Arcade Of The Arcane | Urban Folklore-Inspired Sleep Story

Travel to a land of 8-bit adventure in tonight's folklore-inspired sleep story.

Sleep and Sorcery is a folklore and fantasy-inspired sleep series.

My name is Laurel,

And I'll be your guide on tonight's fantastical journey.

Sleep and Sorcery is one part bedtime story,

One part guided meditation,

And one part dreamy adventure.

Follow along with my voice for as long as it serves you,

And when you're ready,

Feel free to let go of the story and relax into sleep.

If you're still awake as the story concludes,

I'll guide you through a brief meditation for joy and playfulness.

In tonight's story,

You are the new owner of a beloved local video game arcade.

One day,

You receive a delivery of a vintage game cabinet.

A game you've somehow never heard of.

What's more,

The cabinet doesn't work,

And so it gathers dust in the corner of the arcade while you figure out what to do with it.

Until one night,

The game suddenly powers up by itself,

Enticing you to play.

In your playthrough,

You discover an easter egg,

Which turns out to be much more than that.

It's a doorway into a world of 8-bit adventure,

Of which you are the hero.

This is the real secret of life,

To be completely engaged with what you are doing in the here and now,

And instead of calling it work,

Realize it is play.

The sound of comfort to you is not ocean waves,

Or thunder and curtains of rain,

Not even fuzzy white noise.

To you,

The sound of relaxation is the rhythmic square wave,

The cascading trill of bleeps and bloops,

The noise of bumpers and bells,

Of ski balls hitting the gutter,

Of coins clanking in a pile.

You feel at home in this synthesis of noise,

Which might to others be only a chorus of chaos,

But somehow for you,

It blends seamlessly into a backdrop of sweeping nostalgia.

It's the sound of your childhood,

Of pockets heavy with quarters,

Of huddling over a classic video game cabinet,

Shoulder to shoulder with your best friends,

The excitement mounting as you finally reach the end screen of that unbeatable game.

It's the sound of freedom,

Of a time when all that mattered was reaching into your empty pocket,

And finding one more coin stuck in the lining,

Which meant one more play.

A time when you'd spend whole afternoons in those darkened rooms,

Solving puzzles and slaying dragons,

Until your folks came to pick you up.

Life was simple then,

Even if it didn't feel like it at the time.

Still,

How can you complain when you've grown up to live the dream?

The old arcade on the county line,

The wizard's keep,

Where you whiled away those childhood hours,

It's yours now.

Saving this place from foreclosure was the adventure of your life,

And you've spent the last eight months working hard to bring the arcade back to its former glory.

That hasn't been easy.

Running any kind of business is hard,

But the keep presents unique challenges.

For one,

Arcades aren't nearly as popular as they once were.

Then,

There's the upkeep of dozens of aging game cabinets and other attractions.

You've become something of a jack-of-all-trades,

Learning basic mechanical maintenance and wiring,

In addition to your customer-facing duties.

The wizard's keep has certainly evolved under your care.

You now sell comics and merchandise from local creators,

And you host gaming tournaments and community events to keep people engaged.

But you take pride in what you've been able to preserve.

The keep has always been known for its collection of classic sword and sorcery games,

Which you've maintained in excellent condition,

Despite the numerous collectors who've offered great sums to acquire them.

You feel it would be a betrayal to sell the cabinet,

Not only a betrayal of your childhood love for them,

But of the original owner of the keep,

Don,

Who is a local hero in your eyes.

Even though he's retired,

He still comes by every now and then to see how you're doing.

He's become a real mentor and friend,

And you owe him the world.

But the thing you're proudest of,

Beyond merely keeping the lights on or preserving the classic games,

Is the community you've supported in and around the wizard's keep.

Arcades may not be the most popular form of entertainment anymore,

And you might not have lines around the block for a new release.

But there is a dedicated,

Close-knit coterie of people who love the space you've created.

There are kids who come by almost every afternoon after school,

And they're not zoning out in front of the games.

They're making friends,

Learning to solve problems and puzzles together,

Trading cards,

Flipping through comic books.

It feels almost like you've created a portal to the past,

To a childhood that looks a lot like yours,

Filled with whimsy and imagination and fantasy.

There's one kid,

Jenny,

A freshman in high school,

Who's a real whiz.

She even puts you to shame with her skill and knowledge about classic games.

As much as you love to play,

You can't say you were ever the attention-to-detail type.

But Jenny has an almost encyclopedic knowledge of the history of video games from the golden age on,

And she has an uncanny knack for locating the elusive easter egg.

These hidden clues that unlock secret messages,

Features,

Or alternate gameplay for the eagle-eyed gamer have a long history in the video game world,

And Jenny is your unofficial hunter,

Cracking the codes as easily as eggshells.

The first thing she does when she starts any new game is try out a famous cheat code known as the Konami Code.

Up,

Up,

Down,

Down,

Left,

Right,

Left,

Right,

B,

A.

This code,

Which originated in an 80s game as an assist for game testing and was mistakenly left in the game by developers after it launched,

Has been adapted by numerous game makers to reward players,

Sometimes unlocking extra lives,

Resources,

Or other easter eggs.

So far,

Jenny's found eight or nine games in the arcade that use the Konami Code in some fashion.

Just now,

She's huddled over the screen of her favorite adventure game,

Furiously pressing buttons,

Trying to beat her high score,

Presumably.

