Playing God 7

Playing God 7

Charlie Foxtrot

Despite one being a princess, and the other as good as, the two girls awoke with the dawn. That was the kind of world this was; there was no such thing as sleeping in ‘til noon, not even for pseudo-royalty.

They did need several seconds to figure themselves out however. They’d gone to sleep beneath a stone tent made with earth magic. Other than the light streaming in through the doorway I’d left them, it must have been quite dark in there.

As for me, I spent the night watching over them as I’d promised myself. I was reasonably certain that they weren’t destined to be found by bandits and tragically raped or murdered in the night, but I’d yet to fully dismiss the possibility. And losing my charges to a bunch of generic humans because I headed to the Refuge for the night would have been humiliating in ways I couldn't put to words.

I only headed back for a minute or so. Specifically, I wanted to see if my library of fictional works contained a copy of the show or book series. And, to my delight, it did. I found the box set of the show, probably because it’d been more popular than the books, in the form of a data crystal.

I spent the rest of the night watching it. And it was… It was bad.

Not the show, there was nothing wrong with it, at least in the early seasons. Sean Bean was as great at being an honorable paragon as I remembered in my past life. Emilia Clarke pulled off the perfect mix of nervous innocence and fear as her character met Khal Drogo for the first time.

No, the problem was me: I wasn’t in the mood for a fantasy epic. Or rather, I wasn’t in the mood for doing homework on a fantasy epic. As nice as I remembered the shows being, I wasn’t about to sit still for days to binge it, not even with a clone. Having a hilariously high AGI meant jack shit. I couldn’t make the data crystal play any faster.

Hell, Ariane wasn’t even a character in the show!

I stopped halfway through the third episode. At the end of the day, the game of thrones was a game for humans. I wasn’t a human anymore. Perhaps it’d be easier to create a utopia if I knew all the trials to come, but that wasn’t what I wanted. I had no intention of being a god emperor. Jogging my memory as to the major stations of canon was good enough.

I continued to reread The Fellowship of the Ring until dawn neared. Then just as the sun began to color the sky, I conjured a lump of black iron before flattening it into a teppanyaki grill. Breakfast sandwiches sounded like a nice start to my first morning in Westeros.

I cracked three eggs and tossed three sausage patties on the grill alongside six slices of English muffin. I was no master chef in my past life and what limited skills I’d had had atrophied while living off nutri-paste. My two weeks in the Explorer’s Refuge were hardly enough to try out more than a handful of recipes.

Still, breakfast sandwiches were pretty hard to screw up. They reminded me of my college days. Back then, my roommates and I would wake up and scarf down a McMuffin before barely stumbling into class on time. For a broke-ass college student with zero life skills worth mentioning, McDonald’s had been like ambrosia.

“Sleep well?” I asked as they crawled out of the stone tent I built them.

I reached into my inventory and brought out a bottle of ketchup. I looked upon it fondly. “Fluffy Fox Trading Company – Ethically sourced, in defiance of god and man,” it read. There, on the label, was the logo of a fox, using the tip of its tail as a basting brush over a big chunk of roasting meat.

How ketchup, and other modern condiments, came to be in YGGDRASIL was a meme, and one of my own design.

YGGDRASIL devs were notorious for coding unforgivingly strong bosses and dungeons with virtually zero hints for players, but they were also fairly responsive to players. The existence of Ouroboros and Five Elements Overcoming were proof of that.

Their goal was an “evolving” world, shaped as much by the actions of players as the developers. In a way, the journey to level 100 was just a prelude; so much of the game’s content was best explored at the level cap. It was what allowed YGGDRASIL to last for ten, whole years.

When a player did something outside the devs’ expectations, they sometimes arranged an event or quest chain around the action, not unlike what any good dungeon master would do in a D&D campaign. This allowed the players to have some voice in the way the overworld was shaped.

Of course, this was truer of players who happened to possess “World” titles and items. We simply stood out more. And, that was what I did, stand out, albeit unwittingly.

