#ferrum fumbles | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luminescentlyricist · 4 years ago

Note

VD: y⊙ur turn, buddy :o)8 (if y⊙u want t⊙, that is)

VD: n⊙ full ⊙n pr⊙mpt, but h⊙w ab⊙ut just s⊙me b⊙nding? maybe putting my makeup ⊙n ⊙r fixing up my hair, y⊙u kn⊙w, getting int⊙ the r⊙utine. can g⊙ any directi⊙n y⊙u want, ⊙r y⊙u can use an entire different pr⊙mpt. i just want t⊙ hear y⊙ur take ⊙n me :o)8

;; Gotcha!! Hope you like this :o)

🃏A Road To Recovery ⊙

Being the newest troll in the circus troupe, as unintentional as it was, Jezakk often stood out like a sore thumb when it came to showcasing his skillsets. He was unbearably graceless, even though he had never adorned the classical shoes that the clowns seemed so fond of. He left trails in his wake, whether or not it was a physical presence. Scent trails, more often than not, that were unbearably easy for a certain other troll to pick up on. While the tinkerer had never established himself as a sociable troll, he kept himself silent despite his yearnings for interaction of any kind. It was a strange fear that helped him maintain his otherwise unassuming nature, though it did nothing to deter one Othamo Oculus. If anything, the smaller of the two had the feeling he was being watched around a corner more often than not, regardless of Othamo’s lack of sight.

Then, there was always the heaviness. Although noticeably thinner and smaller in stature when compared to the other purplebloods around him, there was an uneasy leadening feeling that occasionally swept him, and it was nothing that he could yet explain. Of course, there were quite a lot of things that he had failed to glean from his short time in the facility, when he was conscious. The only conclusion he could draw was that it was a power-based backlash from his time as Othamo’s chucklevoodoo puppet. Jezakk felt there were also things that he had been told then, critically, that his amnesia - as a result of the unfortunate puppetry - had made him forget.

This was one of those times that he didn’t want to forget. Jezakk sat out in the hallways leading to one room of the Mordant King, the ringmaster of the whole group and undisputed Lord of the Circus. Panton Magnic was his name, but that title had been long since forgotten in favour of raw greed and want to establish his power with a title. Sometimes, his tinkerer mused that Othamo was no longer the main puppeteer of the troupe. He fidgeted restlessly with the small golden pendant he had been given on his first day, twisting it around in his claws and glancing downwards to catch the Capries as it flashed in the light of the windows. These windows, Jezakk thought, were unnecessarily large, and depicted circus acts in manners more suited to scenes of the Sufferer’s preaching than entertainments.

He looked around himself, heart beginning to pound in his chest. Panton’s name was the only memory he had retained from the many-sweep-long amnesia, and he wasn’t sure why. It barely mattered. If he shared it with anyone, he feared being exiled from the troupe and never seeing Sealdad again. And the healing of his father’s injury was exactly what landed him in the troupe in the first place. It was strange how desperate he had once been to get into the area, because all he wanted now was to escape. But there was a moral dilemma to deal with, and that was the fact that he would have to choose between his friend and his father if he wanted to get out. As much as Othamo gave Jezakk the creeps, he remained one of the lucky few that held his attention for long enough.

There were vaguely familiar voices behind the door, those of Ferrum and Mierle, two of the other purplebloods that he often crossed paths with. They were friendly enough, but he was wary nonetheless. Tilting his head and standing, he realised that there was no way he was going to hear the conversation. After a few moments, they exited together, looking quite shaken. Laughing dryly to himself, Jezakk shivered in anticipation and dread. He’d not been looking forward to any sort of meeting with the ringmaster, and the unnaturally hesitant appearances of the other trolls did nothing to reassure him. Smiling at them as they passed, he forced his hands to his sides and entered the room without waiting for Panton to call him through.

First mistake.

