Fell Champions

The clothes Rua gave Otter did not fit well. They also weren’t what could be considered ‘medieval’ or 'fantasy.' The stitching almost looked modern, very out of place considering the setting. It was a little too fine, a little too even. It hadn’t been done by hand. But it wasn’t done in a way that you’d see in the real world either. The needle work was done in an elegant pattern, looking more like art than utilitarian function. The fabric was also something Otter had never seen before. It was thick, smooth, and very stretchy, and if not for that last fact, she never would’ve been able to put on the pants she’d been given. Even so, the legs barely reached past her knees.

 

She’d had a cosplay arc during her career, so she knew how to do alterations. Provided she had the tools necessary, she could easily hem the pants and shirt into very tight-fitting shorts and T-shirt. 

 

Rua was putting two bowls on the table, a pair of wooden spoons already set out. Dinner was a thick white stew, with chunks of what looked like some kind of orange and red vegetables. As a finisher, she put in a hollow yellow tube that looked kind of like a cinnamon stick. Rua watched her come, and pulled out the wooden chair and sat.

 

“And what’s this?” Otter asked as she sat down in the padded reading chair. 

 

She paused, adjusted herself, shifted, paused, adjusted again, and realized that she’d been saddled with the single most uncomfortable chair she’d ever been in.

 

“Stew. With jaffa.”

 

“Right, sure, jaffa, I love jaffa.” When Rua moved to flick her, she dodged backwards, saying, “That was obviously sarcasm, I have no idea what jaffa is.”

 

“I suppose I can allow sarcasm.”

 

“Oh, you’re so kind.” She really should’ve seen the flick coming. “Ow. So you’re allowed to lie, but I’m not? How is that fair?”

 

“I am the host, and you’re the ignorant Wayfarer eating my food. My house, my food, my rules.”

 

“Bad enough you’re gonna give me a Pavlovian response to lying, now my ass can’t even be sarcastic?”

 

“Oh, is that why it’s so big?”

 

“So you did look!”

 

Rua paused, her cheeks turning scarlet, and then picked up her spoon and began studiously eating and avoiding eye contact. Otter basked in the victory, and began eating. The stew tasted just how it smelled – citrusy, with a savoury base. It was weird. A sour and savoury stew. It wasn’t gross, but it was weird, and she had difficulty deciding if it was good weird, or bad weird. 

 

She watched Rua eat. Every once in a while, she would take the cinnamon-stick looking thing – the jaffa? – and would use it to stir the stew, so Otter emulated it. Somehow, it brought out the flavour of the citrus a little more.

 

“So, you live out in the middle of nowhere,” Otter said. “And not just nowhere. A death swamp. There a story behind that?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“I bet it’s interesting.”

 

“It is.”

 

“And you’re going to tell me, right?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“But I’m dying to know.” She dodged a flick. “That was, I dunno, an idiom!”

 

“No idioms if they’re lies.”

 

“Oh, come on. This is getting silly. I get it’s your house, your rules, and I agree, but isn’t this a little ridiculous?”

 

Rua drew in a long, tired breath. “It’s not ridiculous when it hurts.”

 

Otter blinked. She’d sounded so weary, so exhausted. She was glimpsing something she hadn’t expected. This very tiny yet mean lady was buried under a great weight. 

 

“What do you mean?” she asked.

 

“It’s my Pact. I know when someone, anything, lies. Always. And it hurts. It gives me a headache. The bigger the lie, the worse the pain.”

 

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. This is just a power you have?"

 

"One I bargained for, yes."

 

"Do you have a headache now?”

 

“Yes. Since meeting you. It comes and goes.”

 

 Otter stood, and crossed around the table. “Here, I’m gonna do something. Is it okay if I touch you a bit?”

 

Rua’s eyes narrowed at that.

 

“Not like that,” Otter said. “My intentions are good. I’m not going to grope you or hurt you. I think I can help.”

 

“I reserve the right to withdraw consent.”

 

“No shit. That’s how that works. Now gimme your hand.”

 

“My hand?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Does… does it matter which one?”

 

“Nope.”

 

Rua gave her a suspicious look, but held out her left hand. Otter took it in hers, and began rubbing, pressing, and gently pinching at the area between Rua’s thumb and index finger. She gently massaged at it, kneading the area and applying soft but firm pressure. 

 

“What is this?” Rua asked.

