Phrenia, Bilateralis, Chapter One

The Exitus Stone glowed. It had no specific hue or tint, it simply glowed, and when one gazed upon it they were sure that it was a light source, even though at night, it would provide no illumination to objects around it. In the days Sibyl had already spent within Phrenia, she’d never gotten used to the Exitus Stone’s unique properties.

The Exitus Stone in Middlerock sat upon a platform at the center of the town, in place of a fountain or gallows. It was a location that allowed players to find it easily. The non-players treated the Exitus Stone as some strange object that they weren’t quite allowed to acknowledge, although some spoke openly of it, in a way that broke the immersion terribly.

            At this moment, the world of Phrenia was in mid afternoon, a single tuft of cloud hanging in the sky. When Sibyl placed her palm over the flat surface of the stone, she could feel the sun’s warmth upon it. It was at this moment the stone was supposed to glow a faint blue. It didn’t. She frowned.

            “Something wrong?” Ratty asked.

            Ratty stood beside Sibyl. He was half mouse, something he claimed was because of a deal with a witch gone sour. Although, Sibyl wasn’t sure what could have gone wrong in the few days that Ratty had been playing before she had. That was in real time. In game time, that translated to maybe six or seven days longer. She wasn’t sure yet how it all worked out. Ratty told her that the experience was semi-subjective for different players, depending on how much time they spent playing solo.

He wore a brown cloak over his dark green tunic and cloth pants. His short sword was sheathed at his side. He had an unruly crop of white hair, and fur which lined his face and the backs of his hands ever so lightly. He had a pair of mouse ears on the side of his head, too.

“It’s not turning blue for me,” she said. “Do you think it’s not working?”

            “Let me see,” Ratty said. Sibyl stepped aside so that he would have room. He placed his hand on the stone, which turned a light yellow at his touch, closed his eyes, and vanished.

            Sibyl waited at the platform before the stone for five or ten seconds before realizing that even if Ratty reconnected as soon as he woke up, it’d still be at least a half an hour before she saw him reconnect. Or at least that was what she figured. She turned to look at the market of Middlerock.

            There were houses gathered around, with storefronts on the first floor and what Sibly guessed were residences above. The homes were cross timbered, like the ones she’d seen in Germany on vacation, two years prior. The ground was mostly gravel and dirt.

There was a dizzying array of shops all around her. It was one of the things about Phrenia that impressed her so much. In the previous Completely Immersive Roleplaying Games she’d played, the starter towns had not so much as a general goods vendor and a quest giver.

            In Middlerock, everything seemed organic, and real. There was a bounty board in several of the town’s inns, and each of the boards boasted different tasks, some offering money or gear as rewards. There wasn’t any difficulty listed on the boards; Sibyl had had to guess from the posters whether or not it was for her level group. And Sibyl hadn’t found any indication of how to check what level she was at, either.

The only thing that broke the illusion was seeing the other starting players. Everyone who chose the witch or wizard class had the same dull brown robes she had on. The warriors all had a brown cloak over a grey shirt. It was as though a portion of the population all adhered to a dress code that called for clothes in poor condition.

            She stood staring at this array of sights before her, for a solid ten seconds, before she decided to hop down from the gate’s platform and wander to one of the stores. She found one with windows facing the platform so that she could instantly be made aware of Ratty’s return to Phrenia. There was a sign above the front door that proclaimed it was John’s Shoppe of Inherently Magical Items. Sibyl walked inside.

            The store was cramped with two shelves on either side, leading straight to the end of the story. A man in his late fifties or sixties, whom Sibly assumed immediately to be John, sat behind the counter. The titular smiled at her as she entered.

            “Good afternoon,” she said, attempting to flavor her Korean accent with the vaguely English accents she’d encountered from non-player characters in Phrenia thus far.

            “Ah,” the shopowner said, “An Outworlder. That was a fair impression, though, I’ll grant you that.”

            “Thanks,” she said, “Sorry.”

            “No harm done,” he said, “It was just... ah... an attempt to be accommodating, I assume?”

            Sibyl nodded and offered him a weak smile. She looked out towards the Exitus Gate and saw that Ratty had not yet returned.

            “So,” the shopkeeper said, to catch Sibyl’s attention once more, “What interests you, Outworlder?”

