Chapter 3
Mandatory socialization quests were made by evil extroverts as a means to torture the conversation-impaired.
If I operate on the speculation I am not dreaming, I am probably dead because this…this is heaven.
Socialization, the true bane of my existence, does not scathe me here.
I know these people. Every last one.
I know the lines they say.
I know the schedules they follow.
Sure, they look real—not like little pixel sprites—and, okay, they have voices I can hear—not just text for me to read—but they are unmistakably my Vale of Gems townies.
I have the advantage. I know the deep lore.
And?
To make matters even better?
I haven’t had to say a word.
“You must be the new farmer Lord Lazul mentioned would be helping us get back on our feet!” Pyro—the bold, kind adventurer I normally settle for after I finish mourning Samson’s romantic unavailability—sets his gloved hands on his hips by a modest collection of daggers.
“We could always use another hard worker around here. If you get a hankering for adventure, come see me and I’ll think about setting you up with one of my old training swords.
The Ridge can be dangerous without a weapon of some kind. ”
Smiling, I nod, and he waves before continuing down the cobbled streets, toward his third surveillance round on the outskirts of town.
I’m so happy I could cry.
Please let this be real life.
I could joyously live here, especially if the hints of realism melded with my usual gameplay mean the general store has cleaning supplies. I will get so promptly started on making my wee farmhouse something less…webby, more homey.
I will purchase a real broom.
It will be beautiful.
And once I have a half-decent place to live, I’ll begin my millionaire schemes.
Basement of perfectly aged wine coming right up!
I just need to find the right seeds, figure out farming, learn how to craft, set up an alcohol creation station, and hope it still only takes about a week for wine to perfectly age, so I can sell it for thousands of coins.
All whilst completing early-game quests and wooing Samson.
First things first, I need to see how this realism mod has affected my ability to upgrade my house and tools.
Doing anything with starter tools is agony incarnate.
In-game, it takes three days between all upgrades, but I have a feeling that’s not entirely realistic timing.
Upgrading my house is likely an entire project, so I’ll shelve that for now.
Tools come first.
Which means I need money and supplies…which means I need to get that starter sword from Pyro…talk to Slate…unlock the mine and…ugh.
There’s a lot to do.
If the hunger gnawing away at my gut is any indication, my energy bar isn’t exactly concrete. I am a person with person levels of energy that will hopefully upgrade naturally as I gain stamina from activity. Feeding myself is no longer a suggestion or a response to low HP.
Hate that for me, actually.
I blame my astigmatism for this inconvenience.
Heading past what I know is an overpriced sweets shop, I enter the general store and grin upon seeing the aisles of shop goods spread out before me.
What were once unidentifiable colored bottles on my computer screen are now clear. Toothpaste. Shampoo. Cleaning solutions. A broom!
Oh no.
I need a lot of things.
All the things, actually.
This is moving into my own apartment all over again, except I don’t have a modest collection of stuff I robbed from my parents’ home to help with the transition…
Strictly speaking, I don’t even have the inventory space for what I need, and I really did want to see Peri’s husband, Gabbro the carpenter, about the cost of a stable bed. Assuming I can afford a whole bed, though, how will I transport it?
Can I shove an entire bed in my backpack within the constraints of the realism mod?
It slurps up my tools just fine, but those handles are narrow enough to drop into the void. A bed is…well…a bed.
“You all right, hon?” Kaolin, the general store shopkeep, asks from the front counter.
My heart jerks up my throat because that right there is not Kaolin’s stock dialogue for greeting the new farmer. That right there requires a reply.
Adding insult to injury, no clear-cut options appear to float in front of me.
I am on my own.
So I blubber, “I, um, I’m the new farmer. Hello.”
Kaolin pushes aside a few loose black strands of hair that escaped from the bun atop her head.
“It’s nice to meet you, dear. Lord Lazul did say something about finding a confused traveler at the south road yesterday.
I’m Kaolin. My husband, Muskov, and I run the store with some help from our son, Cobalt, who should be at his studies with Slate, our local teacher, right now.
