The Inner Circle

“If my husband should fall in battle, I pray to god that I may follow. Sword against shield—hear them rattle, our hymn to glory, your screams ring hollow.” -Hymn of the Wolf-Queen

I stood atop the westernmost tower of my castle, studying the lands that extended in the same direction. My arms were crossed behind my back. My armor gleamed in the evening sun, and my cape fluttered in the gentle autumn breeze that stirred through the city below me.

The area around my demesne was indeed different, starkly so. Where once thick forest had obfuscated our position on all sides—a decision I had made in-game to protect my lands from possible raiders—now low hills rolled into a distant mountain range. I turned in a full circle, observing the hills turn to plainland in the south, and sparse woods in the east.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“That has yet to be determined, Your Excellency,” Gerard said. I glanced at him, and he bowed his head. “I apologize, we are working as fast as we can.”

Somehow, I had been transported into the game physically. I could feel my body, the muscles and bones and blood of a living, breathing person. At first I had assumed that an update changed some of the game parameters, and the new sensations were part of a revamped ‘senses’ mod, but as I tried everything in my power to log out, I had come to grips with my new reality. This was not a game anymore.

“Are there any signs of magic being used?” I asked.

“None. As far as we can tell, we shifted to this location in some manner that does not require the use of magic. Plus…” Gerard trailed off, his impassive face giving no hint of concern.

“Magic at this scale would be difficult even for me,” I said, nodding.

“Indeed, Your Excellency.”

I waved for him to follow, and began my descent to the ground floor. The spiralling staircase was narrow, and the steps were purposefully uneven, a tactic I had learned from a documentary about castle construction.

“Gather the other squadron leaders,” I said. “And the Commander. She should hear what I have to say, as well.”

“As you wish,” Gerard said, and slipped past me to rush down the stairs.

Finding myself alone for the first time since realizing I had become my player character, I let out an anxious breath. I had been role playing a king for the better part of two years, and the act had become less forced as time went on. In fact, it would not be remiss of me to say that it had become my natural state. Now that it was required of me, however, I found it grating.

I stopped walking, and tried to pull up the menu again. Nothing happened, and I sighed, leaning against the exterior wall. “The hell am I going to do now?” I wondered aloud. My eyes followed the curve of the staircase down. “Well, first things first, I should speak with my vassals.”

*****

I strode into the throne room with purpose, my back straight and my face the picture of confidence. My left hand rested on my sword hilt, the smooth pommel providing some modicum of stability to my raging emotions. Keeping up the mask was hard work, but it was necessary—a king should never give in to the base emotions of fear or anxiety.

“Your Excellency,” the group of knights assembled at the foot of the throne intoned. There were five of them, three men and two women.

Gerard was the first, clad in his Lupine Paladin armor. He was on one knee, head bowed alongside the other four, but his bearing was more at ease than the rest, likely a byproduct of being the only one to have an idea of what was happening.

“Gerard first,” I said. “Raise your head. Gather all of the Lupine Paladins and enter the city—your job will be to make sure our citizens do not cause an uproar. Stability in my demesne is of the utmost importance, do not fail me.” I said.

“As you command,” Gerard said, and stood, hustling out of the throne room. The Lupine Paladins were the judicial arm of the military, tasked with passing judgement on criminals and holding up the rule of law across my lands, thus martial law fell under their purview.

“Emile, you may raise your head. Report,” I said.

A thin man draped in a loose fitting brown tunic looked up at me. He had long black hair pulled back into an unkempt ponytail, and piercing blue eyes. His face was disheveled and haggard, but his gaze was resolute. He was the leader of my intelligence gathering division, the Stalking Pack. “Your Excellency, all of our operatives stationed out-of-country have failed to respond. Those still inside the demesne have reported the same thing we observed—one moment the land around us was familiar, and the next it was not. No one has found a reason, as of yet.”

I frowned, and tapped my finger against the arm of my chair. It made sense that the Lupine Paladin scouts would not know what happened, as they were less inclined towards information gathering, but if the Stalking Pack had not uncovered the truth then it may prove to be impossible. “Is that all?”