There was once a chef named Andhrimnir, the Norse god of cooking. He cooked for the Aesir and fed the many warriors of Valhalla. He could only do this by slaying a giant boar named Saehrimnir, whose flesh was cooked each day and restored to life each night. Suffice to say, the boar wasn’t thrilled with his lot in life.

I’d been on the way home from one of my many trips to Asgard. If I remembered right, I was there to negotiate with a human-centric guild, selling them information in exchange for them fucking over Ainz Ooal Gown, though the details escaped me now. Back then, I stumbled upon a world quest to gather ingredients for Andhrimnir’s stew. It was a generic, repeatable quest that mid-level players in Asgard sometimes completed incidentally while exploring.

Of course, when I saw the boar, I also saw the chance for a spot of mischief. The boar was being held in an enormous pit in the ground, so deep that he could not climb out. I already possessed the Ame no Nuboko at the time so I formed the earth into a ramp for the boar.

Then, I smacked it.

The boar was an overworld monster with HP in the millions. Despite the large HP pool, it could be killed quite easily, simply by raining blows from above the pit. Once slain, it would provide a ton of boar meat, but the player would automatically fail Andhrimnir’s daily quest, seeing how the god no longer had meat to serve Valhalla.

I instead freed it. I drew its aggro by attacking it and used my 110 AGI to stay a step ahead of its charge. The boar would “reset” if I traveled too far, so I remained within the quest area while continuously poking at the boar with weak attacks it could passively regenerate from.

I kept at it for several in-game days. The boar was registered as a divine beast, level 78 or so. It had the physical strength to match and I had fun using it to “technically not PK” random mid-level players who happened to stroll by.

I did stop eventually, I had to go to work, but other players noticed my strategy. I’d done it using a World Item, but technically, any sufficiently powerful druid or earth elementalist could free the boar as well.

And they did. In droves. For a while, it dominated YGGDRASIL’s official forum.

Most mages didn’t multiclass into monk so lacked the AGI to dodge-tank the boar. They got around that by using Fly. It became such a meme that some players got fed up and used an upcasted version of Magnify Gravity on the whole quest area so the average high-level mage couldn’t pull this shit.

I became a meme as well, more than I already was, and stocked up on renown for my Sandai Yokai class. I thought that was the end of it. Until, several months later, everyone in YGGDRASIL above a certain level received a quest regarding this very topic.

Andhrimnir had gotten sick of people fucking with his dinner, so he roused up all of Valhalla to give chase. Players aligned with Asgard were ordered to help Valhalla’s NPCs hunt down the boar while players unaligned with Asgard were given a choice to either help capture the boar, or free it.

Naturally, I was deprived of that choice: My quest was to lead the “animal rights” faction in seeing the boar to safety in a forest in Svartalfheim.

I smiled with fond nostalgia as I topped the sausage patties with slices of technically-can’t-call-this-American cheese. That event had been one part faction war and one part escort quest. It was one of the most frustrating events I’d ever taken part in, and also one of the funniest.

My faction won, barely. Asgard had the home field advantage and there was only so much even I could do once their World Champion decided to get involved. It was one of the few times I’d died to a PK after receiving my World title, but I did ultimately buy enough time with my allies to get the boar to Svartalfheim.

In honor of my victory and “noble sacrifice,” the devs made the Fluffy Fox Trading Company, a company which apparently supplied every NPC store in the nine realms with “ethically sourced” food and produce. While they were at it, they introduced cooking staples like kewpie mayo, miso, ketchup, soy sauce, and more as a result of my actions.

They also slashed all monetary quest rewards from Asgardian NPCs by twenty percent for a year. Apparently, Odin needed to be more frugal with his treasury until he found a new supply of meat. The boar was added as a field boss to the Svartalfheim forest, given a ranged attack, and any other easily exploitable weaknesses patched.

“What is that? Is that blood?” Ariane asked as I dolloped a generous portion of ketchup on her sandwich.

“It’s called ketchup,” I replied. “It’s a commonly consumed condiment where I come from.”

“It looks like thickened blood.”