            “Well,” Sibyl said, “I’m a witch.” At least that’s what my starting class is called, she added hastily in her head, “and so far the only magical item I’ve found was this.” She held up her hand, to show John the shopkeeper the dull bronze ring on her finger. It was not ornamented in any way, and aside from occasionally flickering blue whenever she cast the only water spell she knew, it didn’t seem to augment her abilities in any way.

            “Where did you find that paltry thing?” The shopkeeper asked, “From the hands of a dead water nymph, I assume?”

            “Yes, actually,” she said, “Why?”

            “They craft things such as this,” he said, “I can recognize it. Many of you Outworlders come in here, hawking such things. And they all claim to have found it from expeditions into nymph territory.” He attained a distant look in his eyes, “Poor things. They used to be such peaceful creatures. We never had trouble with them before now.”

            “Can I trade this ring for something... better suited to my use?” Sibyl asked, hoping to draw his mind away from something that seemed to be a painful subject for him.

            “Ah,” he said, “Well, if you give me five Ivans, I can work the magic out of it, put the enchantment into a nicer thing... if you’d like.”

            Sibyl thought it over. “Well, what do you have to recommend I buy? What do you think I should get?”

            “For a novice witch such as yourself?” He asked, “Well anyone what deals in the mystical arts could do worse than a wand. It will do much to focus your abilities.” He turned and looked up behind him. Upon a slightly tilted shelf sat five sticks of varying brown wooden shades.

            “How much for the cheapest one?” Sibyl asked.

            “No less...” John the shopkeeper said, seeming to mull it over in his head, “No less than fifty Ivans.”

            “Oh.” Sibyl knew from the weight of her purse that she did not possess fifty Ivans.

            “That’s a shame,” the shopkeeper said, “I’ll tell you what, though.” He knelt down behind the counter, for a moment. Sibyl heard clinks and scrapes as he searched. He emerged with a silver bracelet in his left hand. “This should work well for you.”

            “What does it do?” Sibyl asked, stepping forward towards the counter.

            “It will help bring out whatever part of your magic desires to be brought out,” the shopkeeper said, “It is called a Bringer Outer.”

“Seriously?”

“Most parents buy these for their children at a young age to help them discover which mystical path they fall upon.”

            “What do you mean?” She asked.

            He looked a little shocked. “What do you mean, what do you mean?”

            “Mystical path?” She asked, “What’s that? I didn’t hear any mention of it when I was choosing my class.” She caught herself, “I mean, no one’s told me about mystical paths yet.”

            “How novice you must be!” He said, smiling, “It is whichever path of magic you were destined to become a part of. Some glow like fire. Some flow like water. Some shine with light. Some dine with darkness. And others... with the other.” He shuddered, “Although I surely hope that you do not fall in with the other. Far too many promising witches and wizards have fallen into that path, foolishly thinking they can control it. All this must be news to a novice Outworlder such as yourself!”

            “What do you mean?” She asked, “What’s the oth--?”

            Ratty opened the door and walked in.

            Sibyl turned.

            “Hey,” he said, “I saw you through the window.”

            “Hey,” she said back, “One second please.” She turned to look back towards the shopkeeper, “How much for the bracelet?”

            “The Bringer Outer?” He gave her a puzzled look, as though she was very silly. And then he said, “Five Ivans.”

            Sibyl reached to her purse, held in the right sleeve pocket of her robe, and pulled out the purse. She looked inside, and saw seven shining copper coins, ripe for the spending. “Alright,” she said, reaching in.

            “No need,” Ratty said, stepping past her, reaching into his own purse. He set down five copper coins on the counter before Sibyl could voice a complaint.

            “What a kind half-man,” the shopkeeper said, sarcastically and venomously. He scooped up the five coins and handed the bracelet over to Ratty.

            Ratty turned, smiling, and handed it to Sibyl. “Here you go,” he said.

            “Thanks...” Sibyl said, taking it. It didn’t look like much. Just a loop of silver that was just a little bit too large for her wrist. She slipped it on, already worrying about how often it would fall off, when it shrunk down to a size that anchored it comfortably to her skin, even losing its perfectly circular shape. “Oh!” She said, looking up to the shopkeeper, “How do I take it off?”

            “It will break when your path becomes clear,” he said, ominously.