There was something unnerving about the way that Panton swivelled on his heel to greet the other, and the calm smile that he wore did nothing to soften the sharpness in his gaze. Something told Jezakk silently to turn tail - literally, as it squeezed around his waist tight enough to hurt - and get out of there before he was sliced into. Instead, the tinkerer bowed his head to show his respect, stepping forward. Despite his acquaintances’ nervousness, the naive tinkerer saw next-to-nothing that he should have been concerned about until the ringmaster raised an eyebrow, clasping his hands in front of his body neatly and beginning to speak. His tone was soft and disarming, made to rekindle a false sense of security. Although the smaller knew this, he couldn’t help but begin to let his guard down.

“Y/o\)u( KN/o\W, JEZAKK, I’VE BEEN THINKING AB/o\)u(t Y/o\)u( RECENTLY.”

This caused Jezakk’s eyebrows to raise in alarm, but he was otherwise still. He’d had to work on suppressing his fidgeting in fear of irritating the other troupe members, which had also caused him to unintentionally become skilled in preventing general movements and emotional displays. Raising his head to look at Panton, he remained silent.

“THERE’S A SMALL J/o\B I WANT Y/o\)u( T/o\ D/o\ F/o\R ME, AND THERE IS N/o\ /o\NE ELSE Q)u(ITE S)u(ITED F)o(R IT. Y/o\)u( ARE FAMILIAR WITH THE BEES, I TR)u(ST? I HAVE SPENT AN ADMITTEDLY L/o\NG TIME SEARCHING F/o\R S/o\ME/o\NE WILLING T/o\ C)u(LTIVATE THEIR H/o\NEY, AND I HAVE N/o\W C/o\ME T/o\ A RECENT F/o\REG/o\NE C/o\NCLUSI/o\N THAT Y/o\)u( MAY J)u(ST BE THE PERFECT CANDIDATE.”

Jezakk often spoke without foreseeing consequence, and lacked much of a social filter. It proved itself a dire slip to make more often than not.

“I’Ll do IT, sir.”

Panton’s smile widened, showing off rows of teeth more suited to a shark than any troll. It was less comforting than it was menacing, and the ringmaster’s next words sent a chill through his subordinate’s whole body for no clear reason.

“AH, GOOD! I AM S/o\ GLAD I F/o\UND Y/o\)u(, JEZAKK. Y/o\)u( START IMMEDIATELY, N/o\ Q)u(ESTI/o\NS ASKED. ASK /o\C)u(L)u(S F/o\R ASSISTANCE IF Y/o\)u( M)u(ST AND BEAR IN MIND THE AM/o\)u(NT /o\f FAITH I AM PLACING HERE. D/o\ N/o\T BREAK IT, F/o\R THE C/o\NSEQ)u(ENCES WILL BE DIRE.”

And with that, Panton Magnic returned to his work. Jezakk shifted in his stance. There was a creak as the door was leaned against by another from the outside, and the man only looked up once more from his work before smiling - almost threateningly, despite the lack of teeth - and waving to dismiss the troll in front of him.

Leaving the room, the little tinkerer never expected to see Othamo already there and waiting for him to follow. Placing a hand on the blind troll’s shoulder to indicate where he stood, he looked towards his companion.“WElL shIt. DIDn’T expEcT TO hEar thaT. UH… wEll. I KNoW yoU caN gENERaLlY SMEll yoUr waY AROuNd pRettY weLL, oThAMO, Sir, BUt I thINK I’ll LEAve THe hEAvY LIfTin tO VIZeRA aNd LUmIra WHen I CAn GeT THeM to LIsTen ENOugH.”

Othamo raised an eyebrow, waving to Jezakk as if trying to snap him out of some kind of daze. There, on the palm of his hand, was a carefully drawn eye. Jezakk looked dumbly at it, placing his hand over the one seemingly offered to him. This caused the other to flinch back, curling his nose in disgust. The scent of lemons was heavy in the air, which made him smile despite the distaste he’d show moments prior. He treated those inferior to him as they should have been treated, and never once considered that the tinkerer - a newbie, fresh meat, the perfect little puppet for his games - would be any different, regardless of the time he had in an uncomfortably close proximity and seeing through his eyes. Although it was normally an unpleasant, sharp scent, the undertones of fruitiness unique to the other made fear smell inviting.

