My awareness snapped online abruptly, as if all of my senses were toggled by a single switch.
The pain was gone, but an unsavory blend of stale smells assaulted me in its place.
It was unseasonably hot—even accounting for the fact I was suddenly standing in direct sunlight—which definitely contributed to the pungent sweat of the bustling crowd surrounding me in a seemingly mundane medieval town square.
By all appearances, the apocalypse hadn't happened yet.
Considering I was the only person standing still in the immediate area, I made my way through the throng toward the edge of the cobblestone plaza to take in my surroundings. I minded my steps along the way, actively avoiding the errant patches of weeds that suspiciously grew between the stones in places that normally should've been trampled to death. Looking down at myself as I did so, it at least outwardly appeared as if the car crash hadn't happened.
The townsfolk were going about their normal daily life without any exaggerated urgency—the only notable disturbance being that nearly a quarter of them had an infrequent wet cough. Er, perhaps "cityfolk" would be more accurate, given the high population density despite the lack of advanced transportation.
Regardless, their mixed attire was as chaotic as what you'd find at any large Renaissance faire, so my doublet with hose fit right in.
It was a good thing I went for a thigh-length style doublet, though, as there weren't many visible codpieces. …Not that I was actively looking at them. It was just something I was always self-conscious about when it came to certain centuries' costumes. Regardless of how historically accurate they were—or how many of my friends dressed similarly—modern sensibilities made even the relatively more subdued fabric ones feel too, uh, loud.
Anyway, once I was far enough away that I didn't seem to be under immediate threat of having someone walk into me, I finally got to gawk at the architecture a little.
And immediately wished I hadn't.
The only consistency across the structures was that they could all be called "rustic" and that they were in vaguely European-inspired styles. Some were walled with logs or planks from species of trees that couldn't grow in the same climate, built next to others made of bricks, clay, mud, or stone—which couldn't possibly be sourced from the same locale—all shoddily constructed in ways that implied none of the materials were expensive imports. Their signs of aging were inconsistent as well—some of the most modern-looking designs of the bunch were also the most weathered.
The mind-itching dissonance worsened when I took a closer look at what the people nearby were wearing.
Their excessive leather and fur trimmings over fabrics dyed in vibrant hues implied they were upper nobility due to the high production costs. And yet, everything was worn out and shoddily repaired in ways that suggested they were mere peasant work clothes. They openly wore gold and silver buttons, buckles, grommets, and jewelry, each necessitating more disposable income than their entire families could earn over multiple generations as serfs. It was all made worse by impractical, mismatched patches with excessive soiling in a caricature of medieval attire, giving the impression they were costumes designed by someone who never scored higher than a C on a History test in their entire life, rather than actual lived-in clothing.
There was no way any of it was real.
It was a good thing the tips warned me well in advance that breaking character in front of the NPCs would trigger a penalty. Otherwise, I would've experienced one firsthand by openly freaking out over how awful everything was. Even without any sort of script, it was an easy guess that the rant I had brewing wasn't appropriate.
Although…
'How am I expected to perform as a character I know nothing about? What about the tutorial, and my objective?'
There were no signs of Purgarion, nor any yellow-paint-esque markers of where I should go. Even still, I was skeptical that it had simply abandoned me without any clues about what to do next.
Openly patting myself down would likely attract negative attention, so I looked around for somewhere I could manage some privacy… and found it: a flimsy wooden outhouse with an iconic—yet inauthentic—crescent-moon-shaped vent high on the door.
So, in I went.
There was at least the small blessing that the stench inside was only barely worse than being out among the populace.
It took me a few moments to fully adjust to the dim light coming exclusively through the small moon-shaped window. However, that first glance as I stepped in was enough to identify how small the space was and how it was predominantly occupied by a shoddy wooden bench with a large oval cut out of its top.
Sufficiently grossed out just from touching the door handle, I couldn't bring myself to sit down, so I braced one foot against the edge of the seat for extra stability as I rummaged through my pockets—being cautious not to drop anything into the cesspit.
Surprisingly, everything I remembered having in my pockets was actually there.
I immediately used some hand sanitizer from the small squeeze bottle I always carried and reflexively double-tapped the lock button on my car's key fob—not that there was any noticeable reaction. Said key fob was on a carabiner clip with all my other keys.
When I checked my phone, I initially angled the screen downward and lowered its brightness to ensure no one outside would notice any illumination through the tiny window.
As expected, it didn't have any signal.
Using the front camera to check, I didn't see any noticeable changes to my face. I won't pretend like I had the specifics of every single freckle perfectly memorized, but I could vouch that the obnoxiously bold one on the left side of my nose was the same as ever.
