Continue Online (Book 1, Memories) (47 page)

“
I
honestly don’t know the answer,” I said.

“
So
you’re not going to die?” Her words came out slowly with
a hint of confusion.

“
Mylia
Jacobs, we all die eventually.” I tried not to think of the
woman who had been my fiancée.

“
That’s
morbid for an old man. Do you think you can just die and leave all
your past deeds unpunished?” She said. Clearly the whole Dragon
Slayer thing had been key in her attitude change. Stories about
Carver's past should have been shared around town before. I sighed
and moved on with the next phase, poorly trying to tie in our past
moments to progress this quest forward.

“
Do
you remember the poem you read, Mylia?”

“
I
do.”

“
Then
the answer is clear, if I do pass, I will not regret my choices.”

“
What
choices could possibly bother a seasoned man like yourself?” I
tried to stomp my foot in emphasis but didn't manage to move that
fast. The slight lean reminded me instead of Carver's hip problems.

“
Mylia,
what bothers me is unimportant, but I killed a dragon and that
disturbs you.” This wasn’t me taking a stab in the dark
at why her attitude had changed. She was clearly upset because the
quest text had said so. Too bad Carver’s
[Truth
Sense: Verbal specialist]
didn’t
extend to body language.

As
Beth pointed out, quests may have layers. Side quests may tie
together in weird ways to the situation at hand. She had suggested
thinking about what the NPCs had, what the players had, and think
outside the box.

Old
Man Carver was not the sort to give away information unless there was
an exchange. He kept his cards close to his chest. He grumbled about
everything. Like these cookies that were now too heavy to hold. I set
them down.

“
Why
would you say that, Mister Carver?” She asked.

“
Because
I’ve been around the block quite a few times, Mylia. I may be
blind, nearly deaf, have an ache in my joints when it’s too hot
or cold, and my shoulders kill me every morning, but I’m not
stupid. Just old.” Progression points up!

“
So?
Why does any of that mean you care, Mister Carver? You come around
and tell your stories, and the kids like it, but why?” Mylia
asked.

Another
person was testing my WWCD instincts. But, and this was the important
part, she was reacting to these statements. Mylia was giving me more
information and talking more than the entire last two weeks. Pushing
her now would be useful in solving the quest. Tossing my Carverisms
out the window right now would be risky to my progress marker. I had
come up with a roundabout plan to get more information.

“
I
came to see the kids anyway, about a story.”

“
Fine.
For the children.” She said.

“
For
the Children.” I chuckled. “The battle cry of warring
couples everywhere.” Mylia got a pat on the shoulder as I
walked past her into the orphanage. “Warn me before you start
throwing dishes.” Progress points dropped from my offhanded
snark.

“
Maybe
I will, maybe I won’t.” Mylia at least played along
rather well. My chuckling continued. She was a fun lady. If it wasn’t
for this whole quest series while pretending to be William Carver, I
would have had a better time.

“
Uncle
Carver!”

“
Mistrr
Caaver.” The youngest little girl seemed pleased.

“
Hi,
little Miss. I brought treats again.”

“
Yay!”
The children descended on the container like a pack of savages.
Considering their almost constantly thin look, they were probably
always hungry.

“
Eat
them all before my little friend shows up.”

“
The
tiny baby dragon whelp thing guy?” One of the little children
asked. They had been relegated to the back of the cookie line.

“
That’s
the one.” I nodded. “He’s a bit of a pig so you’d
best hide all the crumbs.”

“
Okey,
Caaver.”

“
Good.
I spent time trying to find out the best story ever to tell you all,
I’ve been having a hard time. Maybe instead, you all can help
me.”

“
Uncle
Carver, I want to pet the little dragon.”

“
If
he lets you.” I nodded happily while finding a place to sit.
Like last time, the children were busy shuffling around chairs and
jostling for space.

“
What
was your story this time, Uncle?” One of the little ones said.
There were too many children running around. I couldn't keep track of
them with William Carver's poor eyesight.

“
Yeah,
geezer.” Phil had found his way in among the others. “Whatcha
got for us?”

“
No
story today. I brought cookies, and a change of pace.” I said.

“
Oh?”

“
Huh?”
The tones around the room were fairly similar. Even Mylia sounded a
bit thrown off.

“
What
do you mean?” Phil said.

