Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ The True and Wonderous History of Sir George O'Tech ❯ Chapter 1

The Curious History of Sir George O'Tech

This story is dedicated to Mademoiselle J. Merriman, a friend, anime fan, and inveterate hater of WoW. It is also dedicated to Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, one of the finest authors to ever set pen to paper, and to whom I am greatly indebted for this plot.

There was once a man who attended a small college in a little corner of the world; exactly where does not matter much, for he lived more of his life online than off, speaking with others from San Francisco, Seville, or Seoul more often than the man next door. Most often he met them whilst playing a MMORPG. On one server he was a righteous paladin; on another, a stealthy thief; on yet a third, he was the most dreaded necromancer to ever raise his staff. And that was for one game alone of the dozen he played.

The endless quests, the arcane leveling, the eternal lag– in time his reason became quite unseated by these and other wonders of the world online. Trying to puzzle out the meaning of such gamer's gems as 'Grp fr Iorn Froge nd Hlr plzm,' 'Atch Sprs 2Silv,' and 'GST 30G,' only drove him further from the ordinary world. At length he adopted the strangest fancy of any under the sun: seeing the desperate and lawless state of the world around him, he resolved to become a Paladin, to ride forth to vanquish evil and restore order.

Now, the first choice he faced was that of his name as a Paladin, for all who joined that noble order left their old names behind and chose anew. This man took the name of that sainted knight who slew the dragon; in taking thought for a surname, he decided to honour his soon-to-be-adoptive mother, who had taught him all he knew of circuits and stones, of rockets and networks. And so he went forth as Sir George O'Tech, though he had never knelt before a king, nor felt the flat of a sword. After all, no Paladin of the games ever endured such a ceremony. It was their custom to take up sword and armour and go into battle, and that was enough to secure their knighthood.

Now, it was true that Sir George had neither arms nor armour, nor indeed anything of real substance save for his computer. But his roommate owned a sword bought at a convention long ago; this sword stood in the same relation to a knight's weapon as a child's wagon to a Ferrari, but Sir George deemed it the equal of Joyeuse, Hrunting, Masamune, Durandal, Excalibur, Grospoliner, Narsil, or any dozen of the swords of legend (1). As for the matter of armour, Sir George reflected that Paladins were wont to find it in their travels, whether hidden in chests or in the keeping of fell beasts. His first kill would supply his grievous wants with a coat of shining mythril or a diamond blade. Likewise, a mount would appear once his level was high enough, a mighty steed that could run across mountains and oceans bearing a burden greater than Skidbladnir (2)

Thus resolved, Sir George girt on his sword, the roommate being in Palm Beach assisting a professor at a conference, and set out for the dining hall. To his eyes, it was a tavern, dark and musty, where travelers met and quests were given. In truth, the food and drink were little better (or maybe even a little worse, for there was no beer) than a Medieval tavern's. As he passed a table, a pale balding man said, 'I wish someone would get rid of those squirrels around my dorm.'

Straightway, Sir George announced he would exterminate the creatures: 'By the strength of my right hand, I swear, not one of them will remain on this campus by tomorrow morn.'

'Sure...you do that.' The pale man turned back to his friends and tried to forget their strange visitor. Sir George left the hall and made his way to the squirrel-plagued dorm. A full score of the creatures sat amidst the branches of a flowering pear tree, gnawing the last of their cached acorns from the fall. The knight bellowed a challenge and the creatures scattered, some climbing higher, others dropping from the limbs to seek another hiding place. He gave chase, though he weighed not one ounce less than twenty-five stone (3), swinging his purloined blade in fury.

So many strokes did he give, and so reckless were the squirrels, that he brained the first after little more than a quarter hour. As it happened, the corpse lay on a penny fallen from someone's pocket and Sir George took it as the spoils of battle, thinking it poor even for a first-level monster. The round knight searched for some token by which to prove he had slain the creature, but his sword had reduced the skull to pulp and it carried no badge. After much thought, he cut off the tail and stowed it in a little bag at his waist.

Passing students looked at him as at one daft. Towards noon, a short blonde man threw a pinecone at a squirrel as he passed the tree. Sir George lifted his sword and attacked. The blonde dodged the blow and shouted, 'Watch where you're swinging that thing!'

'Kill thief! Get your own squirrels!' Far from ceasing his assault, Sir George charged the other man intending to strike him down with one savage blow. The blonde took to his heels, gained the safety of the building, and slammed the door in the madman's face. Though he was so ungainly, the round knight was so close on his foe’s heels that the door nearly caught his nose. Triumphant, he returned to the field to slay more of the grey-furred rodents.

