Chapter 1: Unhelpful Tutorial

"Psst!"

The guard drew his sword in a flash, waving it from side to side uncertainly, as if fending off a pack of prowling wolves.

"By the barrels!" I said in what I judged was a hushed voice, just loud enough for the baffled guardsman to hear, but quiet enough that the other night sentries wouldn't.

He looked towards the corner of the stone tower where the water barrels were kept, the expression on his face shifting from surprise to relief to curiosity in the span of a half second. "Milord!"

Huh, sharp eyes on this one. Despite the dark, he managed to spot me in an instant. My small body was comfortably concealed among the wooden water holders. The task of spotting, never mind identifying, me was only made harder by the poor visibility that flickering torchlight provided.

"Sshhhhh! Not so loud, the others might hear." I inclined my head towards the direction of a sentryman further down the wall.

"Milord," he said again, matching my volume this time, "what are you doing here?"

"Thought I'd meet the new guard." I breathed in some of the cool, evening air. "That's you right?"

My answer, instead of sating his curiosity, fueled it. "Yes, milord." He shifted from one foot to the other, pieces of his chainmail jingling lightly.

"Good. Now, I'm about to come out and I'd appreciate it if you didn't stab me." I said jokingly, gesturing to his still drawn sword. He shakily sheathed his sword, nearly stabbing himself in his first attempt.

"Well, what's your name?"

"F-falric, milord." I looked at him expectantly. "From Brill," he added.

Frowning, I asked, "No family name?"

"My dad's a farmer," he murmured. It wasn't what Scholar Nort would call a non-sequitur for it was common knowledge that farmers never really adopted the practice of having a last name.

I took a closer look at him in the silence that followed. He had dark eyes and even darker hair, both which created a dichotomy with his skin. His muscled build spoke of the hardships he had growing up as a farmhand, and the way he stood vigil without even a cloak for warmth marked his as a true northerner.

"Are you really four and ten still?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I'll be five and ten in a few months."

"Even so, you'd be the youngest guardsman by a fair bit." Which was the truth. "No, the youngest guardsman in history!" He flushed under my praise. "Your dad must be proud."

Falric's face fell. "Not exactly. He wanted…he expected that I'd work the farm after 'im. He's happy for me; just not what he expected is all."

I could empathize, to a degree. My father loved me, I knew, but he certainly wouldn't be happy if I decided to abandon the Throne and be an adventurer or something.

"I best be on my way – mother will have if a fit if she finds me out of bed at this time of the night. Keep this between us, yeah?" I turned around, then remembering Scholar Nort's lesson from today, turned back to Falcric. "It was nice meeting you, Falric." I summoned the most charming smile I could muster.

"The pleasure was mine, milord."

I have, arguably, the worst luck in the world. The exact moment I took my first step down the flight of stairs, I heard a trumpet blast as if to herald a king, and something popped up. My entire range of vision was covered by this…thing. It was like looking through a glass window, if glass windows had writings on them.

Welcome Gamer! was all I managed to catch, before pain. Pain and nothingness.

I had never been so happy to be rendered unconscious.

-Gamecraft-

The moment I felt the sting, I knew I was still alive and that I was now awake.

The two words remained visible to me even with my eyes shut tight. Welcome Gamer!

Gamer, was that supposed to be me? But what game was I in and who else was playing? What was my objective? How do I win? How do I lose? About a dozen more questions were on my mind when more words appeared in answer to 'How does the game end?'

This Game ends with Death. Yes, Death with a capital 'D' for emphasis.

If the game wasn't lying to me, then that meant I would have to play. Encouraged by the answer, I continued to think more questions despite the fact that said answer filled me with equal parts dread and terror.

Instead of another answer though, I got a list.

Name: Arthas Menethil - That was me.
Class: The Gamer – That was apparently what I was.
Level: LV2

I paused, my pride bristling from the insult. I didn't know how significant these level thingies were, but a Crown Prince of Lordaeron is definitely was higher than a 2!

HP: 22/77

HP? What was that supposed to be?