It's just about closing time,

So you'll have to send her home soon,

But it seems a shame to interrupt her gameplay.

Over the blanket of beeps and buzzes of the arcade comes another sound,

The swinging open of the front door.

I'm so sorry we're closed,

You begin to say,

But you stop as you turn toward the entrance.

There's a stocky man in a delivery uniform,

Silhouetted in the doorway against the setting sun.

He holds a clipboard and wears a bemused expression.

Is this the,

Uh,

He looks down at his clipboard.

Wizards keep?

He barely keeps the chuckle out of his voice.

Yeah,

You respond.

Sorry,

I wasn't expecting a delivery today.

But the courier is already swinging the door wide and wheeling in a hand truck.

Your eyes widen as you see what's balanced on the cart.

A game cabinet,

Nearly the height and width of the door.

Deftly,

The courier maneuvers it through the narrow doorway,

Though it's a close call,

Managing not to get so much as a scratch on the polished wood.

He cautiously tips the hulking box down and hands you the clipboard expectantly.

You gape,

Then reiterate that you didn't order the item and weren't prepared to accept a new game anytime soon.

The courier,

Unbothered,

Confirms your name and the address of the shop.

Then points to the delivery line on his paperwork.

Dumbfounded,

But knowing you can't reasonably send the cabinet back onto the truck,

You sign.

The paperwork is conspicuously missing any detail on who placed the order for the game's delivery,

But you continue scouring your copy as the courier takes his back.

Where do you want it?

He asks with a grunt,

Hoisting the handcart back onto its wheels.

You are still in shock at the surprise delivery,

But you manage to put on a professional demeanor.

You direct him to a row of vintage games,

Where there's just the right size bit of square footage.

Fitting the cabinet into place is like directing the blocks of a Tetris game,

But the courier makes it work.

He's out the door before you know it,

Leaving you scratching your head before the unexpected game.

In all the commotion,

You'd forgotten Jenny was still here,

Battling for her high score.

But now she pops out from behind her game to examine the delivery.

New game?

She says,

Barely containing the note of eagerness in her voice.

I don't know,

You say.

Old game,

It looks like.

Now,

You properly take in the cabinet for the first time.

It's constructed almost entirely of wood,

But the grain and polish are so fine,

You can't imagine its particle board.

It almost resembles solid oak,

As if the whole thing was carved from one great,

Wizened tree.

You feel along the sides,

Admiring the craftsmanship,

And your fingers find grooves and crannies.

Symbols,

Or runes of some kind,

Carved into the surface.

And above the embedded video screen,

Engraved in heavy,

Gothic lettering on the marquee,

Is one word.

Arcane.

You ever hear of this one?

You say to Jenny,

Gesturing at the title.

Don't think so,

She responds.

But hey,

Isn't there an old game called Arcana?

Could be a mistake,

Or a variant?

I don't know,

You say.

Something tells you this isn't a variant of a known property,

But something else entirely.

You feel a little prickle at the back of your neck,

A feeling of strange excitement and uncertainty.

There's only one thing to do.

Plug the game in,

And see what you have on your hands.

But for some reason,

You hesitate.

Maybe because this feeling of anticipation and mystery is so scintillating,

You're loathe to let it go.

To make solid,

The infinite pathways of possibility that now form in your mind.

You reach for the cord.

As you plug the game in,

The whirs and chimes and bleeps you expect never come.

You check the display and coin slots for any sign of life.

You press a few buttons,

And search for a control panel to manually power on the game.

But it's no use.

The thing's dead,

You say.

Shame,

Says Jenny.

It looks cool.

Maybe I can get it serviced,

You muse.

But I don't even see a manufacturer's mark on this thing.

I can do some research tonight,

Jenny pipes up,

Her voice bright with enthusiasm for a digital mystery.

Just make sure you do your homework first,

You laugh.

I'm going to close up,

But I'll give Don a call.

Maybe he ordered it,

Maybe even before I took over.

Half an hour later,

With the keep closed,

And the sound of the arcade reduced to the white noise of humming routers,

You are counting out the drawer when there's a knock at the door.

Don,

The former owner of the wizard's keep,

Waves in at you.

Tall and thin,

With kind eyes that twinkle behind his thick spectacles,

Don's age barely shows.

A lifetime of working in fun and games has kept him young,

You suppose.

You lead him to the back,

To look at the mysterious new cabinet.

Don insisted on the phone that he had nothing to do with its delivery,

But he agreed to come by and have a look anyway,

See if it jogged anything.

Arcane,

He says,

Reading the marquee,

A note of intrigue in his voice.

What an unusual model.

Just like you,

He runs his hands over the solid wood cabinet,

Admiring it.

But you say it doesn't boot up.

You confirm.

We seem to have a mystery on our hands,

Don smiles.

You discuss what to do with the thing.

Since you don't know its origin,

Getting the cabinet serviced seems like a long shot.

Given the extraordinary design,

It might fetch a pretty penny at auction for a collector,

Or someone equipped to restore it with new game software.

That kind of coin,

You think,

Could keep the arcade in the black for a little longer.

The thing is,

Despite the game only having arrived an hour ago under unusual circumstances,

You already hesitate to part with it.

It's an object of fascination and curiosity,

A mystery waiting to be unraveled.

Jenny comes back after school next day with a few pages of research she printed out at the library.