” She sets a hand against her lips. “My, it’s been ages since I’ve seen the old farm.
I can only imagine the disrepair the storm left it in. You poor dear.”
I am. I really am a poor dear. My social anxiety has sent my heart to my esophagus, and hunger plagues my tummy.
Why must trickles of reality pollute my perfect delusion?
Screw the realism mod.
“Tell you what,” she begins, smiling, “local produce is worlds cheaper than ordering it from the city, and I’m sure everyone would appreciate not having to pay the extra transportation costs.
Why don’t I give you some things for free along with some seeds to get you started, then you can bring back what you harvest. The land in the Ridge is brimming with mystical properties that fuel everything that grows here.
It can be exhausting to maintain the wild of an ever-changing terrain, but it’s a blessing and a gift to know the ground will heal itself after what we’ve just been through. ”
I sniffle, overwhelmed by the kindness. “Are you sure that’s okay? We’ve only just met, and I don’t even know how to farm yet.”
Her head shakes. “Don’t worry. I trust that you’ll figure it out. We’re all family here, and family takes care of each other, so if you’ve found your way to us, that means we’ll take care of you.”
In my experience, family does not take care of one another at all, so the very idea lodges in my throat until I’m at risk of watering the seeds Kaolin gives me with my tears. Since I have got to stop making that a staple of my careers, I suck it up.
~ ~
In Vale of Gems there’s a magic system that divides people into three categories: those capable of using stones and minerals to conduct certain spells, those capable of imbuing stones and minerals with spells that can then be triggered under certain circumstances by anyone, and those who can do neither.
Respectively, the gifted, the blessed, and—what the fandom has decided to call—the normies.
According to many game quotes, being blessed is rare, but within Gem Ridge Aurelia, twin sister of my least favorite character Austin the blacksmith; Neptun, the tavern cook who blesses the minerals in food with healing properties; and Peri, the medic, possess the coveted title.
Out of twenty-three people, that is a shocking thirteen percent. Thirteen percent of the town is in possession of super rare magical powers.
Nonsense, I know.
But, stay with me, the magic saturation around here gets even crazier.
Pyro, the local adventurer; Ines, the local clothier; Lazul, who is…
Lazul; and technically the player are gifted, with hints that one of the town children—Peggy or Cobalt—might come into gifts.
It’s never confirmed who it is or if it happens, but there are a number of fanfictions that suggest Cobalt joins Pyro on an adventurer campaign, coming back years later as a wounded warrior with only Peggy on his mind.
V cute.
V “we wanted this story from SAMSON” coded.
Tons of dialogue suggest that this amount of magic isn’t normal elsewhere in the Vale of Gems world, but elsewhere is not discussed much.
Amecrest, the city Lazul mentioned my first day here, is the first I’ve even heard of a monikered elsewhere.
And, trust me, I have studied the forums and source content extensively.
Why am I bothering to explain any of this?
Because. There is a raging potential that roughly thirty percent of this town is super magical—including myself, out of delusion—and yet nothing is more wonderful than the kindness I have experienced over the past few hours.
After Kaolin volunteered her husband to help me bring all the basic necessities she gave me home, Muskov took one solid look at where I was living and presented the singularly most aghast expression I have ever seen.
He set a heavy, fatherly hand on my shoulder, took a breath, and shook his head.
For a solid moment, I felt explicit solidarity, and, naturally, started tearing up again.
He left me with a foreboding, I’ll be back, and then…he was. He was back.
With Pyro, Gabbro, and Aurelia.
Who have been here, using their unique skills to make things just a little more livable in my wee shack.
Aurelia added a light to the room by blessing a gemstone and setting it in a glass bulb that activates by touch. Pyro used his gift to activate a chunk of pyrite and set ablaze the remaining ceiling webs. Gabbro fixed my bed. Muskov monitored my burn pile while the garbage fizzled into ashes.
My heart is as full as my stupid eyes, which are washing oceans down my cheeks.
“Th-thank you so, so much. I thought the spiders were going to eat me last night. You are the kindest people in the world, and I—” I sniff, curse my astigmatism, forge blindly on.