HP stands for Health Points. The number on the left indicates your current health, while the one of the right is for your total health. When current health reaches 0, you die and this game ends.

It seemed this game didn't like me much. Whenever it answered me, it was always something to do with me dying. I frowned mentally, but didn't move physically. Movement, I could tell even without moving yet, was going to hurt. A lot.

MP: 78/78

Mana Points, I was guessing, for magecraft, sorcery and the arts of Dalaran. No new words appeared, so my guess was right. Probably. Then again, the 'this game hates me and won't respond unless it's to do with my death' theory could still be right.

STR: 7
AGI: 17
INT: 13
WIS: 6
VIT: 11
LUK: 6

These I had no idea what to make of.

These are your primary stats. They represent your current Strength, Agility, Intelligence, Wisdom, Vitality and Luck.

And that meant what exactly?

Increasing your primary stats has various effects, depending on which stat is raised. You also have secondary stats such as Health Points (HP), Mana Points (MP), Movement Speed (MS), Critical Strike Damage (CSD), Critical Strike Chance (CSC), and Perception (PER). To grow stronger, you must raise your stats, level and skill level!

How do I raise my stats? I waited a minute for the game, or perhaps the person behind the game to reply. None came.

You have gained a title!

Crown Prince of Lordaeron – As the Heir Apparent to one of the Eastern Kingdoms, there is a certain nobility in you that compels others to follow. Provides a bonus to your Battlefield Presence (locked).

You have gained the status effect Left Ankle Sprain! MS and AGI are reduced by 30%!

Slowly, and suffering from a great deal of pain, I peeled back my eyelids, as if awakening from a long wintersleep. In a way, I was.

It was bright in the room I was in, sunlight flowing freely inward from the windows by my bed. My eyes took longer than usual to adjust to the brightness. Considering I had just fallen face first into stone from a height of maybe thirty steps, I was feeling surprisingly well. Bruised and battered, but not bleeding and with nothing broken.

"Welcome back," said an unfamiliar voice. "Can you tell me your name?"

That was silly. Why would he ask me that? I was a prince – very few wouldn't know my name, though perhaps the person didn't recognize me? There were other kingdoms after all.

My lips opened, but no words came out. My throat itched, reminding me how parched I was. "Some water first?" the man, for the voice was too deep to be a woman's, asked. He didn't wait for my reply as he gently brought a glass of water to my lips.

"Arthas Menethil," I answered at last. "What's yours?" I asked, just to be polite.

"I am Cleric Abenthy. Do you remember what happened?"

"Fell down the stairs."

Cleric Abenthy nodded, pleased for some reason and I stared at him. No, not because he seemed pleased, but because of what I saw.

The Healing Hand
Cleric Abenthy Darrowhall
LV ?

I may not have met many people, but I'm pretty sure normal people didn't see floating words. Was I still human, then? Or did the 'Game' turn me into something else?

You are a Gamer. Not. helpful. At all.

"You gave your parents quite a scare, Prince Arthas. They had me rushed here to attend to you. Thankfully, you are young and healthy, and I was already in the city doing some research. There'll be no lasting damage to you, except maybe a fear of heights or stairs."

I snorted reflexively.

"Not that either then," Cleric Abenthy said with a small smile. "Would you like anything to eat?"

At the mention of eating and drinking, I became acutely aware of the hunger lurking inside me.

"Yes, please."

The cleric turned away, taking with him the words that graced his head like a halo. "Tell the kitchens to prepare a meal for the Prince. Some bread and plenty of vegetables, lightly cooked." My expression soured, but he was a cleric. He would know best. "A glass of milk as well, for his bones and some chicken or fish. And an apple, for dessert."

The cleric's face returned into view. "Now Prince Arthas, no doubt you might be feeling a bit weaker these next few days. If at any point you feel the need to rest, do not hesitate to do so. Understand?"

I moved my head in a way that suggested I did.

"Your left ankle was also-"

"Sprained?" I interrupted. Making testing circles with it made me wince.

"Yes, I have healed it, but I suspect it remains weakened. That means avoid doing anything strenuous for the next few days. Do you have any questions?"