“i can see a little bit, y⊙u kn⊙w. en⊙ugh t⊙ want t⊙ c⊙mment ⊙n h⊙w idi⊙tic that was t⊙ assume.”

He murmured, pointing towards the eye on his palm and inadvertently causing Jezakk to look down towards it, even though he had nervously averted his gaze prior. The lemon still hung in the air between them, and the smaller’s appreension was unrelenting. Tension ran through his every movement, and the stiffness was what caused him to fumble and almost trip over. He likely would have, had Othamo not reached out to steady him, unintentionally knocking their bodies a little closer than was comfortable. The taller chuckled, letting his arms fall from around Jezakk and noting how powerful his lemon scent was after that, enough to make his head spin.

“i can generally see thr⊙ugh eye shapes as well, n⊙t just y⊙ur eyes. thatd be selfish, d⊙nt y⊙u think? als⊙, the legends are true. y⊙u smell ⊙f blackberries and fear.”

Jezakk nodded silently, seeing that Othamo would notice the gesture without shifting his arm. He couldn’t help but laugh in fear, even though his words were stuck in his throat, making it near impossible to muster any vocal reply. There was something disarming about the puppeteer, but he was entirely aware of what he was doing. It was making Jezakk on edge, constantly, and he hated it. As such, he sped up his walking, attempting to get as far away from his companion as possible. Due to his dismal height difference, it only took a few rapid strides for Othamo to catch up.

He still intended for the others to help, however, so he continued on his merry way while periodically checking whether or not his ��friend’ remained at a safe distance from him. There was really no use bothering him further. The first section of the journey to his practice room - as it was in an entirely separate tent to the Ringmaster’s quarters - was filled with a tense silence, which at least one of the pair seemed to heavily regret. The tinkerer was spinning his Capries necklace about in his fingers as an anxious fidget once again, something he performed under stress frequently enough that he took no notice of the action more often than not. Attempting to break the silence, Othamo spoke. It was more of a private mumble than anything directed towards Jezakk, despite that he was wrongly addressed.

“i have n⊙ idea why that jerk th⊙ught it was a g◎︶◉d idea t⊙ put me in charge ⊙f the bees, jazakk.“

“JazAkK? I’M jEzAkk.”

To this, the puppeteer simply shrugged, giving his companion a toothy smile. There was no true joy in the action, and it was unnervingly similar to the Ringmaster’s in that it was more threatening than anything else. Othamo never appeared to drop his grin, which was one of the other reasons Jezakk found it hard to detect whether or not he was being genuine about his expressions. Reaching to place a hand on Jezakk’s shoulder in a mimicry, his claws dug deeper than necessary. He spoke in a hiss, though there was some lightness to it that was reassuring. As if he never meant to threaten, but it was habitual.

“well, y⊙ure n⊙t t⊙ me. y⊙ur ⊙fficial nickname is jazzy n⊙w.”

“I- fiNE. BuT You cAn’T LEt anyONe eLsE knoW… Ah, hERE we aRe. WaNnA CoMe in fOr a BIT? I dOn’t miNd thE cOMpAnY. NObOdy elSe mUch PUTs UP wIth me THeSe daYs. SoRRy… Uh, sOrRY AbOUt thE mEss. I’VE bEen tiNKerINg QUItE a BIT. sEcreT PRoJect.”

The tinkerer, still fidgeting restlessly, rubbed at the back of his neck.

“I SHoUld proBabLY gO anD sOrt ouT the BEE buSINess foR a Bit. NOw thAt I knoW yoU don’T wannA dEal WITh thEm. FeEL frEe to LOOk arOunD, i guEss.”

With that, he left his friend to his own devices for a moment, which likely wasn’t a good idea. There were things scattered all over the place in a frantic manner, as if there had been a fight or something had occurred very quickly. Otherwise, the room seemed relatively empty on the ground, instead hosting shelves that lined the walls filled with boxes of all shapes and sizes. These were Jezakk’s pride and joy; the jack-in-the-boxes were what he was known for among his friends, and rightfully so. He’d definitely honed his craft, making them with an unprecedented love and precision.