There weren't any obvious skin blemishes like freckles, birthmarks, or scars on the people I looked at in the plaza, so there's a good chance those kinds of traits could be used to help identify other players. That might just be because those were all filler NPCs, though, and there might be important "named" NPCs that had more effort put into their design.
I completely shut off my phone to conserve its battery—if nothing else, it could be useful as a flashlight in some situations.
Once the screen darkened after shutting down, familiar pinpricks of golden light formed on it.
[ Objective: Reach the three target destinations sequentially ]
[ Destination A: Mercenary guild lobby ]
[ Destination B: Tavern bar ]
[ Destination C: Exit the city through the northwest gate ]
What a relief, I finally got clear instructions—for all three at once, at that.
'What would have happened if I didn't have my phone, though? Would something else have displayed this?'
The text disappeared, and new writing took its place.
[ Tip: Players may use any sufficiently large flat reflective surface as a system screen ]
'…You should have told me that sooner.'
[ ☆ Thank you for your valuable feedback ☆ ]
It must have had a better connection, given that it was way more responsive.
'Okay, so, what about that tutorial?'
[ Tip: The tutorial difficulty modifier applies to every player's first game ]
'And… How does that help me?'
The screen went blank, then displayed a pulsing ellipsis for a few moments before refreshing.
[ Tip: The tutorial difficulty modifier applies to every player's first game's role and objective as a beginner accommodation, decreasing the challenge ]
'So there's no in-depth explanation or walkthrough; it's just made easier before being told to sink or swim?'
It spent a few moments loading again before responding.
[ Tip: PlaYers may havE conflicting objectiveS ]
'You already told me that… Oh, the bold letters. Got it. So, you're not even supposed to be directly communicating with me?'
The "Y E S" flicked its bold highlights off then back on.
'And that particular message… in context with my recent questions, that means the tutorial ensures my objective aligns with at least one other player, so they'll potentially help me?'
[ Tip: Cooperating with other plaYers may increasE chances of Survival ]
'That's a pretty clear confirmation. Thank you.'
[ WELCOME to Purgarion! ]
Despite the annoyances of such limited communication, the personality peeking through from whoever—or whatever—was on the other side struck me as a bit endearing.
'All right. Since I shouldn't just hide here chatting with you, my last major question for now is: can I have more information about the character I'm supposed to roleplay as?'
[ Role: Traveling merchant ]
'That… isn't much to work with.'
[ Tip: Out-of-character actions witnessed by non-hostile non-player-characters will trigger a proportionate penalty ]
'…Oh! The fewer specifications, the easier it is for a beginner to stay in-character!'
[ Tip: Out-of-character actions witnessed bY non-hostilE non-player-characterS will trigger a proportionate penalty ]
Apparently, I was overthinking it, going straight to trying to do a more in-depth performance than required. Trying to memorize a fake name and backstory on top of everything else going on would probably throw most first-timers off… Oops.
'Thanks a bunch, I feel much better now. May I have the objectives again before I get started?'
[ WELCOME to Purgarion! ]
[ Objective: Reach the three target destinations sequentially ]
[ Destination A: Mercenary guild lobby ]
[ Destination B: Tavern bar ]
[ Destination C: Exit the city through the northwest gate ]
Considering the route from the perspective of a travelling merchant: hire a bodyguard, pick up provisions, and then leave the city.
'Got it. Thanks again.'
Everything except the "WELCOME" line disappeared, and after it lingered for a second, the screen went blank.
I didn't have any sort of product for sale with me, but what about money…
The last of my belongings that I hadn't checked yet were my wallets. Yes, plural. A modern brown leather bifold for my license and various other cards, and a costume-appropriate brown suede coin purse for cash. The latter was good for not only staying in character at events, but should also be enough to satisfy any potential mugger without having to replace my ID and such afterward.
Speaking of potentially getting robbed, the emergency $20 bill in my shoe didn't feel right—also, the coin purse was heavier than it should be.
I put away my phone and pulled off my left shoe—one of my favorite pairs of historically-accurate, thin-soled, flat, lightweight, pointed-toed, brown suede slip-on shoes—and inside was two silver coins, their size roughly between a nickel and a quarter. Since I didn't like the idea of running with those in there, I slipped them into the bifold wallet, then moved on to checking the coin purse.
Assuming it converted what I had in USD, those two gold coins were worth $100 each, the ten more silver coins were $10 each, the handful of bronze coins were $1 each, and the pile of half-sized iron coins were basically quarters.
For the setting, I was… probably rich?
I definitely needed a bodyguard, given I was unarmed—ideally, a cooperative player.