Articles on vintage cabinet constructions,

Some write-ups of mysterious and legendary arcade games like Polybius,

And real games like Arcana and Tempest that might be connected.

Online auction listings,

Defunct independent game manufacturers.

It's all marvelously thorough,

But hardly concrete.

The mystery of the arcane cabinet remains unsolved.

Irregulars all stop to admire it,

Lamenting that there's nothing to play,

And the cabinet even draws onlickers from regional gaming circles.

A few ask your permission to post about it on message boards,

But no one turns up anything useful.

You call around for service providers who might be able to get it working,

Or even outfit it with another ROM,

But no one can figure out how to get the cabinet open without damaging it.

And so it sits silent,

Refusing to give up its secrets.

You chuckle to think that the biggest draw of The Wizard's Keep is,

In fact,

An unknown,

Unplayable game haunting the corner of the arcade.

Two weeks go by without answers.

You conclude that you'll have to part with the game,

As disappointing as it is.

After closing for the evening,

You upload a few photos of the cabinet to an online auction site.

You wring your hands over a starting bid.

Your cursor hovers over the button to launch the listing.

You inhale.

Just as you let the breath go,

Preparing to press the button and open the cabinet for bidding,

There is a shift in the sonic landscape of The Wizard's Keep.

Were you not so finely tuned to the polyphony of the arcade,

You might not have noticed it.

But there it is.

A new,

Low hum.

A spinning disc.

An eerie tone.

You feel goosebumps climb the skin on your arms.

The new sound is like a new presence in the empty arcade.

But it's familiar,

Benevolent even,

If your instincts are to be trusted.

You stand from the computer and feel yourself drawn,

Tugged at,

Reeled in toward the once quiet corner where stands the arcane cabinet.

Your heart jumps when it comes into view.

At first,

All you can see is a vague,

Blinking light.

You draw nearer.

And yes,

The monitor,

Embedded in that oaken cabinet,

Is illuminated.

One word,

And a blinking dash beside it.

Start.

Your hands know what to do,

Long before your mind catches up with them.

You settle in before the cabinet,

Eyes glued to the blinking monitor.

You begin to play.

What awaits beyond the startup screen are several lines of expository text introducing you to the world of arcane.

Welcome,

Traveler,

It reads.

To the realm of Leucadia.

You have arrived in a dark time.

The once peaceful kingdom has fallen into chaos and war.

The only one with the power to restore order and bring harmony to the realm is the legendary wizard Arceus,

Who once mastered the elements of earth,

Air,

Fire,

And water.

But Arceus has not been seen since the turn of the last century.

Did he perish?

Or did he vanish into exile when the world broke?

No one knows.

But legend has it that he waits,

Trapped in a hidden tower,

For a new world to be forged.

There is,

However,

A prophecy.

One day a hero will rise.

This hero will revive Arceus by bringing forth his four magical tools.

The quest is simple,

But far from easy.

For the artifacts were scattered to dangerous corners of our world.

Where the risk is great,

The rewards are greater.

And the task falls,

So the prophecy says.

To you,

Sir Dayne of Nightfall.

Will you accept your destiny?

Now two options flash on the screen.

Yes and no.

But for you there is only one option.

As you accept the quest,

The text on the screen disappears and is replaced with imagery.

Four rectangles,

Each enclosing an 8-bit icon.

A goblet.

A sword.

A wand or a torch of some kind.

And a circle.

Containing a star.

These you take for the four magical objects that must be gathered to win the game.

You study the designs and commit them to memory.

Then advance to the next screen.

What awaits is a fairly classic adventure game.

Like a dungeon crawler.

With various labyrinthine chambers seen from a bird's eye view.

For the player character,

Sir Dayne,

To explore.

The 8-bit animation may be rudimentary.

But there's something elegant in its simplicity.

You maneuver the little knight through the passages,

Picking up resources along the way.

Elf potions.

Gold coins.

Scrolls of text that offer clues to the locations of your artifacts.

The gameplay is so natural.

So uncomplicated.

That you're almost taken aback.

To think a cabinet shrouded in so much mystery holds a standard adventure game.

You keep playing.

And you find yourself navigating a maze of passageways in a dungeon.

Wherein only the part of the screen occupied by your character is illuminated.

You move up and down.

Forward and back.

Searching the chamber for any objects or clues.

But there doesn't seem to be anything to find.

You're stumped.

All right,

Arcane,

You mutter to yourself.

You got me.

What am I missing?

You squint at the screen.

Convinced there's some puzzle or pattern you need to uncover in order to obtain one of the objects.

Then your gaze settles on the controls.

The joystick.

And the buttons beneath your fingers.

You wonder.

And then,

Because there's nothing to lose,

You enter the Konami code.

Up.

Up.

Down.

Down.

Left.

Right.

Left.

Right.

B.

A.

For a fraction of a second,

You assume it has no effect.

This game seems older than the famous cheat code,

After all.

But then the screen flickers quickly.

So quickly,

It could even be a trick of your eyes.

So accustomed to dim corners and neon signs.

Now,

You look to the tiny 8-bit figure of Sirdain.

For now he is flickering,

As the rest of the screen stays still.

Then,

Blinking,

You realize there are two of him.

Another night,

Another 8-bit character in similar garb has appeared just beside him.

Good,

You think.

A character you can ask for help.

But then the screen changes again.

The dungeon disappears,

Though the two nearly identical characters remain.