Luckily enough, certain trolls - such as Othamo himself, and Jezakk - had been born with tails, according to whether or not their lusus had one, although it was rare. This enabled Othamo to better navigate the room, sweeping objects aside and out of his path to sit and wait for his friend’s return. Closing his eyes, the troll noticed soon enough that there was a strangely printed pair of leggings discarded across a chair, and his grin widened. Perfect. Their ocular design - unnerving to some, and even more so to Othamo himself because of his phobia - would enable him to see properly, though significantly blurred. He had chosen to sit on Jezakk’s recuperacoon, which had been fitted with a cover. It seemed nearly unused.

Activating the chucklevoodoos he was so adept at using, feeling about for the eyes and latching onto them, he made sure to keep his own closed. He wouldn’t need them. Observing the room through his ’new’ sight made his head spin, more than it ever had before. But the fruity scents were like a comforting punch in the nose, so to speak, and it helped him relax slightly and disregard the strangeness of it. There was nothing he could see that would possibly reveal the secret Jezakk had mentioned beforehand, or so he thought. The truth was that he wished to sell his jack-in-the-boxes to help him gather enough Caegars and ensure a safer escape from the troupe.

Meanwhile, Jezakk had located one of the two trolls he wished for help, and he was glad to find that ze was pleasant enough for him to avoid losing his composure. Vizera was slightly too loud for his tastes, and he kept his distance from the acrobat beside him, recalling the enthusiasm with which she had accepted his comparatively gentle plea for assistance. It was not exactly his ideal bottle of Faygo.

“LuMira? YEs, hElLo. It’S… JEzAkk, AND i Don’t THiNk we’VE reaLLy spOken, bUT i wAS WOndeRIN if I couLd HavE soMe heLp mOVIn thEse BeEhOUsEs inTo mY roOm.”

“YEAH, LLLLLUMIIIIIRA! HELLLP THE KIIIID OUT, WON’TCHA? HE’S A NEWBIIIE, AND YOU KNOW HOW THE RIIINGMASTER GETS IIIIF NEWBIIIES GET THIINGS WRONG!”

The troll at the door wore a pleasant smile, directing zir gaze towards Vizera and nodding before looking back towards the little tinkerer, who was significantly shorter than both of them.

“oh!! of course i’ll helP you, jezakk!! i suPPose i have enough time, and i wouldn’t wish for you to get in trouble with the ringmaster!!”

With a small sigh of relief, Jezakk smiled towards Lumira - still, unfortunately, finding it rather difficult to speak because of the new people around him - and led the two through the task, eventually saying his shaky goodbyes to the two and returning behind the safely closed doors of his room. His heart was pounding in his chest, and there was nothing that could have possibly prepared him for the sight that greeted him in that moment. It was an absolute mess. Everything that was scattered on the floor beforehand had been shoved to the side messily. The fact that a few of the jack-in-the-boxes had fallen from their shelves had just established itself as the second most distressing sight there.

The first, of course, was Othamo.

Immediately, the smaller’s hands retrieved his card deck, and he began to rapidly shuffle them as a reaction to his nerves. There was nothing else he could think of except the boy on the floor, but his body completely refused to move in a way he wanted it to. It was hard to decipher what had happened, exactly, but Othamo was laid out on the floor, staring blankly towards the tapering ceiling with eyes weakly flickering purple. He looked as if he’d been almost paralysed. Tears dripped their way down his cheeks, an even paler lavender than his eyes themselves. The only sound in the room - that Jezakk could hear - was the beating of his own heart, so loud and panicked that it drowned everything else.

Jezakk wasn’t used to this at all. His claws were trembling as he shuffled his cards around, silken gloves at risk of unravelling from where they were pulled high to his shoulders. He wasn’t truly expecting anyone to be with him within his practice room, let alone when he returned to it after Othamo had scheduled a busy day at the shows. Because he was new to the troupe, everyone else tended to have more performances than he did, which left him lonely. But here Othamo was, finally giving him the company he so craved, and he had no idea what to do. Everything was just a little bit too wrong, and no amount of physical messing around could fix it. So he distracted himself first, because his thinkpan wasn’t letting him make any lateral solution to the problem yet.