            Sibyl dumbly stared before Ratty led her back into the courtyard before the stone, sidestepping a crowd of locals walking by. They stopped next to the platform and Ratty sat down. “I’m hungry,” he said.

            “Hey,” Sibyl said, “So the Exitus Stone worked for you. So I think I want to give it another try.”

            “Why?” He asked.

            “Uh,” she said, “Because I need to do homework. And I’m not sure how much time I’ve spent in here. What time was it when you were out?”

            “A little after six,” he said, “In the evening,” he added, hastily. “I checked Pantheon’s website though. They said there’s been a little bit of interference between some players and the servers because of sun flares or something. They said they’re working it out, but they said some players will be stuck inside for a little while. Did you not check your journal yet?”

            Sibyl reached inside her robe and produced the flimsy leather book that all of the players started with. On the first page, in ink that was always slightly wavering, she saw the message.

Due to difficulties with solar activity, some players have been experiencing difficulty connecting to Phrenia’s many, capable servers. Please have patience while we resolve this issue, and if your issue persists, see your local in-game tech support, which for you, should be Mandril Dusk, in Flannerytown.

            “Cool,” Sibyl said, “They personalized the last bit of the message to tell us who to look for.”

            “Mandril Dusk?” Ratty asked, “Yeah, he’s the nearest Mediator. He’s over in Flannerytown though. It’s a little bit of a walk.”

            “Shouldn’t be a problem, if it really is just a ‘little bit’ of a walk,” Sibyl said, cynical. “Why don’t we set out then?”

            “Well the connection issue might get fixed in the middle of our walk over,” Ratty said, “And anyway, why don’t we complete a quest first? Maybe it will take long enough to complete one mission, so that we can come back afterwards and connect you to the server.”

            “Okay,” Sibyl said, “I guess one more quest couldn’t hurt. Let’s do one that’ll get us plenty of Ivans though. I want to pay you back for that bracelet.”

            “Don’t even worry about it,” Ratty said, beaming. “Let’s head to the inn. I’m hungry anyway. You can pick out a mission once I get some cheese or something.”

            “Cheese?” Sibyl asked, “Really?”

            “I like cheese in real life too,” he said defensively.

            Ratty led her across the square, passing up the first inn, “there’s too many players who go there. Their bounty board will be picked dry,” to take her down a narrow back alley. They didn’t pass any other people in starting gear as they continued down, and saw more non player characters, a few with long scars and grim dispositions. “Is... this part of town rough?” She asked.

            “A bit,” Ratty said, “It’s where I got cursed with the mouse-ism.”

            “That’s a lie,” Sibyl said, following him around a corner, “You chose it. I saw it was an option in the avatar creator.”

            “What if I didn’t choose it though?” He asked, “And anyway, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t stick close to me. Not all the NPCs are nice. There are some here who’ll jump you if you look wealthy or weak.”

            “And which do I look like?” Sibyl asked smartly.

            “You look pretty,” he said, “and that’s dangerous here. But I look strong. So don’t worry!”

            “You don’t look very strong,” she said, flicking one of his ears, “You look rather mousy, actually.”

            Ratty didn’t smile back.

            “Sorry,” she said.

            “Being a witch sure doesn’t make your jokes any better,” Ratty said.

            “Ha-ha,” Sibyl said.

            “Seriously though,” Ratty said, his tone comically flat, “The rascal class gets plus five humor. The thief can steal it from other people.”

            “What?” Sibyl asked, “There’s no rascal class. And thieves definitely don’t steal humor. Unless it’s jokes. But anyone can steal jokes.”

            “You overthought that way too much. I’m just messing with you!” He said. “Come on. I already told you that one of the reasons I like this game so much is that it puts everyone on such an equal playing field. At least, it doesn’t augment players’ minds at all. Only their physical aspects. Which means that someone streetsmart like me can get ahead.”

            “What does it let overconfident players do?” Sibyl asked.

            “Ah, it allows them to say shut up, we’re here,” he stopped walking and pointed.

            The inn had a wide set of windows covered in a thin film of soot (or it might have been grease, Sibyl couldn’t tell) that made it impossible to look inside. There was a sign over the door, proclaiming something in symbols that Sibyl didn’t understand. “How do you know it’s even an inn?”