"I…can I make a confession, Cleric?"

Abenthy's brows drew together, creating a dichotomy with his lips, which drew apart. "If you believe that your fall was the Light's retribution on you, I can assure you that it isn't. Accidents happen."

It was my turn to look confused. "Have you ever met anyone who actually thought that?"

"Your sister raised the point." His shoulders rose and fell in a nonchalant gesture. "I thought you might be the same."

"No. My confession isn't a repentance of sins or anything. It's just I-" My words failed me. You think it's to express what I was experiencing? It's like trying to explain what color was to a blind man!

It was a good thing that the cleric was a patient man, or so I assumed, because he continued to wait expectantly as I gathered my thoughts.

"This isn't a confession." I said finally. "At least, not the type you're used to."

"I've heard plenty of crazy things, My Prince," he said.

"You're going to think I'm crazy too. I'm pretty sure."

"Try me." So I did.

"I've been seeing things recently. Very recently. As recent as just before my accident. In fact, it's why I fell, because of what I saw." I looked at him meaningfully. He nodded, face completely serious. That was a good sign. "I see…I see words, Cleric."

"Words?" he repeated, the concern evident in his voice. "What sort of words? Can you understand them?"

"I can understand them easily. They're…well, in human tongue."

He relaxed visibly. "So it isn't a demonic corruption. Go on."

"The words, they float on air though I'm the only who can see them. At least, I think I am. It's…beyond strange. Like my eyes are looking through a window with writings on them."

"And the words, what do they say?"

My eyes opened again (when had I closed them?). "I'm constantly referred to as 'The Gamer'."

"The Gamer? What are you playing?" he asked, echoing one of the many unanswered questions I had asked.

I would have shrugged, if I wasn't lying on a bed. "I don't know. Life, maybe? The words aren't very helpful."

"And you're certain these words caused your fall?"

"I'm not very clumsy by nature. You can ask anyone that." I put as much confidence as I could into my voice. "No, I fell because I was taken by surprise by these words. It's not normal."

"I see." He stroked his chin contemplatively. "Do you have any more information? I could scour the libraries of Dalaran for an answer. If your condition has been studied, the answers will be there."

"Two more things, Cleric. First, it recognized me as the Crown Prince, and that gives me more 'Battlefield Presence', whatever that is. It also gave told me of my ankle being sprained. The second is that it shows me these numbers to describe my health, mana and attributes."

One of his brows shot up. "Now that is interesting."

"I'm honestly surprised you haven't written me off as a crazy person," I said.

"The thought has occurred to me, but then again, I've experienced cases similar to yours. Not in terms of what you're describing, that I must admit is new. Rather, cases where I thought the person I was treating was crazy, but further research proved them right. It's taught me not to discount things right away. Plus, the fact that your ankle did turn out sprained lends you some validity, at least."

"Do you think there's a cure for what I have?" I tried not to let my voice crack. Tried and failed miserably.

"If there is one, we'll find it." His words made me feel a little better. "But what you have might not necessarily be an affliction, Prince Arthas. What you've said so far seems to be a minor nuisance at best and not really dangerous. It might even be helpful for self diagnosis. You've had, what, half an hour to study the effects?"

"But you'll help me, right?" By the Light, I sounded pathetic.

"It's my vocation to help who I can. You are not the first to bring me an odd case, you won't be the last."

"Ok, I-"

'Ping!' went the familiar sound.

Making an excellent choice has increased your WIS by 1!

"Something the matter, Prince Arthas?" Abenthy asked.

I blinked a few times until the words cleared. "Just more words showing up. My 'Wisdom' has increased by 1 for making an excellent choice, which I take it refers to telling you my problem."

Abenthy grinned. "I'm starting to like these words."

"Not too much, I hope. We're trying to get rid of them after all."

"Not to worry there. I'll send my answers to you by courier when I find them."

My food chose to arrive then and there, bringing our conversation to an end.

-Gamecraft-

In four days, my health points recovered fully and my status effect disappeared. The day it did, I jumped around, and true enough, I was healed completely. Cleric Abenthy was right. This thing might have some uses after all.