Tiptoeing around so that he didn’t disturb anyone else, Jezakk let his mind drift away from his friend for a moment. He placed his cards away, attempting and failing to regulate his breathing. How could he, when his pan was being wild? Instead, he walked around and picked up all of his boxes that had fallen, softly humming a show tune under his breath that he was fairly sure Panton himself had composed. He wasn’t sure why his pan had strayed to it, but he didn’t like it much. There was a funny taste in his mouth about it, because it meant that something about that suave, manipulative asshole was genuinely likeable. Shaking his head physically in an attempt to clear it, Jezakk placed the last box upon the shelves and redirected his attention to his friend.

Clearing a space to sit next to Othamo, he crossed his legs and began to sing a little louder. Even though his voice was croaky and awful because of the tears that had begun to greet his eyes and blur his vision, he continued, hoping that his voice would at least rouse the one on the floor. There wasn’t much else he was able to do, because he couldn’t properly attend to someone who was unconscious. Othamo was practically a dead weight as it stood, so manipulation would prove difficult for Jezakk. Nonetheless, he continued to sing to his friend, the frown lifting from his lips into a smile.

However negative, he enjoyed the time he spent with the puppeteer, and hoped Othamo felt the same. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, the clown gently wiped the tears away from his friend’s cheeks and eyes, which caused them to flutter and Othamo to stir. He flinched back, seeing the purple sparks that licked at his fingers, and shuffled his position so that he could give him some space to properly orientate himself.

“Ah, SHit, sORRy otH. DidN’T, UH, didN’t meAN tO hUrT YOu or ANytHIn…”

Othamo’s unseeing gaze followed Jezakk’s voice when he struggled into a sitting position, and he shrugged, not having gathered enough composure to vocalise his thoughts. Everything was spinning, and he felt dizzy even though there was no visual indication of it.

Although there was no longer a smile upon the tinkerer’s face, he was relieved beyond expression that Othamo had actually stirred. His fears often caught up with him, and he’d panicked about leaving the other troll to get into a bigger accident. Observing the smudging face paint smeared across his puppeteer’s cheeks in blackened tear trails, he pursed his lips. Softly telling Othamo to wait - as if he could do anything else - Jezakk left the room, locating Othamo’s own and entering it. It was cluttered, sure enough, but he was soon able to locate some liquorice-scented face paint among the jars of scenting strings and return to his friend.

“HOLd on. I thInk YOu smUdGed, mAn. LEmMe heLp yoU.”

He murmured, lifting the puppeteer into his arms with a groan and placing him on top of his recuperacoon once more, back against the wall. He hopped onto the cover himself, settling beside Othamo with his supplies. Taking a makeup brush and some remover, he began to gently brush away the crust of old makeup and remove the rest. After he was mostly clean, Jezakk preceded to wash his friend’s face of the smears with warm water on a cloth, all the while mumbling rapid-fire apologies whether or not he’d actually hurt the troll. He didn’t know how long it’d been since the blind troll had been able to reapply it himself or bothered to, but it couldn’t have been good.

He wrinkled his nose upon twisting the paint’s cap off, the scent making him almost vomit. Why Othamo liked liquorice was something he’d never understand, but he dipped the brush into the pot and began to carefully outline the boy’s ‘mask’ nonetheless. Subconsciously, he found his singing beginning again as he worked but reducing itself to a vague hum. It was a habit he’d suppressed, like many others, but Othamo made him feel safer about expressing himself. Filling it in gently, with slow and rhythmic strokes, he was pleased to find that the paint was drying rather quickly.

“YOu shOuLd gET soMe reST, BRoTHer. I CAn’T be sURE hoW loNg yOu weRe ouT FOr, buT yoU SEEm tiRed AS alL hEll. I hoPe I DId yoUr FACe PaInt WELl enOugH. I guEss I’M prEttY LucKy THaT YOu cAm’T SEE it… I’LL chEck On yoU LAtER, but I SHouLd go DEaL witH acTaLLy geTTin ThE bees FOr thE hOuseS. YOu caN usE mY reCUPerAcoON toDaY, lOokin IN no RIgHT sTaTe tO BE MOvIN.”