            “It’s a pub, really,” Ratty said. He pushed open the front door, and stepped through.

            As Sibyl followed, she looked out at the street and saw two particularly grim and grimy thugs looking back at her. She hoped they weren’t going to go any further than ogling.

            Inside, the pub stunk with tobacco and other scents that Sibyl had only ever smelled at her uncle’s house. The uncle her parents never talked about much.

There was a counter at the far end and blocky tables and chairs arranged sloppily across the floor. On the wall to the right was a bounty board, coated in numerous flyers. “Alright,” he said. “You find some job that pays well, and I’ll get a bite to eat.”

            “Okay,” Sibyl said. She walked between two empty tables and brought herself up to the board. She scanned the headlines. Anything dealing with rock-ghouls she ignored, as she’d heard too much about what happened to ill-equipped players when they found one. She saw one with the heading LOST KITTENS but ignored it when she saw that it only promised a single kitten as a reward.

            Sibyl didn’t need a kitten following her around.

She needed more money.

            There was another with the heading HELP ME DEAL WITH MY CHEATING SPOUSE which was written in angry lettering and even though the reward was twenty Ivans, Sibyl felt uncomfortable reading it.

            Another one caught her eye. LOST HEIRLOOM. It was written in a shaky handwriting; there was an old woman in a cabin near Middlerock who owned a scepter that had belonged to the first Lord Flannery. But she had been accosted by a thug in her home, and he’d run away with it. The old woman knew where the thug lived, but said she wanted someone to come and talk to her, instead of just posting the address where anyone could see it. She requested someone who was kind hearted and wouldn’t hurt the thug too badly. And on top of that, the reward was fifty five Ivans.

            “Ooh,” Ratty said, stepping up beside her, “That one looks good!”

            “Which one?” Sibyl asked, thinking she’d missed one.

“The one with the kittens!”

            “No,” Sibyl said, “Here’s a better one. There’s an old lady that had a scepter stolen from her, and she wants someone to get it back without resorting to force. The reward is fifty five Ivans. It looks perfect, doesn’t it?”

            “Kind of perfect,” Ratty said sarcastically, “But... What if we have to get violent.”

            “Well,” Sibyl said, “I have a few spells that could knock them out. Just knock them out though.” Most of her spells were too weak to do anything but knock people out. She only knew one spell that could do any real damage. She decided there was no need to tell Ratty that. “It’ll be easy.”

            “Yeah, it’ll be easy,” said a reedy voice from behind them, “Except that I already asked the old lady who stole it, and it’s the son of a crime lord in the city.”

            Ratty and Sibyl turned. A skinny boy their age wearing a deep red cloak with a dagger in his belt and was sneering at them. Sibyl had almost mistaken him for a girl; he had a lithe figure and an effeminate face. It was the kind of sneer that had been perfected in front of a mirror. “Really?” Sibyl asked.

            He nodded smugly, “There’s no way to get it being all... non violently,” he said, “But listen, if you’d like to help me get it violently, then maybe we could cut the winnings three ways.”

            “We can’t split fifty five three ways numbnuts,” Ratty said.

            “I don’t need money so bad. You each get twenty, I’ll get fifteen. Mostly I just want to see that this old lady gets returned what’s rightfully hers,” he said in mock kindness. “You feeling it?”

            Sibyl wanted to say yes, but Ratty turned Sibyl around and said, “Give us a second to discuss your proposition.”

            Ratty led her halfway across the room, and then sat her down in a chair. He sat down across from her. “So?” She asked, “I think we should go with him.”

            “I think I know him,” Ratty said, “His name is Treble. He’s nothing but trouble.”

            “You’re not really that funny.”

            “But seriously,” Ratty said, “Even Pantheon has warned about him. He’s one of the players who spends most of their time in Phrenia. Like, practically every waking moment. His parents don’t make him get off, so when he’s not in school he’s playing Phrenia. He’s probably way ahead of us in terms of levels.”

            “I thought Phrenia didn’t have levels,” Sibyl said.

            “Well, he’s way more experienced, then,” Ratty said, “He probably knows tricks and things. He’ll take the scepter for himself and kill us at the last moment. He’s been known to do worse.”

            “Ok, fine,” Sibyl said, “We won’t do that quest. Not with him. Even though twenty Ivans would have been sweet. And I’m sure Treble is a nice guy.”

