A Gamer's Guide 409 (Patreon)

It took a while to convince Gecko that, no, it would actually be a bit strange for her to sleep in my room with Lett and Garath, and sleeping in the adjacent room together with Maggie will be fine, don’t worry about it, but once it was all done and over with, there was nothing stopping me from going to bed anymore. Sweet, sweet bed. 

Of course, walking is still not quite easy, but Prop is nice, so after watching me stagger for a little, he helps me get to my bed, like a true gentleman. 

And that’s where I’m at right now. Cozed up in bed, wearing a very soft set of payamas Prop found for me, listening to the soft snoring from Lett and the gentle cheering coming from outside the castle walls. It’s nice. Prop had asked me if I’d like the curtains drawn, but I decided against it. I don’t mind the light. Actually, it’s kind of nice. The party’s still going. The whole city is awake, having fun, drinking their cares away. Forgetting all about the events of the day.

…And what a day it has been. You know, for the past couple of years, I’ve known pretty well that I’m not quite sane. You don’t do the things I’ve done if you’re all fresh in the head. But I’ve always known the kind of not-sane I’ve been. It’s taken some time, sure, but over the past few months, years, I… Well, I thought I’d finally figured out what my issues were. The whole anger thing, my pride, my cowardice… 

But this is something else. This is different. This isn’t me falling to my vices like I always do. I made a mistake and now all of a sudden I’m in wonderland and everyone else is the crazy one. 

There’s so little mourning out there. I’m not sure I’ve seen a single person cry over the people who died. This can’t be normal. I don’t care if this is a fantasy world with fantasy people, this just can’t be how you’re supposed to react to something like this. 

If only there’d been a single person out there that didn’t see this as a miracle, then…

<Most venerable 

God of Hope,

the highly esteemed

God of Multitudes

cordially invites Your Divine Self

to join a civilized deliberation

over tea and cookies regarding

[Your status]>

<Do You accept?>

<yes/no>

Huh? What is…?

…Oh! Oh!! This is it! How silly of me to think that the gods wouldn’t have any reaction to the total eratication of an entire city. Dang, I was way too shortsighted about this whole thing.

Hmm. On the one hand, talking to a genuinely sane person will certainly be a breath of fresh air, but, on the other hand, there’s a chance that they’ll penalize me somehow. I really don’t want to get sent to Earth, away from all my friends, back to cold, hard reality… Yeah, no, if they give me that ultimatum, I’ll have to dig my heels in. Not that I have much to threaten them with, or even tempt them with. I mean, they’re gods! What could I possibly—

<Er-herm,>

<The most resilient 

God of Pain, 

aspect of the highly esteemed

God of Multitudes,

would like to inform Your Divine Self

that the tea is getting cold, 

and the cookies are much tastier

 fresh out of the oven.>

Oh. Uh, right, sorry. 

I draw myself up a little where I sit. Well… Let’s try this, I guess?

I press the yes button. 

A swarm of tiny fireflies pops into existence all around me, their tiny insect arms grabbing hold of me, and before I can really figure out what’s happening or why, the room shifts, bringing me into what seems like a near-endless closet, filled with rows and rows of fancy shirts and pants and gowns and robes and suits and socks and anything else one could wear to the ball. 

Um. Is this because I’m in pajamas? Am I not allowed to wear pajamas to the civilized deliberation? Is that it?

Without answering me, the little fireflies all spread out, grabbing items from the rows seemingly at random. They bring me shirts and vests and pants and shoes and… Yeah, all that stuff. But they don’t force it on me or anything. They just hold it out, close enough for me to accept or reject it without any pressure.

…Um… Okay. Fine, I guess. Let’s see here… Yeah, give me that blue shirt, and that green vest, and… Are those pants blue? Those too. No socks. No shoes. I’m not a freak. And that should be it, yeah. Why are you showing me boxer shorts? I’ve got nothing to hide. Get those away from me. 

And with my items secured, I quickly get changed, putting the pajamas in my… Hm? That’s weird, I can’t seem to put them in my inventory. Uhhh… Could you guys take them? Please?

I hold them out to the fireflies. After a moment, they take them, folding them neatly as they do. Nice.

Now that I’m properly dressed, the fireflies show me the exit to the room, guiding me there and even opening the door for me. How polite. 