“No, Your Excellency. In addition, panic has begun to set in amongst the populace. Some in the Black Guild have already called for open rebellion, though that faction is currently a minority.” Emile said.

“Understood. Perhaps it is time to be rid of them.”

“I would gladly eliminate them for you, Your Excellency,” Emile said, hand over his heart.

“No need, I will see to it. For now, gather information on their enclaves and movements—we mustn’t let any slip through the cracks.”

“As you wish,” he said, and left on silent feet.

“Freyja, report.” I glanced at the blonde woman still bowing before me. She was dressed in ornate armor—a steel cuirass with a wolf head etched in gold across the chest, under which she wore a long sleeve chainmail shirt. Her arms were clad in decorated armor—pauldrons and rondels styled to look like roses, and couters, vambraces, and gauntlets in the same gold as her chest plate. Greaves and sabatons covered her feet, and a bevor etched with a leaf pattern hid her chin and mouth from view. Her helmet rested on the floor, the visor bearing a different wolf-like visage from the Lupine Guard. Her face was nothing short of lovely, save for the grotesque scar that ran from the bridge of her nose across her left cheek. Piercing green eyes looked at me over the lip of her bevor.

“Your Excellency, the Alphas stand ready at your order,” she said.

“No other reports?” I asked.

“No, Your Excellency,” she said, still looking at the ground.

“Eyes up, Freyja.”

She looked up, meeting my gaze for a moment before glancing away. A soft blush graced her features. “What do you require, my Lord?”

Freyja was another of my personal creations, though the scar across her face was the result of an in-game event in which she defended my life against an assassin. Even when she was just a character, her scar had been a source of embarrassment for her. She was the only human I had created.

The Alphas were the guardians of the demesne, a group of elite fighters that composed the city garrison. Most of them specialized in ranged combat, such as crossbows or magic, with a small reserve of melee fighters. “Double check the walls, and expedite any repairs that may be necessary,” I said, then paused to think for a moment. “In addition, seal the gates and underground entrances. We don’t know what’s out there, so go on high alert.”

“Yes, Your Excellency,” she said, and extricated herself.

“Tremaine, report.”

The last man in the room other than me lifted his head without permission, and grinned up at me. His face was babyish, and his short red hair was perfectly coiffed. “My Lord, the Den Builders stand ready.”

Tremaine’s easy smile annoyed me, but I paid it no mind. Like Emile and Gerard, he was not a custom NPC, instead I had recruited his grandfather because of his impeccable masonry. Over time, Tremaine’s father, and then the man himself, had come into my employ. Tremaine was by far the best engineer I had ever encountered in the game, possessed of a sharp mind for construction. His engineering division was responsible for maintaining the castle infrastructure, building roads, and constructing forward bases during campaigns. They were also the pool from which I drew most of our logistics officers. In other words, while they were not a combatant unit, they were indispensable for warfare. “Good. I am placing you under Freyja for the time being, to assist in checking our defenses.”

“Aw man, come on,” Tremaine groaned. “She’s going to ride my ass like a slave driver. Oh fine, as you command.”

He too left, leaving me alone with the last of my elite leaders. I stood from my throne, stepped off the dais, and reached a hand down toward her. “Margaret, rise.”

Margaret Gran looked up at me, her inky black hair framing her slender face. Two tufted wolf ears stood tall on her head, twitching with emotion. Her eyes were deep pools of dark crimson, with a spark of intelligence behind them far beyond what the others possessed—a feature she had held even when she was nothing more than an NPC. She wore heavy black plate armor, glistening mail peeking out at the joints, and at her hip hung a war hammer styled to look like a wolf.

“Your Excellency,” she said, and took my hand, pulling herself up.

“None of that,” I said.

“Of course, my husband. What do you require of me?” Margaret asked. She was the last of my custom NPCs, and the one I had grown closest to. Now that she was a living, breathing person, it felt strange and awkward to hear her call me ‘husband.’

“Walk with me, we have much to discuss,” I said, and held her hand. She gave me a soft smile, and we interlocked fingers, walking toward the personal exit hidden behind my throne. Demna followed us, keeping a respectable distance.