            “What, he’s just misunderstood?” Ratty asked.

            “I don’t know,” Sibyl said, “This is the first I’ve heard about him. How about you break the news to the guy.” Sibyl pushed her chair back from the table and stood up.

            Ratty stood up too, dusting a few yellow pieces of food from his tunic. He walked back over to Treble, who appeared to be looking over the bounty board with disinterest. Treble didn’t even look at them when Ratty cleared his throat.

            “We’ll pass,” Ratty said.

            “Thank you though,” Sibyl said, “I’m sure it would have been fun.”

            Treble smiled and looked at her. “Abandon ratboy over here and come with me. I’ll let you take thirty shinin’ Ivans if you help me out.”

            “Oh,” she said. The thought hadn’t even occurred to her to split from Ratty. She looked over at him, and he was looking at her with shock. “Nah,” Sibyl said.

            “Well, damn,” Treble said, “I was really hoping to get you back out into the alley, but it looks like I’ll have to kill you in here.”

            In a flash, he’d pulled out his blade and leapt towards Sibyl, the point diving towards her throat. She instinctively threw up both of her palms and a shimmering pale white wall exploded outwards. His dagger glanced aside, as he cursed. And then he did dodged too, evading Ratty’s sword thrust. Treble pushed a table so that it fell down with a crash as he backed away from Ratty, and soon a few of the thugs entered in from the street.

            “In the alley I would have had these merry gentlemen to assist me,” Treble said, “But I guess they were listening by the door. Weren’t you?”

            “Aye, we were,” said one of the thugs who looked to be neither merry nor gentlemanly, although both carried iron clubs with cloth handles.

            Sibyl turned to see if Ratty had anything to say to that, but he had leapt for Treble again, leaving Sibyl to face off against the two men who had entered through the front doors. She pointed out her index and middle fingers of her right hand and pointed it at them. They froze for a moment. Sibyl wasn’t sure what the spell would do to them if she actually performed it. She pointed her fingers ever so slowly to the left of them.

            Behind her, Ratty knocked a chair over while sidestepping one of Treble’s attacks, sending it skittering across the floor into Sibyl’s legs. She stumbled, and the men leapt forward. Trying to regain her footing, she shouted, “BILATERALIS!” and brought her pointing hand across in a horizontal line, bluish transparent blade appearing. As she completed the horizontal motion, the blade darted towards them. One of them brought their baton up to swat it aside and the other shoved a table in the way, which swiftly burst in two. She brought her fingers back up and across and shouted the incantation again but the thugs seemed unperturbed.

            She stepped back, not taking her eyes off of the two thugs, hoping to check on how Ratty was doing. The thugs walked slowly towards her. She held up both of her hands, palms out, and this seemed to stop them. She knew the shield incantation only worked because she was afraid of them, but the longer they stood at bay, the less she would fear them.

            She took a moment to think about what she might be able to do with the shield, and then an idea occurred to her. She bent her elbows, bringing her hands back, and extended, pushing her palms forward. The shield flung towards them, and though they both tried to parry with their batons, the wave engulfed them, sending them flying backwards onto the wooden floor. The shield also shattered the tables on her right as it sped over the thugs and then shattered the windows too.

Sibyl felt a hand grab her shoulder. She yelped and turned, but she saw that it was Ratty and sighed in relief. She looked to the side and saw that several men had stood up from their tables and had detained Treble, holding him between themselves, one man in front of them, holding a crossbow pointed at Treble’s heart. She guessed the fight had interrupted their meals. The two thugs shakily rose to their feet and glanced at the pub’s armed patrons and fled back into the street.

A man that Sibyl assumed was the barkeep approached her and Ratty with a frown. “Sir,” Ratty said, “I’m terribly sorry about--”

“That fellow started the fight,” the barkeep said, looking over at Treble, who wore a defiant smile, “But you broke damn near all my furniture.”

Sibyl wilted as his eyes fell on her. “Oh,” she said, afraid to look him in the eye.

“Ordinarily, I’d ask you to pay me back,” he said. Sibyl felt that she wilted even further, “but... I can tell that you currently lack the funds. So you’ll have to do something else for me. A favor.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Wait, does that mean yes?” He asked.

Sibyl nodded. “Yes.”