I exit the closet into what I think might be the fanciest room I’ve ever seen. The whole shape of the room seems to be a hexagon, with each corner opening up in a stained-glass window depicting various flowers in all manner of colors and styles. Pillars intersect these windows, so intricate in their carving that I can’t even tell what they’re supposed to be, but they seem to be made of some kind of opaque, dark crystal. Despite these, the room doesn’t feel very dark, mostly because the roof is taken up by a frankly oversized crystal chandelier, every single refracting bead cut from colourful crystals, glimmering more brilliantly than any diamond.

Beneath my feet stretches a carpet that must have taken a hundred master weavers a dozen years to complete, organic floral patterns intersecting with exact, perfect geometrical shapes in every color you can imagine. The fibers shimmer like spun gold. Should I even be walking on this thing? 

A hand stretches into my vision.

“Welcome, most venerable God of Hope,” Pain says from beyond his outstretched hand, his grinning moon-face peeking up from the collar of a perfectly elegant tuxedo. It’s even got a boutonniere and everything! “Thank You so much for joining Us this evening, despite it being on such short notice. I, the God of Pain, will represent the full God of Multitudes in this civilized deliberation.”

Reflexively, I take His hand. “What the hell are you—” It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t hurt at all. No white mind-melting pain reducing me to a screaming mess. Just His gentle, normal-person warm hand, and His not-too-firm grip. Shake once, twice, and then He lets me go. I stumble back. What do I even focus on first? Gathering what little wit I still have, I point a big finger at his outfit. “Why are You wearing a suit and not Your pajamas? We could’ve matched.” And then I wouldn’t have had to get changed.

“Forgive Me,” He says, his smile turning all lofty and apologetic, “it would not be civilized for Us to hold this meeting in such rudimentary clothes.”

“And why are you talking like that? All humble or whatever? Come on, we both know what this is about.”

His smile twitches. “You do?”

“Duh. It’s about how I did it again. Killing another city? Like I told Harvest I wouldn’t? Or, well, I didn’t exactly promise it, but?”

A chuckle echoes through the room, bouncing off the stained glass and the onyx pillars to settle on top of the carpet. “Oh, no,” he says, amusement lighting up his face, making him look like himself for once. “No, this isn’t about that. Please, join Me for tea and cookies and I’ll explain everything.” Taking a step back, he gestures towards an aspect of the room I’ve failed to describe as of yet: the round table in the middle of it. As you might expect from a room this annoyingly ornate, the table is no better. The wood is glossy and marbled in a way that can’t possibly be natural, strangely dark in color, with blue streaks running through the wood, the base filled with rounded organic details, flowers and leaves and everything like that. 

And, on top of that table, ignoring the overly well-embroidered tablecloth, is one of those tiered cookie holders, made from what seems like pink silver, engraved with countless details and filled with cookies of every sort imaginable. Hard cookies, soft cookies, cookies with filling, cake slices, rolled-up cookies, flaky cookies, chewy cookies…

Everything you could possibly ask for. 

…I’m not hungry. Not even a little. The opposite, in fact. Just looking at the cookies is starting to make me feel sick. 

Still, I can’t refuse the invitation, so I follow Pain, towards the seat opposite his. The chair matches the table in both type of wood and complexity. I don’t want to sit on it, but the little fireflies pull the chair out before I can explain this, and since I’ve become a slave to social convention, I have no choice but to sit. They push the chair in. At the clap of Pain’s hands, a swarm of fireflies arrive, carrying a pair of cups for us and a kettle of what is most definitely tea. I think the kettle and the cups might be made of ivory, or maybe bone. Who’s to say? They pour me some tea from it all the same. 

The tea is a murky black colour. Wow, looks delicious. It turns gray when they add my necessary cream and sugar. Yayy. I’m so hungry. Especially for anything milky. 

Even though I would rather disembowel myself than eat anything ever again, I take a sip of the tea. Good though it may be, my bowels still crawl at the feeling of ingesting something. Across the table, Pain smiles at me expectantly. “...It’s good,” I say. “So, um… If this isn’t about what happened to the city, then… What is it about?”

And why the hell are you treating me like I’m someone important?

“Before anything else…” He waves to the fireflies. A silent signal. And then…

Pop! 

Confetti sprays across the room. Pain claps, accompanied by a teeny-tiny round of insect applause.

“Congratulations on ascending fully, Hope!”