Life continued normally for me, aside from this gamer thing popping up every once in a while. By now, I was used to it and updates (the pinging sound I would hear along with the new messages) no longer gave me pause.

What else, what else…Scholar Nort was pleased I was taking a greater interest in Mathematics, something I had never showed any enthusiasm for. That had given me +1 INT for 'diligent studying'. Why was I attacking Mathematics with all of my youthful vigor? Truthfully, I was trying to figure out the math behind my stats. I knew that an increase in my primary stats also had an effect on my secondary ones.

Case in point, my MP had increased twice. After gaining a point in WIS, it jumped to 91 and the +1 INT made it go to 98. It made sense that my secondary stats increased when my primary ones did, because there didn't seem to be a way to raise them directly.

By how much they increased I didn't understand yet. I had hoped it would increase by the same amount, but as my MP had proven, it was a tad more complex than that.

Oh, how could I forget. My mother grilled me for hours to be more careful next time and to stop sneaking off in the night where poor lighting made stairs a health hazard. Calia just loved that.

"Arthas, are you paying attention!" squeaked Scholar Nort. While the phrasing made it out to be a question, his tone suggested it wasn't. It was hard to take Nort seriously when he was angry. His voice, you see, had a tendency to rise in pitch. Made him sound like a mouse.

He Who Breaks and Makes
Scholar Nort Whitby
LV 16

"Sorry Scholar," I said flatly, going through the motions of apologizing for my inattention. "I was just thinking about Math again."

Nort sighed. "I wish you'd apply that enthusiasm of yours to your other subjects as well."

I slumped into my chair and crossed my arms. "I just don't see the point in learning history, of all things. Sure, Math might be helpful for counting taxes and knowing how much gold I'd need to start a project, but what does learning about dead people who did things a long time ago help?"

"Because if you paid more attention, Prince Arthas, you'd also know not only how much tax to raise for something, but also how much tax the people will shoulder. The Arathor Empire was undone precisely because they kept taxes raised so high even after the Troll Wars ended!" He looked ready to pull off his hair.

I was half-tempted to see it happen, but no doubt mother would give me that 'I'm disappointed' look of hers that always made me feel incredibly guilty even if I hadn't done anything wrong. That, and his title sounded pretty impressive, though I had no idea what it meant.

"Yes Nort. I'm sorry." Father always said that a wise king knew when to fight and when to flee.

"My words don't seem to be getting through to you anymore." He sighed. "Let's call it a day."

I obliged happily, practically skipping out of the room.

The Quest 'Apologizing to Nort' has been created!

-Apologize to Nort within the given time.

Reward: 150 XP
Failure Penalty: Decreased Closeness with Nort.

Duration: 00:05:00

I stared at it for half a minute. "You've got to be kidding me. Are you my mother or something?"

A timer began ticking down. Duration: 00:04:23

"Fine, fine! I'm going!" I grumbled, doing a full one-eighty degree turn and marching dutifully back into the library.

"Prince Arthas? Is something the matter?" I heard Nort say. He was still by the table where I left him, looking through some history tomes, it seemed.

"About what I said, Scholar Nort. I'm sorry. I really am." I gave him the most earnest look I could muster and the hard lines on his aged face softened.

"It's fine, Prince Arthas. I can't blame you all that much. A lad of seven can only be expected to sit still for so long. Now go, I have work to do."

I was out of the room before he changed his mind, temporarily ignoring the update I received. Only when I was a safe distance away did I stop to check on it.

The Quest 'Apologizing to Nort' has been completed!
+150 XP!

As far as quests go, gaining 'XP' seemed lame. Couldn't it give me something cool, like a magic sword?

Shrugging, I went on my way outside to enjoy the hours of sunlight left.

-Gamecraft-

Name: Arthas Menethil – The Crown Prince of Lordaeron
Class: Gamer
Level: LV 2
HP: 77/77
MP: 98/98

STR: 7
AGI: 17
INT: 14
WIS: 7
VIT: 11
LUK: 6