Once again using his unprecedented, caste-granted strength, the boy moved Othamo enough to slip the cover away from under him and help him ease into the slime underneath. Jezakk remembered how warm and relieving the sopor was, especially for physical pain. He’d installed a special heating apparatus underneath it so he - or another recipient - wouldn’t get cold in the harsher Alternian months. Turning this on and walking towards the door, Jezakk flashed Othamo an equally warm smile that would go unseen, but was nice regardless. Feeling a deeper sense of satisfaction than he had in sweeps, the tinkerer flicked the lights off and partially drew the door closed.

“HAve A gOOd rEsT, BRoTHer. yoU dEsERvE it. I’m pROuD oF yoU.”

#🏠 stuck at home 🏠#fantroll #jezakk imetat #othamo oculus #❤️ a world of our own ❤️

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aire101 · 5 years ago

Text

Ferrum Chapter 1

His first moment of awareness struck him like a tidal wave of sensory input—the sound of thousands of voices chattering; an alien smell of dust and ozone, as if someone wasn’t quite sure what air should smell like; the feel of a breeze caught in a wind tunnel, and the warmth of hundreds of bodies standing together.

And then Tony opened his eyes.

All around him were thousands of people in various fantasy garb, some with swords hanging from their waist, others eyeing daggers, rapiers and axes at stalls along the side streets. People shouted to one another, smiled and fist pumped in fits of elation. The whole city plaza was filled with an energy of excitement and anticipation.

Tony had no idea where the hell he was, or what was going on.

The last thing he remembered was… a meeting. With that Argus Head Developer, Kayaba. But the harder he tried to focus on the details, the more he felt them slip away…

“Holy Shit! Your avatar looks just like Iron Man!” said a man who Tony was pretty sure had not been standing next to him a couple seconds ago. “How did you manage that? I know the character creation module is super detailed but that would have taken forever to work out. Does that mean you were you in the beta test?”

“Uhh…” Tony said, scrambling to make sense of the jargon he had just heard.

Avatar… character creation… beta test…

“Anyway, excellent work on it! I’m an Iron Man fan too, though I guess most people are these days. See ya ‘round, mate!” And with that the man left, leaving Tony still scrambling to comprehend.

As he stood there, he listened in on nearby conversations for more context clues.

“Oh my god this is amazing! The visuals are so gorgeous!”

“You can feel the breeze! The amount of sensory input just to achieve that—”

“Do you smell that? It smells like fresh baked bread. I heard that the taste and smell sensory was the hardest part in the coding development.”

Visuals… sensory input… coding development…

“That’s it, Full Dive has won me over completely. I’m going to sell all my other games starting tomorrow.”

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

The meeting with Argus and Kayaba. It was over his consultation on their new Full Dive gaming technology and their AI systems. But it was still years away from completion. And besides, there was no way in hell he would ever consent to having his brain plugged in to someone else’s technology. That was in fact exactly what he had told them in that meeting, and the primary hold up on developments on his end.

But this was way past pre-alpha or even the alpha phase… if he understood this right, this was a stable release event.

Which meant he was currently plugged into the Sword Art Online servers, and had lost years off his memory.

His chest tightened as his breaths started to come in shallow gasps. His vision began to gray around the edges.

In spite of his situation, he had to give Argus an applause for their work— this panic attack felt exactly like one in the real world, only less physically painful.

Just as he felt his knees hit the ground, someone came up beside him.

“Hey, I don’t know what’s wrong, but its going to be ok,” said a voice. They sounded young. “Take deep breaths with me. After every number I count, we’ll breath together, ok? So… one,” the kid took a deep breath and slowly released. Tony tried to breath along with them, but didn’t quite manage it. “That’s ok, we have plenty more you can do. So here we go. Two…”

Breath in, breath out…

“Three…”

This reminded him of that time he’d missed a week of meds during a mission. Peter had been over to do some necessary maintenance after he had gotten back, and next thing he knew the kid was walking him through the storm. Apparently his aunt had some problems after his uncle had died.

