My apartment was somewhat of a hassle to access, which was part of what made it so affordable. Access started by climbing to the fifth floor of the adjacent ten story building, square and stodgy like most Dwarven buildings. It had an outside stairwell that rounded the building with railing that was taller than the top of my head. I suspected it was more for Dwarven sensibilities regarding the dangers of heights than safety code. On the fifth floor, there was a brick and mortar bridge that was attached to the vaulted roof of the adjacent building. The bridge led to a small landing and a short wooden slat door was my entrance. I tried to keep some plants alive on the landing that led into my attic apartment, but lay dead, soil wet from yesterday’s rain. 

I suspected, when North Sumar was younger and much poorer, this was an improvised entrance to an attic for a squatter that was never intended as a home, but time had shown the advantage of usable real estate to market, which led to the brick bridge and the door installation. 

Justin had to duck his head a bit to get inside the door frame, but fortunately the roof inclined quickly and was mostly taller than him at the center of the big two room apartment. 

“Please excuse the clutter, I rarely have guests.” I say, as the perfunctory introduction. I tapped a few glow orbs to life and the room slowly brightened to Human comfort. He seemed rather taken with his surroundings as I put away the few things of actual clutter into their proper piles, including taking a stack of books on simple rituals for home upkeep. 

“Wow, this place is… cute. Wow, a kotatsu and everything.” I suspected ‘kotatsu’ was some word from his ‘world’, but I appreciated that he was at least… trying to not insult me. I patted a cushion before a low table where he could sit. I didn’t have Sumaran chairs and tables, but this low Faloran Elf table was just tall enough for me to squat over comfortably with my tail resting on the relatively clean ground of my apartment, while also having room for upright mammalian feet to stretch out underneath. 

“Thank you, I don’t often host but I try to be tidy in my own way.” Piles of things lined the walls and were organized to my standard, but most non-Kobolds would think it a mess. Justin was polite enough not to comment. “Do you mind if I remove my vest?” He shook his head, so I removed my colorful blue vest and placed it on the pile of gently used clothing I would wash in a couple days. “Please feel free to take a seat. Would you like something to drink? I have some juice, water, and can make tea or kava, if you prefer.” I had already set the satchel of food-to-go on the table, with the promise to the owner that I would bring back the loaned wooden containers.

“Ah. Tea I guess. Why are you being so nice to me right now, Fortuna? I kind of got the impression you hated me.”

I had paced over to the hotplate and the ceramic jug I used for heated water. I was fortunate enough to have access to water. My ‘second’ room was used for a bathing basin and toilet. The bathroom was separated from the rest by folding fabric walls, but it was better than nothing. I had few other amenities like ritualized heating and a a cold box with an enchantment that was wavering, but hadn’t given out yet. I measured out some tea leaves into a sieve cage and dropped it into the heating jug, setting a timer with a Guidance screen. While the tea steeped and warmed, I brought over eating ware and plates.

“I do not hate you, Justin. You just have an incredible habit of being casually rude. Without you, Captain Raim would have died. I’ve also alerted the city guard to be wary of the delegation when it comes into town tomorrow.”

He perked up at that, “So we might be able to still prevent the massacre? I thought you got fired.”

“I raised the issue as Priority, and as a result, had to resign.” He helped dole out the Tamaran food, root vegetables in a gravy smothering a baked potato. “It is Sumar custom to allow members in an organization, particularly a law or combat organization, to raise an issue to the very top of the hierarchy, skipping all bureaucratic barriers. The person who does so must resign in disgrace, but the demand or issue raised is usually faithfully investigated, as long as there isn’t rampant corruption. Occasionally the demander is exonerated. I do not expect this pardon myself.”

“Oh right, that’s how Halindor joins the party. He was- er, is a corporal in the army and he tries to stop a hushed up murder but the general was in on it.”

“Perhaps we can help avert his troubles as well, though my primary focus is on preventing a war between the Sumaran Empire and Drakenguard in the next three days.”

He nodded as he took a bite, surprise and pleasure washing over his face. “Yes, I- Wow, I’d have never thought Indian and German food smashed together would be so good.” I gestured agreement, even though I didn’t understand his words.

“We can eat first, if you like, but I’d like for you to explain your reincarnation into a ‘video game’ as you call it, and how you seem to know the future.” I didn’t usually steer conversations so directly, but Justin didn’t seem to take offense. 

“You won’t believe me.”

“Belief is for gods and philosophers. I have verified several of your facts, so I will trust what you say, as fantastic as it might be.” I fanned my crest of feathers out and opened my claws wide to indicate my openness to his words.

He seemed dubious, but ate with passable Human manners as we discussed. 

“Okay, so this is going to be complicated. I am not from this world. In my world there are video games with long narratives that are sort of like sagas or stories, but you can make your own protagonist and pick what they do, and who they talk with and how they level up and what their adventure is-”

“So these are like choose-your-own-adventure stories, but more complicated.”

“I- you have choose-your-own-adventure stories in The Halcyon Call?” 