“Because it is. Ketchup is sometimes called catsup because it’s made from the thickened blood of cats,” I said with a straight face. I served up their sandwiches and looked at them expectantly.

The two looked at their meals with wary disgust. They glanced at one another and Ariane nodded to the food, gesturing for her cousin to go first. Tyene held her plate away from her with a frown.

“I’m not eating tha-Mmph!” she let out a muffled squeal. I’d dollopped a bit of ketchup onto my finger and shoved it into her mouth. “Ew! I don’t want cat bloo-Wait… It’s sweet?”

“It is. It’s a very popular condiment.”

“Why is it sweet? It’s not blood, is it?”

“No, no it’s not,” I laughed. I pulled out a tomato from my inventory. “It’s made from this, a fruit called a tomato.”

“You could have just said that,” Ariane huffed. She took a tentative nibble and her face lit up with joy as the sweet, salty, and savory perfection that was the McMuffin filled her tastebuds. “It’s good! The feast from yesterday and now this; your homeland has so many interesting dishes.”

“It does,” I agreed. I considered both Japan and the United States of the twenty-first century my home and nowhere else could quite compare with either when it came to culinary diversity. “My home’s a bit of a cultural melting pot. The food you’re eating now is from my home, but not culturally native to it, if that makes any sense.”

“Ketchup sounds strange however.”

“Does it?”

“It does. So that you may forever remember the shame of mocking a princess, I shall hereby name this substance ‘sweetblood,’” Ariane declared imperiously.

I bowed with exaggerated contriteness. “Of course, princess. I shall bear this shame for eternity.”

“Father would love to speak with you,” Tyene said. “You must have seen so many interesting sights and father is known as a worldly man.”

“I’d love to speak with him as well. Even a foreigner like me has heard tales of the Red Viper’s travels.”

We ate in the cool morning air. The cousins talked about how long it’d take to reach Vaith, and how they might best navigate Dorne’s desert without being spotted by the many vassals of the prince.

My ears perked up and my tails began to swish in anticipation. I could hear the sound of horses breathing heavily in the distance. Their hooves made plodding noises as they approached at an enthusiastic canter. It seemed my time playing babysitter to these two was at an end.

Or they could be bandits, in which case they would be very dead bandits soon enough.

Soon, the men became visible and we could all hear them shouting. They’d spotted us, and we, them. There were fifteen riders, thirteen men and two young women who seemed to recognize the girls instantly. At their head was a handsome man with a spear in hand. Judging by his relative finery, he could only be the viper we’d been speaking of.

I could see the worried set of his brow even from so far away. The moment he recognized his charges, he set his sand steed to a gallop, only stopping when he neared and saw that the girls had been in the middle of breakfast.

Ariane saw them coming and her face set into a frigid mask. “Uncle Oberyn, have you come to take me back to a father who does not love me?”

“My brother loves you, princess,” he began. His eyes flickered to his men, then to me, “but perhaps now is not the time to discuss this.”

“Very well, uncle. Take me back if you must. Know that you consign me to a life of misery and when I spread my legs for a man old enough to be your father, I hope you remember this day.”

I winced at that. I wasn’t the only one. Everyone listening cringed visibly out of sheer awkwardness.

“Yeesh, you really know how to make someone feel guilty, huh?” I interrupted. My tails swayed jauntily in the air as I stored everything in my inventory. Several men reached for their swords. “Relax, I’m not dangerous. People are friends, not food!”

“I don’t think that’s going to put them at ease, Charlie,” Tyene remarked dryly. “Father, may I introduce our new friend, Charlie Foxtrot. He is… very fluffy.”

“Hello~”

As much as Oberyn didn’t want to be distracted from his mission, he couldn’t help his curiosity. He looked at me, at my ears, and then at the nine, fluffy appendages swishing in the background. “Are… Are they real?”

“Authentically fluffy! Accept no substitutes!”

“What manner of creature are you?”

“The foxiest, fluffiest kind, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he said, smiling in spite of himself. “And what business do you have with my niece and daughter?”