“Ok, you backslid a bit there on four, lets try again. Five…”

Peter… the kid had been so excited about this game concept.

“That’s great, you’re doing great. Six…”

Was he out there in the crowd somewhere?

“Seven…”

He needed to find out what was going on. He needed to get in touch with game support. He needed to log out.

“Eight…”

His breaths were coming deeper and the tightness was releasing. Now with a plan of action, he felt marginally more in control.

“Nine…”

He could do this. Memories or no memories, his mind was still his own.

“Ten… You look like you’re doing good there. How are you feeling?”

Tony finally took a moment to look at the one who had helped him. Given that what he was seeing was an avatar, there was no telling the real age or gender of the person. But the character depicted was a young man with long blond hair, blue eyes and built like a wall. He looked strangely like what Tony imagined a young Thor would have looked like.

“I’m alright. Thanks for hanging around through that. You didn’t have to, so I appreciate it,” said Tony, slowly getting to his feet. He couldn’t help but notice (and appreciate) the lack of pain in his knees from either the fall or the standing.

Yay for silver linings.

“It’s no problem. I had… have… family that needed that kind of support,” the boy said, with a glance at his face before he looked away.

“I’m sorry, that sucks. Not that you have them, but that they have it too. It sucks,” said Tony, fumbling through his words awkwardly.

The guy smiled and nodded, “I get what you mean. And yeah, it does. You doing alright now though? Do you need me to call a GM or something?”

“Maybe. I’m probably just going to try and log out though. You wouldn’t happen to know how to do that would you?” asked Tony.

“I think so. I read about the mechanics of it at least,” said the boy. “What you need to do is open up your User Interface. Just swipe down with your hand in front of yourself.”

The boy swiped his hand down and an interface screen popped up like a hologram.

Tony followed his example, bringing up his own interface.

“Thanks kid… Have a name I can call you?”

“I’m going by Tor in the game.”

Tony looked over his interface with a raised eyebrow, “A Thor fan I take it.”

“Like you’re in any position to criticize,” the kid grumbled, with a look up and down. “Even your robes are his colors. How did you get robes, anyway? The default is trousers, tunic and vest. I haven’t seen anyone run around in a set of robes. Was it a beta thing?”

Tony looked down at himself. Sure enough, he was in a set of red robes with gold trim. That also made him realize… this body was only an avatar, but apparently it looked like himself.

Whatever, him making his avatar look exactly like himself sounded pretty on brand, honestly.

“Would you believe me if I said I honestly have no idea,” said Tony, scrolling through his interface.

“I mean, it’d be weird but considering how confused you look I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt,” Tor said with a shrug.

Meanwhile Tony found two separate settings menus. One opened up an entire other menu system, and the other at the bottom of the main menu opened a box with three buttons— Options, Help, and a grayed out logout symbol.

“Huh, that’s weird,” mumbled Tor, looking through his own settings menu. “Talk about a terrible bug to have on opening day. You’d think that would be the one thing they had working before opening to the public. As far as I know there weren’t any logout problems during the beta.”

“I guess we’re calling a GM then,” said Tony.

Peter pressed the Help button, prompting a ‘Calling GM’ box to pop up with a picture of an old man in red and gold robes.

“Hey, those robes look like—” Tor was saying.

“Oh shit,” said Tony, wide eyed. A communication bubble had come up on his menu as soon as Tor had pressed his button, it read ‘Incoming GM Help call from Tor (Player 8476).’

“Uhhh…” said Tor, staring at the window with wide eyes as well. “Well then, that’s a problem.”

Tony continued to stare at the screen dumbfounded, mouth open and closing like a fish.

As he did, another call request window opened up. Then another. Then another…

Tony’s confusion quickly morphed into horror.

“Dude, how in the world did you accidentally end up with a GM account?” asked Tor.