By the time night fell, Sir George had acquired a dozen tails and the squirrels had vanished. The knight counted his trophies and deemed his quest over since his foes had fled. He returned to the dining hall and sought the pale man. He was not at the table where he'd been at lunch, but sat several rows away. This greatly confused the round knight, for the NPCs who gave quests in his games never moved so much as a single inch from their stations. He dropped the bag of tails on the table and proclaimed, 'I have completed your quest. The squirrels no longer plague your building. Here is the proof.'

The pale man looked at him as at a lackwit. 'What the hell are you talking about? Everyone bitches about the squirrels. They’re never going away.' He opened the bag and threw it away from him so violently the tails sprayed across the floor. 'Get the hell away from me!'

'Not until you give me the reward for the quest,' Sir George said.

'What reward? I never asked you to go out and rip the tails off squirrels.' The knight half drew his sword and the pale man quailed. 'Fine, fine. No need to get violent. Here. Take it. I haven't used it yet.' The pale man thrust a hand into his pocket and threw the first thing he touched onto the table. It was a small tin of Carmex lip balm. 'It...umm...provides a small bonus to defense against wind attacks when applied to the lips.'

'Thank you.' Sir George took the Carmex and left the table. The pale man's friends laughed quietly until the door shut behind the round knight.

'"Small bonus to defense against wind attacks?" He actually bought that! How'd an idiot like that get into this school?'

'I dunno, man,' the pale man said. 'But that stuff does help chapped lips. And there are twelve squirrels out there that will never bother us again.' They looked at the tails scattered across the floor and turned to less disturbing topics, like the new baseball season.

Sir George dined on what was alleged to be barbequed pork and mashed potatoes, but could as easily have been boiled rat and quicksand. Sated, he returned to his dorm to rest from the day's exertions. Killing the squirrels had been very disappointing from the looting standpoint: only a single copper and the tails. But he reflected that they at least dropped the quest item frequently. Too often he had had to slay scores or hundreds of beasts to complete a quest.

Morning came and Sir George set out in search of a new quest, hopefully one with a good reward. It occurred to him that many people frequented the Student Center, and quite a few of them were certain to have quests to give. With this in mind, he turned his steps to the center of campus. Along the way, he espied a man jogging along the path. The jogger shone in the morning sun; he wore a suit of full plate armour with a visored helm that covered his face. The round knight immediately drew his sword and attacked. The borrowed weapon struck true on the armoured man's shoulder, but the blow had no more effect than to enrage him. He spun around to face his attacker and said, 'Whaddaya know? The stuff does work. But I can't have you denting it, can I?'

The man knocked the sword from Sir George's hand and proceeded to give him such a thrashing with his steel-clad fists that, were it not for his natural padding, the round knight's bones would have been reduced to jelly. A redheaded girl carrying a blacksmith's hammer dashed out from the nearest building and shouted, 'What the hell are you doing, Andreas? I didn't make that thing for you to go around beating on people in it. Come on, it's time to test the articulation. Or do you want to test it against blunt trauma?' She hefted the hammer and advanced on the combatants. Andreas babbled an apology and followed his colleague into the building.

The round knight lay as one dead for a long time, and no passer-by lifted a hand in his aid. Many whispered stories about the mad squirrel hunter to companions or cell phones. At length, he tried to move his limbs and found that he was in fact alive, though in such pain that he wished it otherwise. With no little effort, he rose to his feet and thought, I'll come back after I level a little. I hope he drops that armour.

Several students lay sunning themselves in the dry fountain outside the Student Center as the round knight approached. One or two were even female. Sir George paid them no mind and entered the building. As it happened, his school's Gamers' Association was sponsoring a miniature convention that weekend. People wandered about in costume; others wore T-shirts with various characters and logos. A blonde in chainmail wielding sword and target met him at the door. 'Welcome to Mage Trek!' she said.

The round knight looked at her and said, 'You're really a guy, aren't you? Real girls don't hang around places like this.'

'What did you say?' The blonde drew her sword and leveled it at Sir George's throat. Even a blind man would pronounce her female (though only when very close), and she was quite proud of the fact.

'You want a duel? You're on!' Sir George drew his weapon and attacked. The girl caught the blow on her target. The weight of Sir George's arm drove her back, but she darted back in and landed a solid hit on his flank. Her blade was dull and the knight too well padded to feel the blow. He attacked again and the girl stepped to one side. Sir George's sword bounced off the tile floor and he staggered forward. The blonde smashed her shield's iron boss into her foe's face and the round knight fell flat on his back. The girl wandered off as he bled, muttering about the need to clean her gear.