Around the edges of the screen,

A border materializes.

And your gaze tracks its simple motion.

It's an 8-bit serpent,

Circling the screen.

Its mouth almost grasping its own tail.

And above the two characters,

There is a line of text.

Enter world mode?

It seems you've found more than an easter egg.

You've unlocked a whole alternate mode of gameplay.

You can't wait to share this game with others.

But for now,

You're ready to play on,

Discovering the game's arcane secrets.

You accept the game's invitation to enter world mode.

The screen goes dark.

And then a moment later,

So does the arcade.

You press a few buttons and find the game unresponsive.

You listen for the hum of routers and find near silence.

An ill-timed power outage.

Shame,

You think,

When the game was just about to get interesting.

Arms out before you,

To keep from running into anything.

You move in the general direction of the front door.

Or there will at least be moonlight through the glass.

You'll get a flashlight and investigate.

Maybe the new cabinet simply drew so much power,

It tripped a breaker.

But you find the floor beneath your feet less smooth than usual.

You stumble a few times,

Disoriented.

But there is light ahead,

Further away than the arcade doors should be,

And warmer in tone than moonlight.

But surely,

That's just your eyes adjusting to the unexpected darkness.

You move cautiously toward the glimmer.

And then you realize.

It's not moonlight.

It's fire.

A torch held in the hand of a stranger.

He turns,

The chainmail shirt reflecting the dance of his torch flame.

It reflects in his eyes,

Too,

Which widen,

Then soften.

As he beholds you.

You're awake,

He says.

I suppose you got lost down here,

Too.

Well,

You seem all right now.

Here,

Take this.

It should restore your strength.

The stranger holds out a flask to you.

You recognize it,

Though it exists now in three dimensions.

It looks just like the healing potion you picked up in the game.

You regard the man before you,

His nightly garments,

The scabbard at his hip.

This stranger is none other than Sir Dane of Nightfall,

The player character in Arcane.

The world comes into focus by torchlight.

Your eyes drink in your surroundings.

All is strange and twinkling,

Not quite solid.

You look down at your hands,

Your body,

The way it moves with a fluid transience through the air.

Here and there you catch the flicker of pixels out of place,

Like you're glimpsing the hidden particles that make up reality,

Which typically hide behind a veil of cohesion.

You walk alongside Sir Dane,

Who seems more than eager to share everything he knows about the world of the game with you.

He's been searching for the four artifacts of the wizard Arceus,

But he has yet to discover where any of them are hidden.

From the lore he's studied,

However,

It appears that each artifact can only be achieved by passing a test of some kind,

And he thinks he's onto something here.

The clues he's collected allude to the lair of a dragon that can be accessed through these tunnels.

If he's read them right,

The dragon guards one of the four artifacts.

You nod along helplessly,

Still dumbfounded at how you came to be here,

Your feet falling on damp earth instead of arcade floors.

Dane puts an arm out to stop you,

Then holds a finger to his lips.

Do you hear that?

He whispers.

You listen.

Yes,

There's a faint rumbling.

It seems to be coming from somewhere above you.

For a few moments,

You and Sir Dane hold as still as possible,

Listening.

It has a distinct rhythm to it,

This low rumble.

As you inhale and exhale,

Mindlessly sink to it,

You realize it has the rhythm of something like breath,

But grander,

Vaster.

In your mind's eye,

You can almost see the dragon it belongs to.

Breathing in.

Breathing out.

Breathing in.

No,

Not just breathing,

Snoring.

In the chamber above your heads,

There is,

You believe,

A sleeping dragon.

Torch in hand,

Dane searches for a way into the chamber overhead.

But you seem to have reached a dead end in the passageways.

Together,

You look for any fallen objects,

Clues,

Anything.

This is,

After all,

A game,

Even if Sir Dane doesn't see it that way.

And there must be a solution.

You catch a glimpse of something on the walls of the passage.

You ask Dane to hold the torch steady.

There are carvings,

Runes,

Maybe,

Similar to those engraved on the arcane cabinet.

You pass your hands over the markings,

Feeling a little buzz in your fingertips as the pixels collide.

It's such a strange sensation,

But not altogether uncomfortable.

In fact,

It sends a parade of tingles all down your in-game body.

The carvings seem to be,

In fact,

Loosely laid bricks.

You get your fingers round the edges of one,

And easily slide it out of place,

Into your hands.

It's a puzzle,

You remark.

We have to figure out where each piece goes,

And then,

You look up at the passage's low ceiling.

There are cracks in it,

Cleverly disguised as mere fissures in the stone.

But you're quite certain it's a trapdoor.

Figuring out the puzzle is easier said than done.

The carvings and the bricks don't mean much to Sir Dane.

You'd hoped they were some sort of recognizable glyph in Leucadian culture,

But not so.

You study them carefully.

There's something familiar about them,

But you can't quite put your finger on it.

You try arranging them a few different ways,

To see if there's any response,

But to no avail.

Maybe something to do with the artifacts themselves,

You think.

But nothing on the brick resembles a cup or a sword.

There's one brick you're stuck on,

Because it's so different from the others.

It's almost like an archery target,

A bullseye.

But the circles aren't all concentric.

There are a few that sit outside the main circle.

It's so terribly familiar.

It feels like an itch you can't scratch.

And then,

It hits you.

It can't be.

But yes,

The carving on this brick is exactly what you would see if you were staring straight down at the target in a game of skee-ball.

