Hiccup screams like a sissy, emits a blast from south of the border, and nearly propels himself out of his chair. “What the fick was that all about, Marbles?”
Ryuk bristles at the nickname Hiccup has chosen for him. The goblin has done no tidying up, neatening, straightening, cleaning, or repairing of any description aside from stacking some of the debris in the middle of the floor and balancing the broken table top on it.
A suave-looking, expensively accoutered Player Character sits across from Hiccup in the only other unbroken chair in the place. He runs his hand over his slicked-back blond hair and his stats appear before Ryuk can lower his slingshot:
FeeTwix Fajer Level 8 Berserker Mystic
HP: 231/231
ATK: 56
MATK: 24
DEF: 39
MDF: 27
LUCK: 11
His arctic blue eyes change to solid black as he stands and extends his hand. The PC sports a pair of stylishly frayed fingerless phorusrhacid skin gloves, which is one way to show that you’re balls-deep in rupees.
In a digital world, anyone can customize anything, and Tritanian fashionistas have turned to adjusting the minutest details of a player’s outfit. Nothing is safe from this world’s high-end fashion designers.
The fact that this level 8 Berserker Mystic has custom fray on his fingerless gloves, a bejeweled and damascened clamshell armor, and a hand-embroidered overcoat made from Attla spider silk featuring artistically tattered cargo pockets immediately turns Ryuk off.
“Felix Arvid Fajer, from Sweden,” the guy says, “but you can call me FeeTwix.”
Ryuk eases the tension on his slingshot, lowers his arms and his weapon disappears.
FeeTwix grins. “Magic Slingshot, huh? Hold tight real quick so my viewers can get a good look at you.”
“Your viewers?”
Ryuk turns to Hiccup, narrows his eyes and glares.
“What the fick are you looking at me like that for?” the goblin huffs. “Fickin’ FeeTwix here is the best of a very bad lot.”
“Seriously? Kuso!”
Hiccup throws his hands up in the air. “It’s not like the high rank players are fickin’ falling all over themselves to join up with some gangly, slingshot-toting level 2 resetter, now are they? Slim pickins, Marbles, let me tell you. There were some level-nothing noobies with their poncy Bryanboy fan-fic outfits and plucked fickin’ eyebrows, and one over-brawned, under-brained steroid monster of a hobgoblin cranked out the wazoo on wizardous. And this guy.” He cocks a thumb at the Swede.
“Wizardous?” asks FeeTwix.
Hiccup snorts, “What? Haven’t heard of wizardous? This fickwad of an immiNPC from some other Proxima World introduced that shit to Tritania like fifteen years ago. Goes by the name of Dirty Dave ... ”
The goblin’s face goes blank as he trails off. “Where was I?”
“You were talking about recruiting,” Ryuk grumbles.
“Oh yeah – this big muscly fick-boy of a hobgoblin I was telling you about was all for joining us, but first he wanted me to stick a satchel of wizardous up his fickin’ bunghole so he could smuggle it to Polynya on one of those fancy-schmancy airships. And you wouldn’t believe how he wanted me to do it, neither! So when this fickin’ backdoor bandit turned, I cut his fickin’ head off and sold the wizardous to one of the poncies in the Bryanboy outfit.”
Hiccup lifts the hobgoblin’s head from the floor by its elaborately braided topknot, sets it on the table and turns it so Ryuk can fully appreciate its expression of extreme surprise. “I should be able to score some rupees for it, too – I know a guy who turns these into novelty beer steins.”
“Ha!” The Swede claps his hands together. “This is great! He’s polling quite positively with my fans right now. Check for yourself.”
Ryuk swipes the chart away, still not sure of what FeeTwix means by his fans. “Hiccup, I really don’t want to deal with your shit right now. Get that head out of here, now. And don’t let it drip on the floor!”
Hiccup rolls his eyes, stands, and uncorks a trouser-fluttering blast in Ryuk’s general direction. He sighs again, grabs the severed hobgoblin head by its convenient grab handle, slings it over his shoulder and heads out the door.
“Okay, explain to me why you want to join our guild.” Ryuk moves to Hiccup’s chair, eyes the fresh skid mark and elects to remain standing.
“Glad to.” FeeTwix turns his chair around and straddles it cool-teacher style. He grins, and Ryuk notices that FeeTwix’s eyes are blue again. “Here’s the short version, but first, I need to ask – do you really not know who I am?”
“Should I?”
FeeTwix clears his throat. “Most Proxima heads have at least heard of my TwitchTube Red channel. No, I’m not as popular as #RocketRocket, but I’m often in the top twenty when it comes to viewers.” He points at his eyes as they turn black.
“Your viewers are watching now?”
“Of course they are! Approximately 353,339 people are livestreaming this.”
The door slams shut. Hiccup reenters the guild and heads straight to the ripped and stained chaise that’s missing all four of its legs. He plops down onto it, kicks his feet up, and accesses a scrollazine entitled Hot Wet Goblin Holes.
“No livestreaming,” Ryuk says, “for the moment at least.”
“Fine, fine. Sorry guys, you heard the man. Keep playing one of the games on my feed during the down time – remember, one lucky winner gets a free three-year TwitchTube Red subscription as well as a ton of schwag personally autographed by me! Also, earn extra points by viewing my earlier feeds. Check out my latest feed from Steam for double pointage!”
FeeTwix finger waves goodbye to his own face and his eyes revert to their normal icy blue. “Sorry, my fans get pissed whenever I have to turn off the stream, and I have to keep them entertained.”
Ryuk nods. “I see.”
“Where were we? Ah yes, my backstory. Tritania’s becoming popular again, and it’s a thus-far highly underserved advertising market. My sponsors pay me for every single person who streams my feed or views my archives, so I’m partly here for the ad cash. I chose Berserker Mystic as my main class so that I can play the game the way it should be played, the way my hero and role model – the man, the myth, the Legendary Quantum Hughes – would play it. Ever heard of him?”
“I was a guild member of the Knights of Non Compos Mentis up until a week or so ago.”
FeeTwix gives him a confused look. “That’s nice for you, but so what? Who’re they?”
Ryuk sighs and rubs his forehead. “Never mind. Yes, I’ve heard of Quantum Hughes. He’s one of the founders of my former guild.”
FeeTwix leans back in his chair. “Good, so then you know how I mean to play – anything goes – and I’ll equip just about anything as long as I can avoid a ton of damage from in-game penalties.”
While outside weapons are frowned upon in Tritania, it is totally legal to use them. Firearms are a different story – a player who uses outside firearms takes HP penalty.
Ryuk glances over to the map of Tritania that hangs in the center of the room. Three continents – Hyperborea, Polynya, Ultima Thule – all floating above the Endless Sea. They’ve got a long way to go, and he knows firsthand that it isn’t a walk in the Hamarikyu Gardens.
He turns back to FeeTwix. “If it’s advertising dollars you want, there are other guilds whose sole purpose is to generate ad revenue.”
“Your goblin–”
“I’m not anybody’s goblin, and I have a name!” Hiccup growls from his perch on the broken chaise.