'Oi! Geddup, you're blocking the door.' Something hard prodded him below the ribcage and Sir George groaned. The man (for it was a man's voice Sir George heard) prodded him again and said, 'Come on, I'm not picking you up. You get up yourself or I roll you down the stairs.'

The Student Center's stairs rose four stories high: the building stood on the side of a hill and the street entrance was four stories above the back one. If a man were to roll down the full length, hitting the rails at every turning, no sorcery would make him whole again. As the round knight reflected on this, a third kick rolled him over onto his face, causing his nose to bleed anew. He saw the boot draw back to send him over the edge and cried out, 'I'm getting up! I'm getting up! Don't kick me again.'

Once on his feet, Sir George looked over the man who had kicked him. He was a tall man, muscular and balding despite his youth. His black T-shirt read 'Security' in large white letters. A guard, Sir George thought. Maybe he knows where I can find quests or a trainer. Before he could frame a question, the balding man thrust a sheet of folded paper at him. 'Here. Everything you need to know about the con. Bathroom's over there. Go clean yourself up.'

The guard pointed across the floor to the universal sign for a commode hanging over a recessed door. Sir George espied a half dozen young men emerging from the chamber, all wearing the colours of his school's greatest football rival. He drew himself up grimly and marched across the floor with one hand on his sword hilt. He met them on the other side of the stairwell and demanded, 'What are you doing here? Get back to your own campus!'

The six looked at the round knight and laughed. He stood six feet tall, and as many wide, and he was quite nearly bald with a flattened nose that gave him the appearance of a bipedal pig. The largest of the six, a slim redhead who wore a Megaman shirt, stood forward and asked, 'And how do you plan to make us do that? There are six of us and one of you.'

'A Paladin's faith is enough to overcome any number of foes.' With this, the round knight drew his sword and charged the spoksman. The man in the Megaman shirt stepped to one side and held out his foot. Sir George fell on his face and his nose bled anew. The six laughed and began debating what to do with their fallen foe. At length, they decided to roll him down the stairs. The rails buckled every time he hit, but he eventually reached the bottom and rolled to the lower doors.

'Oh my god! Are you alright?' A girl in a Final Fantasy White Mage's robes opened the doors to find the fat man bleeding at his feet. He stirred and croaked two words before falling unconscious:

'Phoenix down.'

'Another case from that school. I always knew those games were trouble.' Sir George woke to older man's voice. He opened his eyes and saw that he was in a hospital bed. The doctor looked down and said, 'Ah, you're awake. How do you feel?'

The round knight made no answer except for a groan. The doctor smiled gently and said, 'Well, nothing seems broken, fortunately. We'll have you back on your feet in no time.'

For the first week after his release, Sir George seemed as sane a man as any, though he returned to his steady gaming diet as soon as he set foot in his room. One day in the dining hall, he overheard a freshman say, 'I wish someone would get rid of those stray dogs that prowl around Hodgson at night.'

No sooner had she spoken than Sir George declared that he would undertake the task and rid the dorms of the strays. Before anyone could stop him, he returned to his dorm and searched for his roommate's sword. He girt it about his waist and set forth on a second sally, destined, he was sure, to be more glorious than the first.

Notes:

1) Joyeuse, Hrunting...Narsil... These are the swords of Charlemagne, Beowulf (on loan from Unferth), a 'legendary' sword from many role-playing games (most notably Chrono Trigger and the Final Fantasy series), Roland, King Arthur, Katsumi Liqueur and Elendil, respectively.
Roland was a French knight of the court of Charlemagne, who fell in battle against the Moors at the battle of Roncevalles covering the French army's retreat from Spain. Katsumi is the main character of the anime and manga series Silent Mobius. Elendil was a descendent of Earendil, and an ancestor of Aragorn; he led the Numenorean exiles who landed in Middle Earth after the island sank beneath the waves. The others are famous enough to require no introduction. Masamune is more properly the name of a swordsmith, but it has been frequently enough used as the name of a sword that I do so here.

2) Skidbladnir is the ship of Frey wrought by the Dwarven sons of Ivaldi. The ship could hold all the Aesir with all their gear, and yet it could be folded up and place in a man’s pocket. Also, it always receives a favouring wind when its sail is raised. Or so says the Prose Edda.

3)Twenty-five stone 350 pounds; one stone is fourteen pounds.

This work is entirely fictitious. Any resemblance to any person, place, or events, past or present, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Remember that all stereotypes, particularly recently developed ones, are based in some part on truth.