That's why it looks so familiar.

You illuminate the rest of the bricks,

And things begin to fall into place.

One is carved with a vertical dotted line down the center.

On either side of that line are shorter vertical lines,

And between them,

A single square dot.

You laugh.

It's an image approximating a tennis court with two paddles and a ball.

And then there's the brick with a circle at its center,

Missing one chunk,

Like a piece of pie.

Of course,

Every symbol here represents an arcade game,

And beyond that,

A game present in the wizard's keep.

Energized,

You begin to arrange the bricks once more,

This time,

According to the floor plan of the wizard's keep.

You know it like the back of your hand,

After all.

With each piece you slide into place,

You feel a tiny jolt,

Confirming you've got it right.

You insert the last brick,

And the whole assemblage begins to glow as if backlit.

There's something funny going on here,

You think.

Why would this mysterious game contain a puzzle specific to the layout of your arcade?

Who designed this game?

You are surely versed in ancient lore,

Sardine marvels.

Above your heads,

With the sound of scraping stone,

The trapdoor slides open.

A rope falls.

Sardine grasps it.

Into the dragon's lair,

Then,

He says with a wink.

The knight takes your hand and helps hoist you through the trapdoor as you climb the segment of the rope.

You keep your movements as quiet as possible,

But the cavernous chamber,

Well,

Literally a cavern,

Is subject to significant echo.

Dane retrieves a leather pouch from his pack and empties the contents into his hand.

A sparkling,

Black powder.

Stealth dust,

He whispers,

Then blows the powder in his palm into a plume of black smoke.

As it settles around you,

The sounds of your footsteps and the rustle of chainmail become significantly muffled.

You take in the cavern,

Which gleams with crystals and drips with stalactites.

But what draws your attention is the glittering hoard of treasure at its heart.

A mountain of gold and jewels and precious objects the likes of which you've never seen.

And curled atop it,

Snoring with that deep,

Rhythmic rumble,

Is the massive,

Sleeping dragon.

There it is,

Sir Dane says.

That's some dragon,

You agree.

Not the dragon,

He whispers.

Look,

By his front leg.

You squint.

All you can process is mound after mound of treasure.

But then you see what Sir Dane is referencing.

Nestled in the dragon's claws is a large,

Bronze disk,

Like a coin the size of a serving dish.

With a five-pointed star embossed upon it.

It's one of the four artifacts of the wizard Arceus.

Stay here,

Dane says,

As he begins to scale the mountain of gold.

Coins slide and slip under his feet,

But the sound is still quiet,

Muffled,

Fading into the ambience of the cavern.

The closer he draws to the summit,

However,

The louder the sounds become.

The stealth dust,

It seems,

Only accounts for the direct noise of the wielder.

But as the jewels and treasures and coins clang against each other,

Cascading down the sides of the horde,

The radius of sound increases exponentially.

Exponentially.

Dane,

Single-minded in his focus,

Doesn't seem to realize the racket he's making.

But from below,

It almost thunders.

Your companion has almost reached his quarry.

He holds an arm out,

Reaching for the disk.

Your heart pounds as you look to the face of the dragon.

An eyelid lifts.

Sir Dane cowers as the dragon lifts his grandiose head.

He drops the torch and the fire goes out.

You scramble to climb the hill of treasure to rescue your friend.

There must be a weapon or something you can use in the pile.

Your hands grope for so much as the hilt of a dagger or a bow.

You clasp something and pull it forth,

Disappointed to find that it's only a gnarled shaft of wood about the length of your forearm.

You're about to cast it away.

Simply grab Sir Dane and run for it.

But the stick instantly warms to your touch,

And its tip suddenly springs to life with a bead of golden light.

As if it has a mind of its own,

The wooden rod begins to trace patterns in the air,

Bringing your arm along for the ride.

Above you,

The dragon huffs and snarls.

Sir Dane's sword is drawn,

But he slashes about with no chance of piercing the dragon's thick hide.

Your arm continues to move without your effort,

Tracing a familiar sequence.

Up,

Up.

Down,

Down.

Left,

Right.

Left,

Right.

The bead of light emanating from the staff leaves traces behind,

Like a double exposure,

Creating an illuminated sigil before you.

On instinct,

You push it forth with the staff,

The wand,

Until the symbol made of light collides with the dragon,

Who is preparing to breathe fire.

But instead of opening his terrible jaws,

The dragon's eyes lose focus,

And his body goes slack.

He sways once,

Twice,

Then he falls forward onto the pile of treasure as you and Sir Dane clamber to get out of the way.

As you regain your footing,

You approach the fallen beast.

Two wisps of smoke escape his nostrils.

Is he?

You begin.

Enchanted sleep,

Sir Dane laughs,

Inspecting the dragon.

He'll not wake for days,

I'd wager.

You are full of surprises,

Aren't you?

Not merely wise,

But a mage as well.

It was good fortune that brought us together,

And now we've found two of the four lost artifacts.

Two,

You ask,

Watching Sir Dane reach for the bronze disk and place it in his pack.

He looks at you,

Bemused,

Then gestures to the rod in your hand.

The wand,

He says.

And indeed,

The wand turns out to be a very useful tool going forward.

Having lost your torch,

It provides an even,

Impressive source of light.

Helping you find the cave's exit into the light of day.