“We do in Sumar City, yes. Some are stand-alone novels. Others are distributed in zines that people may submit a vote on how the story goes before the next issue. It’s a pretty big community. There are also businesses that set up rooms for live-storytelling where you and a group may have a Minstrel run a story session…”

“You have roleplaying games in Sumar City!? I… well, this might be, like, so much easier to explain than I thought. In my world, these games can be solo or multiplayer and often have moving pictures and audiovisual elements too.” I didn’t interrupt to tell him that it was feasible to rent out an illusion table at a recreation hall as well. “‘The Halcyon Call’ series is a single player one of these audio-visual adventures. The game describes Sumar City, the Drakenguard, and a bunch of other stories throughout its time and world. Like, technically, I am in ‘The Halcyon Call 4: Scales and Clockwork’ where the world nearly plunges into complete subjugation to the Ancient One’s army of Horrautomons. It was my favorite in the series, actually, there are a couple sequels.”

“So in your world, my entire plane of existence is a fictional choose-your-own-adventure game?”

“Ah, yes. All the planar substrates actually, the entire universe, but yeah. Basically.” There was a silence here. What did one say when an outsider with concrete evidence of the future explains that reality is a fiction for them?

“Do you mind if I take notes while we talk?” I should have asked earlier, but I was already doing blind dictation. I went over to check on the tea steeping to distract myself from my unsettlement at his words.

“No, not at all.”

“Feel free to ask me questions for more detail on our world. I have already surmised that your… game may have not had incredible nuance with regard to how culture and society works.” I opened my notes screen and opened a new tab and sheet. When I took Scribe as my occupation, I never expected I’d need it to track my universe’s existential purpose to entertain alien outsiders. It was easier to focus on the facts, so that was my focus.

“Ha, yeah. In the game there were usually only two or three dialog options for each choice. Even the starting growing up stuff is very montage-y but I came into the world as a ten year old. Redoing puberty was-” Something I couldn’t read crossed Justin’s face, and I was concerned for a moment as I placed the tea before him. It passed and he continued. “It’s been weird doing everything slow-time. I got to pick my own name, but then I was stuck in a vault for eight years, with nothing but to train my skills and attributes, trying to figure out how to get ahead of the story, which usually skipped over those years. I almost escaped early twice but… I mean, I was just a kid, I couldn’t escape so easy especially after that they didn’t trust me. Sanctum… was terrible.” 

I made a noise of acknowledgement. I had a thousand questions, but I saw him watching me like many Humans do when they want to ask a question, and let him have the time to ask it.

“So, why do you… are you from the Drakenguard?” I got the impression he was hoping to stop talking about his childhood, which was fine. I was more interested in the future, but I did tell him he could ask questions.

“I was a hatchling when my family was taken in as refugees from the Kokomin Forest border dispute forty-ish years ago. I was raised in Sumar City. Why?”

“Just, you walk like the slaves of Drakenguard. Not-that-I-mean-offense!” he interjected quickly, “It’s just how the rap- Kobolds were from Drakenguard.” I wonder if he was getting better at reading my mood, and wondered what might have given me away.

“You are used to seeing Kobolds adapt upright standing positions, like this, you mean?” I lifted my back and straightened my legs a little, which put me near four feet tall. I had to balance carefully on the balls of my feet and bend my tail to keep it from brushing the ground. He nodded. “Many indentured or ancestral natives do this in the Sumar Empire, to better assimilate with mammalian sapients.  At best, It’s bad for the spine and makes people at ease that we aren’t defending ourselves. At worst, it plays to the stereotypes that describe our people as simple-minded, godless imitators of the dominant races, with no culture of our own.”

“Ah, sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude or anything.”

“I appreciate that you did not. I promise not to be shy about telling you when I am offended by your actions directly. I am not angry at you.”

“But you are angry, right? I just want to make sure I didn’t do anything.”

I sighed, knowing that I hadn’t done a good job of concealing my frustrations around Justin. “I am particularly irritated today because I lost my job today after learning I was never going to have a chance to succeed anyway because I’m a ‘raptor’-” I spat the word like the pejorative it was,  “-Trying to get above my place. Take my expression of frustration as generalized, not directed. I suspect that Sanctum may not have dissuaded you of some stereotypes, and that your game world didn’t put a lot of focus on ‘minor’ races.” Who would want to play through a story as a creature at the bottom of the sentient chain, after all? It was a question barely worth asking.

“Ah. No. It didn’t.” 

“So, what else can you think of that we can do to ensure that we do not plunge into war in the next three days?”

“We?”

“We. If you are willing to have my help, yes.”

I already quit my job. I might as well follow a Human teen who literally grew up in a cave to the end of the world. At least for a little bit.

Hadassah

I sort of imagine Justin's life starting something like the third cutscene in Fallout 3, where a montage of events (starting with a newborn being forced to pick their own future appearance) has your character play through the first eighteen or so years of their life in order to give players a sense of the world they live in. 

Justin got to skip some of that, mostly because I've never been tempted to write the "fully sentient mind placed in the body of a baby" story without it being 100% traumatic. Eight years is a long time, especially if you know you need to train for an Armageddon. Eight years is long enough to leave some scars.