“I don’t know, but I can’t help these people. How do I shut it off?!”

“See if there’s a ghost mode or something,” said Tor.

Quickly Tony tapped into the other options menu he had only briefly glanced at before. Sure enough, the menu was titled ‘Game Master Settings.’

“This is ridiculous,” muttered Tony as he scrolled and tapped through various options.

“About as ridiculous as your facial hair,” said Tor, with a grin.

“Excuse you, everything about my face is a work of art,” said Tony.

“Abstract art, maybe.”

“You know what, kid—”

“Could you maybe not call me that? Please?” Tor asked, his face suddenly tight.

“Uh, sure… sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. It just makes me a bit uncomfortable,” said Tor, looking like he regretted even saying anything.

“No problem.”

Finally, Tony found the GM communication settings. Currently the mode was set to ‘Available,’ but after clicking on it he found an ‘Unavailable’ setting, with the option to send calls to a voice mail for later listening.

Quickly he switched the modes, and the flurry of call boxes ceased.

“Well, that’s one problem down,” said Tony, scrolling through the rest of the GM settings. While he heartily approved of the colors, the robes made him stand out like a sore thumb amongst the masses of beige and brown.

But if he really was a GM, he should be able to generate something different…

With a flash of blue static light, Tony generated a red tunic under an average looking breast plate, paired with the usual leather trousers.

“You just had to make the tunic red, huh?” said Tor with a thin laugh.

“Eh, it’s my thing,” Tony said with a shrug.

Tor pursed his lips but didn’t comment further.

“Anyway, thanks for your help. I’m sure whatever bug this is will be figured out pretty quick. I don’t want to hog your game time though,” said Tony, trying to disengage as kindly as possible and without hinting at just how concerning the current situation really was. Tor had been helpful, but the person on the other side of that avatar could be fourteen or forty. Either way, they didn’t need to be saddled with Tony’s issues.

“I don’t mind. I don’t usually play MMO’s anyway, so I’m not really sure what to do now,” said Tor. “I have a few hours before I’m supposed to trade off with my friend, but I had only really planned to hang around for a couple of them to check things out. With the logout bugged though, I might be here for a while.”

“I’ve never played RPG’s at all, so I’m probably even more clueless than you are,” said Tony. “That being said, the first thing you do is probably to stock up on equipment and supplies. Do you have any currency right off the bat?”

“We start with 50 Cor, but I’m not really sure what that translates to within the economy.”

“I would say as a GM I could generate more, but if I’m remembering correctly the system was specifically designed to control inflation and it may not like that,” said Tony, flicking through his interface.

“I mean, I guess that would be one way to get someone’s attention,” shrugged Tor.

“Considering I apparently have my brain plugged into someone else’s tech, I would really rather avoid that particular flavor of attention,” said Tony.

“I hadn’t thought about it that way… They wouldn’t do something too awful to a player though would they? That wouldn’t really be good press for them. I would think that the worst they would do is boot you out of the game,” said Tor, looking concerned.

“I wish I had the kind of faith in people you do. As it is, I’d rather not chance it. That being said, it looks like one of the things I can freely generate are base level swords and armor. Its not much, but it’ll get you started.”

“Since we’re both stuck here, how about we party up for a while? Not much else to do to spend the time. My friend downloaded a text file with some starter tips from the Beta players, so we could go give it a shot,” said Tor.

Tony let out a breath, running his hand through his hair. He really should be trying to figure out a solution to his predicament, but if the GM call failure was any indicator, the situation may be a lot worse than he wanted this kid to realize. And at this point he was pretty sure the person on the other side of Tor’s avatar was in fact a kid, perhaps a relatively mature teenager, but not an adult.

And apparently they were attaching themselves to Tony, for whatever reason. And Tony couldn’t bring himself to kick an obviously anxious kid to the curb.

“Sure, that sounds like a good plan. Send me a copy of the text file and we’ll discuss it while we head out of town.”

. . .

“Ferrum Vir… did you seriously name yourself ‘Iron Man’ in Latin?”

“Pot meet kettle there, Tor.”

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