While traversing the terrain of Lucadia,

You practice with it,

And you find you have an innate knowledge of a handful of spells and cantrips.

You can use it to sharpen your perception,

For instance,

Uncovering hidden clues in otherwise opaque environments.

And you can also cast charms of persuasion that heighten your charisma and elicit helpful answers from people you come across.

As you travel together,

The pixel-cut world of the game begins to feel more like the real world.

Perhaps you're softening into it,

Blurring at your edges.

You think less and less like a player,

And more and more like an active participant in the quest to bring peace to the realm.

Two artifacts remain to be discovered,

The sword and the cup.

You and Sirdain travel from village to forest to castle to court in search of them.

You collect useful information everywhere you go,

But you can't seem to put all the pieces together.

Dining one evening,

As honored guests at the court of an aging knight,

You pour over what you know.

The four artifacts are associated with the elements of water,

Air,

Fire,

And earth.

The two you have in your possession are the four elements of the universe.

The wand and the pentacle disc seem to best represent fire and earth,

Which leaves water and air.

Perhaps that can help direct your searching.

One of the courtly ladies overhears your deliberation.

Have you heard the tale of the Lady of the Mist?

She asks.

Your ears perk up.

You invite her to go on.

It's a local legend,

She says.

She's a fairy who spends half her time below the surface of the water,

And half her time in the clouds.

But whenever mist rises from the lake in the nearby hills,

It means the Lady is traveling between her two homes.

If you can catch her in the journey,

You can ask her for a boon.

It's how the Lord won this castle.

You and Sir Dane exchange a meaningful look.

A spirit of both water and air.

This sounds like just the lead to follow.

It so happens that a mist rises around the castle at nightfall.

You and Sir Dane graciously accept new armor from the castellan,

And you set off,

Male-clad,

Toward the lake nestled in the hills.

Crystals of fog twinkle as they shift across the glassy water.

You stand on the banks.

Embedded as you are now in the world of Leucadia,

You can still almost see through the pixel veil.

It somehow lends an extra air of magic and mystery to the scene.

The mist gathers so heavy that it's hard to see your hand in front of your face.

You enlist the wand and your arsenal of spells to enhance your vision in the fog,

And you wait.

As the moon winks over the trees and the sky turns darkest blue,

You see a twisting,

Shimmering shape above.

Like a flare or a liberated moonbeam,

It floats gently down toward the lake.

The fluid shape becomes enmeshed with the mist.

You draw your wand and slash at the sky with it.

The mist clears,

Exposing the form of a maiden in long,

Silver robes,

Her bare feet just skimming the lake's surface.

She gazes at the two of you across the water,

But doesn't move.

You caught me,

She says with a sly grin.

I suppose you've come to have a wish granted.

Very well,

Let's get it over with.

What do you want?

Sir Dane clears his throat.

We seek the cup and sword of Archaeus,

Lady,

He says.

You,

Being a spirit of water and air,

We ask that you give us these gifts.

The lady of the mist throws back her head and laughs.

You feel color rising to your cheeks.

Surely you knew it wouldn't be so simple.

But then the fairy woman reaches behind her back and produces two objects.

In one hand,

A silver goblet.

In the other,

A crystal sword.

Both objects shine with the inner light of the moon.

Your heart leaps.

Sir Dane lunges forward,

Throwing himself into the shallows of the lake.

The lady vanishes at the movement,

Then rematerializes.

On the far side of the body of water.

Oh,

My knight,

She says,

Voice tinged with pity.

I'm afraid I can only give you one.

Which would you choose?

Of course,

You think.

You weigh each option in your mind.

Sir Dane,

A little soggier,

Rejoins you on the shore.

He wants to take the sword.

With it,

He can challenge the lady to a duel,

At which point she'll have to give up the cup.

But you aren't sure a fairy will engage in honest combat.

You have an idea.

Lady of the mist,

You address the fairy.

Catching you in between states has earned us one boon,

Is that right?

That's right,

She says.

What would it take to earn a second?

One for each of us.

The cup for me for catching you,

And the sword for him.

The lady of the mist chuckles,

But this time it's more with intrigue than mocking.

I like the way you think,

Sorcerer,

She says.

You feel yourself blushing again.

Sorcerer,

Mage.

Very well,

She continues.

You may have the cup,

And he may earn the sword if.

.

.

You and Sir Dane hang on her words.

You give me a treasured possession in return.

Anything,

Sir Dane exclaims.

He pulls his scabbard from around his waist.

This sword was forged by the blacksmiths of the Nightfall Clan 300 years ago,

And the scabbard woven with spells of protection.

Or this shirt of mail,

A gift from the Lord of Yon Castle.

These healing potions,

Gold looted from the horde of a dragon.

Or.

.

.

But the lady is unimpressed with what he offers.

There is something you have that I would accept,

She says.

It's in your pack,

I think.

I can sense it.

Dane's face falls.

He reaches into his pack and retrieves the bronze disc embossed with the pentacle.

The lady grins.

My lady,

Says the knight.

I'm afraid I cannot part with it.

Very well,

She says.

The cup it is,

And nothing else.

You pull Dane aside and reason with him.

Maybe there's a way,

You think,

To solve this.

If we give her the disc,

Dane says,

We're no closer to completing the quest.

We have three either way.

But maybe this is the test,

You say.

Dane's eyes narrow.

He beholds the disc and sighs.

I accept your terms,

Lady,

He calls to the maiden.

