading about this when I started playing. Some of what we feel is because it’s a virtual reality game so we get the 3-D effect, but it’s not a full simulator where they blow wind and smells and stuff at you and rock you around. What it is,” she was getting enthusiastic now, “Is that our brains sort of put in stuff that’s missing to make a complete picture .So because there should be smells and heat and the earth rocking when there’s an explosion we put it in the game from our own brains. Some people can do it straight away and to them it's like the real world. Some can't ever do it. Some need months of special classes and treatment that costs a bomb. It's linked to being hypnotisable apparently", Greg nodded, hoping he looked as though he understood She looked at him again. I guess one question is –are you an NPC who is feeling or am I putting feelings in you because my brain is telling me that’s what I need to do to make the whole thing more realistic?” She smiled. “It might be fun to find out.”
Greg blinked at her. He wondered how to answer that. The game had become more real for the two players on that bridge, but what about all the others? What about him? If it was her brain making the connections, why was he the one feeling things?
His stomach rumbled, startling him. He didn’t even know he had a stomach. Or any other organs for that matter. Blood, of course. He needed that to gush out when he was stabbed but the other bodily functions were off limits. Now he was hungry. And he thought he might have a full bladder. And other things he couldn’t quite put his finger on were stirring.
He licked his lips nervously and tried to think of something distracting to say.
“I think that I need to eat something,” he said.
Britt smiled. “Well, that’s something I can help you with. SHOP.” She selected some bread and cheese and a bottle of beer from his inventory and then produced a picnic basket from her own bag. The basket had two little hinged lids on either side of the handle, decorated in gingham. The bag at her waist was the size of a large purse but Greg knew that she could produce everything from potions to mounts from it.
“I remember that basket “Greg said dreamily. “It’s from the spring festival rewards vendor. He always stood next to me .We had some great chats. He was always a bit sad that he only came out once a year for a week. But we liked seeing the players buy the baskets and have picnics by the pond.”
"I love the holiday events," she said enthusiastically. "There are always special quests and rewards." She blushed. "Like pets. I remember when I registered and they asked what it would take to make me finish the game and I said all the holidays and a Golden elite pet. They probably thought it was silly but it's better than a stupid fishing rod"
They toasted each other and watched Ben who had a collection of old bottles, sticks and scraps of rag at his feet and was currently unhooking a severed arm from his fishing line with a very disgruntled look. He saw them watching and yelled.
“How long does this bloody TAKE?”
“Depends on your fishing skill “called back Britt. “My boyfriend’s was 700/700 so, like, five minutes.”
“Well, mine’s zero.” Ben checked something “No, it’s 25 now. This is going to take FOREVER”
Britt stood up in a fluid movement that took Greg’s breath away. He didn't remember the player's toons being quite that realistic. Or maybe the augmented reality devices they wore actually did make them see each other like that and he was now getting the full effect.
“You know, I think I have some of those fish in my bags. He might just take them without you needing to fish them up. Let me look. Oh, yup. Open trade.”
“You could have told me that before,” said Ben after the trade was complete. “What a waste of time”
“And you could have not called me chickybabe” muttered Britt and winked at Greg again.
Ben traded the fish to Baelin and suddenly punched the air. “YES. YES the quest marker is there.”
A minute later he turned to Greg. “Close up the hovel, mate, we’re going to Darkwood. And make sure this joker comes.” He jerked his head at Baelin. “We may need him in the future and his bridge is being white anted at a rate of knots”