I gestured vaguely downstream, following the River Vaith. “I was walking thataway. I figured there ought to be a city or town if I followed the river, see? Then, I saw a pair of girls looking really lost. I decided to stick with them to protect them from strangers.”

“Strangers? Are you not a stranger as well?”

“Yeah, but, counterpoint: Have you seen those two try to pitch a tent? Because it was pathetic. Seriously, it was so pathetic that it circled right back around to being adorable. Then I made them that stone tent over there.”

“We’re not that bad!” Ariane protested indignantly. I could see color rising to her cheeks despite her tan.

“I fed you, then you proceeded to get drunk and pass out,” I pointed out. Sure, that had been my way of coaxing information out of her, but it wasn’t as though I’d magiced her into it or anything.

“That never happened.”

“You drooled all over my tails when Tyene and I tucked you into your bedroll. How are you going to compensate me for this traumatic violation?” I demanded, clutching my tails dramatically.

“Never. Happened,” she insisted. She gamely turned around and dragged the two, armed women to the fore. “Charlie, may I introduce you to Obara and Nymeria Sand, my cousins and Tyene’s elder sisters.”

I smiled and graciously allowed her to change the subject. “Charlie Foxtrot, floofiest fox to ever floof. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

“And a magician, obviously. Are you a witch?” the shorter one asked. She looked a little younger, so I pegged her as Nymeria.

“No, I am not. An onmyoji would be comparable to a wizard? Or perhaps a cleric? Yes, I suppose the kannushi class would imply as much. Now, I’m in the strange position of being both a cleric and my own patron as the Inari Okami.”

“I understood none of that.”

“I know. Just know that I’m not a witch, which I believe was the question. But yes, I can do magic, as you’ve seen already.”

“Doesn’t magic make you a witch?” Obara asked curiously.

“Of course not. There are many types of magic, divided into varying schools and disciplines. Depending on what school one specializes in, and exactly how they access magical energy, they are called different things. What you’re saying is the same as insisting everyone who’s ever held a sword is a knight.”

“Let us get going, niece, daughters,” Oberyn said, cutting off our discussion. “Charlie Foxtrot, you said you were on your way downstream.”

“Yup-yup!”

“Well, downstream is our seat of power, Sunspear.”

“I know. They’ve been kind enough to tell me.”

“Well, thank you for protecting Ariane and Tyene. I would be honored to have you as a guest. I’m sure my brother would see you well-rewarded for stopping your travels, however temporarily.”

“Hmm, that sounded way too formal,” I mused. I could guess what he was thinking of course. A mage drew attention around here and he’d naturally want to ensure I wasn’t a threat. “Well, fine. Sunspear was my destination from the outset anyway.”

And so I rose. I dusted myself off and turned to the stone tend. I considered leaving it for the next traveler, but decided against it.

I stalked up to the nearest wall and kicked it down. The wall collapsed with a heavy thud, and its momentum brought down the ceiling and the opposite wall with an even louder noise. The men and horses jumped at the casual display of strength. If this minor demonstration taught them to keep their swords pointed elsewhere, all the better for them.

The rubble looked strange against the riverbank backdrop so I smoothed it out with a tap of my foot. And then I roughed it up again because the rubble merged into the dirt and looked like polished marble. When I was done, the earth was indistinguishable from the rest of the riverbank. 

“Okay,” I chirped happily. “Shall we go?”

Author’s Note

I have no idea where the boar story came from. I’m kinda liking this slow pace though.

Did I ever tell you guys that I once had a full outline of a kitsune character going from 1-100 in YGGDRASIL? This fic’s outline saw a few iterations and some of the quest chains are things I’d had planned for a while but never got around to writing. I’m glad I can reuse some of that here.

Tomatoes are fruits. I don’t know why so many people are still confused by this, but they are. So are zucchinis. There’s an old D&D meme that goes like this: “Intelligence is knowing tomatoes are fruits. Wisdom is knowing they don’t belong in fruit salad. Charisma is having the social awareness to market a bowl of tomato fruit salad as salsa.”