Good.

Cast it into the lake,

She says.

Dane tries to protest,

But you place a hand on his shoulder and nod.

With strength and resignation,

Sir Dane hurtles the disc into the water,

Where a pixelated splash erupts,

Ripples,

And settles back into stillness.

A valiant sacrifice,

Says the lady,

Gliding toward you with her gifts extended.

You take the cup,

And Sir Dane,

His shoulders slumped,

Accepts the sword.

Then the lady winks and casts her gaze at the stars above.

One shines much brighter than the others.

Then,

In an instant,

The lady of the mist dissolves into droplets of water,

Spinning downward into a tiny whirlpool,

Vanishing into the lake.

A defeated Sir Dane begins to walk away,

But you continue to watch.

You stare at the spot where she dove in,

For just there,

The brightest star has its shining reflection.

You point the wand at it and cast a spell of attraction,

Drawing the light,

The reflection,

Toward you.

And as it nears,

So the star in the sky begins to drift downward to meet it,

Till at last they collide and form one glowing object.

You call for Dane.

He returns to your side,

Kneels on the bank,

And withdraws a star,

A gleaming pentacle,

From the surface.

There on the shore of the lake,

Amid the rolling hills of Leucadia,

You lay all four objects,

The cup,

The sword,

The wand,

The star.

The artifacts seem to hum,

Harmonizing with each other's vibrations.

The light of the star catches the facets of the crystal sword.

And sends shards of brilliant luminosity across the landscape.

You follow the threads of light with your gaze.

Then gasp,

For the brightest of them shoots off into the murky midnight.

And at its vanishing point,

Silhouetted against the sky,

Is a tower.

In exchange for gold,

The lord of the castle gives you horses,

Sending you off toward your destiny on swift-footed steeds.

You ride through the night and reach the base of the tower by dawn.

The tower itself is heavily magicked,

But the artifacts cut through the wards,

Clearing your path to the dormant wizard.

You're giddy as you ascend the near-infinite steps,

Excited to see what happens when you return the magician's tools to him.

Archaeus does indeed wait,

Locked in a familiar,

Enchanted sleep,

In the chamber at the top of the tower.

The wizened old man,

Dressed in crimson robes,

Lies peacefully on a bed overgrown with flowering vines.

Rose of Sharon,

And lily of the valley,

A table beside it.

One by one,

You place the cup,

The sword,

The wand,

And the star on the table.

Then you wait,

And the old man stirs.

His breathing quickens,

His eyes open.

How familiar he is.

You seem to know this man,

To revere him,

To love him,

Even.

He rises slowly from the bed,

Blinking and taking you in.

He beholds the objects laid on the table,

And grins from ear to ear.

Well done,

He says genuinely.

I was beginning to worry.

It might be impossible.

But you've done it.

You've passed my test.

Your test,

You ask?

You're confused.

Hadn't the objects been stolen from the wizard?

Hadn't he been trapped here against his will all this time?

Oh yes,

Archaeus chuckles.

Sorry for all the mystery and dragons and such.

But it was the only way.

To be sure you were worthy.

Worthy of what?

Asks Sirdain.

He's looking for his replacement,

You say,

As the realization falls into place.

He hid the objects himself,

And set up all the challenges.

So he could find a successor.

Someone to take up his mantle.

And how gallantly you've proven yourself,

Says the wizard.

His smiling eyes fall on you.

Sorcerer,

They call you.

Mage.

Your cheeks flush.

It's really Sirdain who did most of the.

.

.

You trail off,

Turning to your nightly companion.

Only to find that he has vanished.

You're alone in the tower,

With Archaeus.

The objects on the table are beginning to glow.

To pulse with light.

You become aware of the encroaching darkness of the rest of the chamber.

All seems to twinkle,

Pixelating in your periphery.

I think you know,

Archaeus says,

That Sirdain is,

And always was,

An extension of yourself.

It was you who explored those dungeons,

Just as it was you who solved the puzzle.

You charged toward a dragon,

And you lulled him to sleep.

You bargained with the Lady of the Mist,

And you sacrificed a treasured possession.

To appease her.

All of it has led you here.

Now,

The glowing objects begin to hover slightly above the table.

Archaeus waves a hand over the four artifacts,

And pulls a thin shaft of light from them,

Which solidifies in his hand into a wand of white crystal.

This,

He indicates the white wand,

Is for you,

If you'll have it.

It embodies the energies of all four artifacts.

The elements of earth,

Air,

Water,

And fire.

The forces of intellect,

Emotion,

Creativity,

And responsibility.

You will need all these qualities if you are to succeed in this path.

You behold the crystal wand,

Which reflects with flashes of pixelated rainbows,

As Archaeus turns it over in his hands.

Then you look into the face of the old man,

Into those eyes that twinkle with a child-like wonder well-preserved in advancing age.

And it occurs to you that you have seen those eyes before.

Those exact eyes.

Suddenly you know why the ancient wizard seems so familiar.

Why you feel so connected to him,

Even in your first meeting.

This is,

After all,

The wizard's keep.

And here the old man,

Kept young by his love of fun and games,

Passes his baton to you.

You hold the wand in your right hand,

Marveling at its beauty and weight.

You can feel its energy,

Its warmth,

Radiating through your palm and coursing through your entire body.

You breathe in.

Only now,

You realize Archaeus is gone.

You are alone now,

In the darkening chamber.