 

“An ex of mine used to have really bad tension headaches and migraines. I learned a thing or two. Just give it about ten minutes, and then I’m going to switch to your neck, and then maybe your scalp. I don’t know what kind of headaches you get, so I’m gonna saturate you in everything I’ve got.”

 

“And what do you want in return for this?”

 

“Nothing. If I caused it, I’ll fix it, or at least try to. And even if massaging doesn’t fix your headache, I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who complained about getting a neck and shoulder massage.”

 

“Wait, you didn’t say anything about my shoulders before. Will that help?”

 

“With the headaches? Probably not, but are you going to say no?”

 

“I reserve the right–”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. The second you’re uncomfortable, just tell me, and I’ll back off.”

 

She rubbed at Rua’s hand with patient intensity. She was so weird. Flirty and bashful one moment, stand-offish and aggressive the next. Holt’s team had done a great job with her. Were all the NPCs like this? She just seemed so … real. Contradictory and deep, not at all like the two-dimensional characters you found in most MMORPGs, eager to just give you a quest and send you on your way. 

 

How much time and effort went into this? How many hundreds of hours, just for one NPC in the middle of a swamp? Or was this all AI? That thought was horrifying in a way. That level of AI was supposed to be illegal, and what, Holt was flaunting it in front of a hundred live streamers and encouraging them to broadcast it to the world? He was an arrogant shit, but no one was that arrogant. 

 

Otter switched to Rua’s neck after a few more minutes, and found a lot of tension there. Built up stress, or maybe her mattress was just as uncomfortable as her reading chair, but something had caused absolute chaos there. She worked it loose, bit by bit, going at it slow, teasing out the tightness bit by bit. 

 

“So, your Pact,” Otter said. “This is how you, what’d you call it, Manifest?”

 

“I can’t Manifest, but I have a Pact.”

 

“How does that work?”

 

Rua twisted, trying to look back at her, but Otter gently but firmly put her head back forward as she kept at the massage.

 

“What ignorant land is this Canada you’re from that you don’t even know about Pacts? Is this why you Wayfared here? To learn about them, and get one?”

 

“Not initially,” Otter said. “I came because I was invited to come here by someone who made me a pretty big promise. But your Pacts seem like something I should get into. Unless they all cause headaches.”

 

“What promise?”

 

“Uh uh, that one’s mine. And I wouldn’t even know how to begin to explain it to you. Let’s just say… I’m getting something out of being here, besides the pleasure of your company.”

 

Rua grunted, closed her eyes and sank into the massage. Otter hadn’t expected her to let it go. Rua was clearly paranoid about something, probably connected to why she lived in a death swamp. 

 

Otter kept at it, going through the full gamut of what she knew. She worked Rua’s neck, switched back to her hands for a small moment, and then gave her a scalp massage before finishing with her shoulders. By the time she was done, Rua was almost asleep, with a small smile on her face.

 

“Feeling better?”

 

“Oh, the headache vanished after you did that thing to my hands the first time. I just wanted the full package, since I’m feeding you.”

 

“You’re going to hold that over my head the entire time I’m here, aren’t you?”

 

“Mmm, yes. Wait until you see what I make you do tomorrow. But for now, I’m getting a little tired.”

 

“Oh, and do you want me to put you to bed?” Otter returned to her very uncomfortable seat, and began to finish her meal. “Carry you over the threshold, tuck you in, and see where the night takes us?”

 

“No. But there is only one bed. Do you promise to keep to your side of it if…”

 

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ll tidy here, you go to bed. I’ll sleep in the chair.”

 

“That chair? Ignorant Wayfarer.” 

 

Rua shook her head in disbelief, and then moved to the only other room left in the cabin, closing the door behind her. The entire time, Otter wondered why she’d turned down the invitation. Probably because, all things considered, it felt weird. Was Rua even real? It’d be like masturbating on camera, for whatever data techs Ashes² employed. 

 

That thought sent a wave of revulsion through her. How much privacy did she really have in this game? She might’ve been openly flirtatious with Rua, and teased Il-Su with her nudity, but thinking that there might be a game dev out there jerking it in his cubicle right now to her digital avatar killed her mood. It was a lousy way to end a pretty good day.

 

So, Otter raised up her left hand, palm down, and watched her fingers, and smiled. No. There was no way some pervert was ruining this for her. This was the best she’d felt in years.