“—I’m going to work so hard to help rebuild. I promise.”
“Ah, lass.” Gabbro guffaws, slipping a tool back onto his very fancy carpenter man belt. “’Twas but a quick fix here an’ there. Bit o’ sweeping and some spells to wash the must out. This lot makes swift work of such things.”
Sweet as ever, Pyro sniffs and pulls me into a hug. “It’s okay, Citrus.” I think he’s a sympathetic crier. “We’re here for you.”
My chest constricts, and I sob against his shoulder, which is nowhere near as fabulous as Samson’s but is still welcome right now. “T-thank you. I—I’ll do my best, promise.”
“We appreciate you,” he says.
Obviously, I lose it.
Aurelia frowns, gracefully interjecting, “Pyro, give her some space… You’re not really supposed to hug a young woman you don’t know well.”
His body tenses, and he shoots a look at Aurelia. “I’m not?”
Clasping her hands together in front of her flowing lilac skirt, she mournfully shakes her head.
Eyes wide, Pyro utters, “Not even if she desperately needs a hug?”
Desperately needs a hug is not a description I was looking to burden myself with today.
Gabbro chuckles. “All’s well, Lia. Family hug.” He tilts his chin up at Pyro and says, “Yer Uncle Gibbs was the hugger betwixt us. Must’ve fallen into your genetics. No shame in that.”
Gibbs. Or Gibbsite. The tavern owner, Gabbro’s brother, Pyro’s uncle. It’s the most webby the local family tree gets, with two generations of siblings, and countless game conspiracy theorists spent weeks trying to figure out if WonderGlass had a reason behind it.
The conclusion was: Wonderglass just felt like it.
Aurelia smiles. “Well, I suppose it’s all right, as long as you’re comfortable with it, Citrus.”
I manage to bite my tongue before blurting that I’d trust these people with my life.
“It’s been a long day,” she continues. “Why don’t we see what Neptun’s cooked up tonight?” She takes my hand. “My treat. You can save your money and get some better tools from Austin later.” She winks. “Just don’t tell my brother I gave you a discount in the form of a meal, okay?”
Disown your dumb brother and live with me, Lia. Vetoing that response as well, I babble, “Y-you’re an angel. I haven’t eaten in two days.”
Pyro’s agape suggests I picked the wrong dialogue, even with the tongue-biting and vetoing.
Dang it.
“You—” He balks. “You haven’t eaten for two days?”
“Citrus.” Aurelia’s arms fold, sweeping sleeves tangling somehow disapprovingly.
“Tha’s no good, lass,” Gabbro says, and even silent, steady Muskov shakes his head at me. Again.
“Upsy-goesy,” Pyro says as he scoops me off my feet, rocking me against his not quite Samson-broad chest.
“Pyro!” Aurelia gasps. “What did I just say about giving the poor girl some space?”
“I—I’m fine! Promise! I can walk!” My body’s abuse tolerance is so high. Living in Florida, growing up with horrible parents, working at Hardee’s, all of it has forged a creature with zero physical cues. Without such fantastic training, I might have passed out hours ago—2:00 AM style.
“Hush, both of you.” Pyro, still teary-eyed, sends us a stern look. “My mum’s the medic, and she wouldn’t dare call me her son if I let someone starving herself walk all the way into town.”
Gabbro nods, wise. “Aye. Peri’d disown you faster than I.”
“So, there you have it,” Pyro notes, marching toward the town path. “My birthright rests on feeding you.”
Embarrassment crushes me thoroughly, and I remind myself of a few very important details as Pyro parades me princess-style through town to a tavern swelling with nightlife and more townies I need to meet for my quest.
First of all, going off-script is bad. Very bad. Do not do it.
Second of all, going off-script is inevitable. Very inevitable. Schedule time to sob.
And third of all, it is a mercy that Samson does not ever visit the tavern.
Were he here, I would die of shame.
Since he’s not here, however, I’m likely to die of something else before meeting him. But at least I’ll be able to blame it on my astigmatism, not sheer untempered embarrassment.
Yay.