You look down at yourself and realize that you are clad in the same crimson robes the wizard wore only moments ago.

You have quite literally taken up his mantle.

Raising the wand over your head,

You feel a sense of confidence and inner power you've never experienced before.

It's not a feeling of dominion or control,

But rather one of quiet strength and peace.

A comfort in knowing everything will be okay.

It'll be hard,

But you have all the tools you need to fulfill your destiny.

And your destiny,

Less concrete,

Maybe less grand than any video game quest.

But no less clear and vibrant,

Seems within reach.

The building and sustaining of community around one glorious and nourishing objective.

Joy.

The artifacts glow even brighter beneath you.

Men rise before your eyes and arrange themselves,

Flattening out in the darkness to pixelated,

8-bit icons.

The goblet.

The sword.

The pentacle.

They flash and flicker there against the inky black,

So bright you must shut your eyes hard for a moment.

When you open them again,

The darkness has changed its quality,

And so have the artifacts.

It takes a little while for your senses to adjust.

Your hand,

Though lowered,

Is still gripping the wand.

You look down at it and realize that within your grasp is no white wand,

But a joystick.

And the icons flashing before you are blinking on a backlit monitor.

You shake your head.

The crimson robes are gone.

You're back in your own clothes.

And the tower of Archaeus has fallen away entirely,

Leaving you in the dark.

Solitary corner of the arcade.

The screen before you changes.

You're being prompted to enter your initials,

Claiming your place in the hierarchy of high scores.

It seems you've unseated the person who previously held the top spot,

A player with the initials DGH.

By the time you pull yourself away from the game cabinet,

Dazed,

A champagne and coral sunrise is unfolding.

You come slowly back to the world of three dimensions and full color spectra.

You return to your own mind and memories with the softness of rose petals falling from the flower.

In the light of day,

The world of Leucadia and the flickering ghosts of Sir Dane,

Archaeus and the Lady of the Mist seem to draw further and further away,

Like the tide going out or a dream receding.

But as you leave behind the epic adventure,

The sleeping dragon and the fairy sword,

Coming back to the mundane reality of running a small business in the modern world,

You can still feel the energies of the artifacts coursing through you.

It's at once invigorating and calming.

It's hard work keeping a place like this running,

But you have a renewed confidence in your ability.

One afternoon,

A few days after your arcane adventure,

As you're wrangling in line of teens and young adults waiting for their chance to play the newest game,

Dawn comes by to see how you're doing.

You got it working,

He says with surprise,

The rousing music of arcane trills as Jenny scrolls through the hills of Leucadia.

You nod.

It just suddenly turned itself on one night.

Word must have spread on the message boards,

Because we've had a line out the door most days.

No one's beaten it yet,

Though.

Have you given it a spin yourself?

Dawn asks,

His voice fringed with curiosity.

You turn to look him in the eye.

A hint of mischief twinkles behind the spectacles.

Have you?

You respond with the same degree of playfulness.

Then you add to drive home the point.

DGH.

The afternoon is soundtracked by the rhythmic square wave,

The cascading trills of arcade cabinets,

The noise of pinball bumpers and bells,

Of skee-balls hitting the gutter,

Of coins clinking in a pile.

It takes a special kind of person to feel at home in this synthesis of noise,

Which might,

To others,

Be only a chorus of chaos.

But for the denizens of the Wizard's Keep,

These are the sounds of everlasting childhood,

Of pockets heavy with quarters,

Of huddling over a classic video game cabinet,

The excitement mounting as you finally reach the end screen of that unbeatable game.

These are the sounds of freedom,

Of whole afternoons spent in darkened rooms,

Solving puzzles,

And slaying dragons.

It's the sound of your work,

Yes,

But more than anything.

It's the sound of play.

Settle in.

Slow down.

Allowing your body to soften,

And your mind to stop turning its wheels.

Find a nice,

Natural rhythm for your breath,

Letting it encourage your body and mind to relax deeply and completely.

If any thoughts rise to the surface of your mind,

Simply say hello,

And send them on their way.

There's nothing you need to do right now.

Nothing you need to dwell on.

No problem that can't be solved in the morning.

All you need to do right now is let go,

And rest.

As you soften,

I invite you to reach into your memory for a moment of playfulness or delight.

It can be a memory from childhood,

Or it can be a recent memory of play.

Any time you can remember,

Which you associate with the energy of play,

And which radiates joy or delight.

It's okay if the memory isn't entirely clear.

In fact,

I encourage you not to dwell so much on the finer details of the memory.

Rather,

Focus on the images,

Sounds,

And emotions of the memory.

How did this experience of playfulness make you feel?

Breathe in.

Soften as you breathe out.

Allow that feeling of joy,

Delight,

And play to light up the corners of your body like a smile.

Notice the sensation spreading throughout your body,

And savor the feelings of bliss and freedom that come with it.

Now,

You might let go of the visualization,

Or the specific details of the memory,

And just settle into the sensation and emotion.

Softening into pure,

Easeful delight.

Allowing joy to form a bridge to a kind,

Restorative sleep.

Continue breathing deeply.

Allowing your exhale to carry any tension away.

Clearing the path for you to feel a sense of inner ease,

Relaxation,

And bliss.

I invite you to bring joy,

Playfulness,

And delight into your dreams tonight,

And into your mindset as you greet a new day,

Allowing yourself to play.

Good night.