“
For
years I’ve been coming here, sitting with you, sharing story
after story.” Not me. William Carver. I had to remind myself
constantly to keep the two lives separated.

“
Uh
huh.” The little girl said.

“
So,
I think you all owe me a story.” I tried to put my hands out
wide in a gesture. The movement hurt my shoulders.

“
What?”
Other confused statements went around the room in a sudden jerk. I
smiled. This was certainly against Carver's standard actions. Judging
by the hovering progress bar I hadn’t actually done anything
wrong yet. After all, William Carver lived his recent years out by
giving people quests.

“
How
many tales have I told you kids?” I asked.

“
A
lot.” One of the oldest said. Judging by their size it wouldn’t
be long before they were forced to move on from the orphanage.

“
Then
I deserve one in return I think.”

“
Sounds
fair.” One of the oldest said. They leaned against the wall
watching a sea of small children munch away at baked goods. He seemed
a hard working sort with a deep tan. My vision was too fuzzy, but I
would bet his hands were calloused and dirty from field work.

“
I
don’t want to.” One of the younger children said.

“
Well,
I want to.” Another child said. They argued back and forth for
a while, each one having a different view. I stomped the cane to get
everyone's attention. Amazingly, it worked very well.

“
There’s
only one rule.”

“
What
now, geezer?” Phil chimed in.

“
It
can’t be a story I’ve told you.” Both hands were
back on top of the cane keeping me from tipping forward.

“
But
I like your stories, Uncle.” One of the little children said.

“
That’s
good,” I tried to give this entire conversation my best grumpy
old man tone. Hopefully, it came across as a kind of abrasive cadence
with a hint of affection. “But tell me something new.”

“
How
would we find a new story?”

“
That’s
up to you all, but if you do, I’ll promise a reward. Something
to help you make money.” I offered.

“
Yeah,
what’s that, geezer?” Phil had snagged a second cookie
and was even now savoring it with a blissful look on his eyes.

“
You’ll
see.” I had other contacts to visit tomorrow. Other places to
go and things to do, like setting up dominoes in preparation. When
they finally fell, Old Man Carver’s contribution would be
etched into the city even more.

After
much harassment from the younger children, I provided another story.
This time, it was an obscure tale I had dug up about a child
exploring the land of dreams. A little bit of fright, a little bit of
excitement, and unexpected heroism in the face of fear. The younger
ones asked a lot of questions and expected details well outside my
limited preparation. Much was made up on the spot, but they seemed
pleased. I got a pop-up box regarding the entire night's affairs and
slowly read through it as I Carver'd my way home. No bonuses, no
quests, only a notice that the children had enjoyed it.

Strange.
After only three weeks, I had started thinking of the little cottage
as a second home. Another man’s shoes, clothes, book collection
and trophies. It felt comfortable in its foreignness. I went through
the full motions of getting this tired old body into a bath heated by
some sort of magical rock. The dirty water drained down into a piece
of plumbing likely set up by one of the town residents years ago. I
slowly curled up under a heavy down cover and felt the drowsiness as
Carver's eyelids slowly slipped shut.

Then
blackness overtook both me and the person I was pretending to be.
Hours later I woke up to an intense chest pain. Breath froze as sharp
shots of crippling discomfort spiraled through my arm and down one
leg.

“
Ehhh.”
Both eyes were fluttering uncontrollably as my ARC sent notices of
damage across my body. I couldn’t even reach the logout button
to try and avoid it.
“
Ehhhhhh.”

As
the first wave started to fade, leaving me hopeful that it was over,
a second surge swung up past my senses. My defenses were down. Boxes
were coming into existence saying words that were impossible to focus
on. Likely they were happy notices that I was suffering a heart
attack.

Then
they were gone, and I was left gasping and panting.

A
box showed up, displaying that Old Man Carver's constitution had once
again saved the day. He was a former hero. The game stats reflected
his abilities with regards to toughing out one of the worst pains I
had ever experienced.

I
logged out of the ARC's simulated pain then fell back asleep in
exhaustion almost as soon as reality returned. This game might well
be the death of me yet.

Session
Thirteen - Finishing Touches

“
Think,
think old man.” What could I start into motion? What other
balls could I set spinning in order to achieve my final few points?

The
time limit was rapidly approaching. Five days were left on the clock
and I had lumbered around town setting up all sorts of events. I felt
like an old dog trying to go out in a blaze of playful glory.