“One dusty copy of an actual survivors journal from the Edge of the Universe” They all ooe’d and awe’d.

“Chicken shit. One annotated notes on Magic Missile, from Herbeius Cortus.” Hammer pulled out the tattered beaten brown journal. We all stared at it as she set it down on the table.

“You all are a pile of virgin losers, this isn’t even better than last week. The latest research of Raxx the Bonesweeper, research on the creation of new personal traits” A pair of two tattered red scrolls was set on the table. It did not make a noise. The pot grew bigger.

“Bullshit, where’d you get it.” Staff said.

“From underneath his nose, he should’ve really picked his…” She paused and looked straight at Arax.

“His dates better.” Everyone laughed.

“Ok well Shoes, this is the ultimate prize. A signed, first edition, spiritually infused copy of ‘12 Seagull Spells’, including the secret 13th Seagull Spell created by the grand lady, Madam Gull.” Dagger set down a copy of a book with a large golden seagull on the cover. The laughter was louder this time.

“Did Madam Gull also give you a kiss on the dick for that one?” Hammer asked, her voice like a cheese grater against cloth. Dagger chuckled.

“No but your mother did.” Hammer gave a grunt, Dagger gave a laugh.

“Speaking of your mother, here’s the ultimate guide to sex in the entire multiverse. Written by the warriors prostitutes of Athena. Blessed by the lipstick of Athena herself. I present to you: ‘The Star-studded Missionary (pun intended)’.” The cover showed a bust of the Greek goddess Athena making out with the night sky, the artist took quite a bit of liberties. Staff always made the conversation turn sexual.

“Did you do the art?” Spectacles asked grinning from end to end.

“No, your mom did.” Staff responded. Again everyone laughed, although Arax got a little tired.

“Shall we begin? I’m dying to test out my new formations.” Spectacles asked pressing a button on his computer to make a virtual landscape appear on the table.

“I haven’t given a bet.” Arax said. Everyone was quiet, Hammer looked at Spectacles, her eyebrows raised to a degree that was quite obtuse.

“Arax… We know you don’t have anything that we could ever want. You are the only one below the age of seven-hundred here. We wouldn’t care.” Shoes said. Her voice was poppy like bubblegum and sweet and made Arax think of lilacs and his mom’s old fashioned leather purse.

“I brought a book of poems-” Spectacles gave a barking laugh.

“Arax, Arax, Arax, I have every single poetry book of the last seven-hundred years in my collection, I doubt that this one is unique.” Spectacles said.

“I wrote it. It’s called ‘Never Wish on a Falling Star’” Everyone was quiet. Arax took a sleek but cheap looking notepad and put it on the table. The name was written on in ink. The fictional landscape of the table warped as the book phased through it.

“I suppose none of us have it?” Shoes asked the crowd. Everyone nodded.

“Shall we actually begin? I’ve been getting sick of waiting.” Spectacles tapped his end of the board and began to manipulate.

The game of Harshings is one of the most complicated games ever. It was created back in 2031 by a renegade game-designer from the depths of a now-defunct game company's design team. It took ideas from every single war game in history and then took it to 11.

The game consisted of a randomly generated computerized map, with randomly generated cities, people, everything the whole schbang. The game was almost entirely customizable and no actual players played it the way it was originally made to be played.

The game was in a way an exercise in creativity. Players made their own classes, their own abilities, their own everything, everything had to be approved by the GM of course, so part of the fun of it was finding a different way to break the game.

The game itself was part war-game, part civilization simulator, part love simulator, part diplomacy game. The creator (who’s name has long been forgotten) said of the game, “it’s a game in which one creates his own playstyle out of thin air”. Almost literal to a sense.

In 2031 the game was unpopular. In fact the game was so unpopular that it faded into obscurity in 2032, that was until fashion from the 2030’s came back in fashion. Thirty or fourty years ago everyone started wearing the multi-colored zoot suits and huge-block sneakers and with the fashion came the culture.

In 2035 if someone was caught dead watching “Fast and Furious 20” they would be eviscerated. Then? Well let’s just say there was a surprising amount of people exclaiming about the great family values of Dominic Toretto.

In came Harshings, the world had changed a lot since 2031, the reality of Harshings became much closer to the reality of reality. Harshings was the greatest strategy simulator of the past five-hundred years but it was almost entirely indecipherable.

It took almost five years to have what someone could consider a beginners understanding. Ten years of continuous twenty-four-seven playing to be considered passable. And a modern life-time (about two-hundred-thirty years on a good planet) to be considered pretty-good.

That is to say Arax was a Harshing’s anomaly. The game came naturally to him, like breathing, or like eating exotic cheeses (both which also came naturally to him). Last summer his friend Bailey showed him the game and ever since then, he was sensational.

Ingenious troop movements, virtuosic energy management, a deific sense of intrigue and romance. He was a Harshing’s God and so up the Harshing’s rankings he went. From ten year beginners to two-hundred year old men, he crushed and spat, and sent energy waves to destroy them.

Finally, he reached the pinnacle of Harshing’s, the Armament Club. Staff, Hammer, Spectacles, Shoes and Dagger with two former (not attending members) in Sword and Make-up. Arax did not know their real names nor their identities but they were the greatest Harshing’s players he ever met, well considering they were old enough to know the original creator.

The price of admission to the Armament Club? One single book, of any kind. The catch was no member of the Club could also own the book. If you won the game of Harshing’s you got to keep all of the books. However, Arax was an exception to the price.

All of the old monsters were old enough or strong enough or smart enough that they had access to some of the rarest books in all of the multiverse. Arax on the other hand did not. Arax was also too good to not participate (he had beaten almost all of them except Hammer in one on one Harshings). So they let him participate sort of as an apprentice or little brother. Letting him keep the rare books they gave him and only asking he tell them some stories or what not about his life.

The game of Harshings lasted far into the night. Hammer drank out of her jar prodigiously, Shoes sipped wine until about eleven, Spectacles, Arax, Dagger, and Staff drank nothing at all.

At last, at about five in the morning:

“And with the seven Kings come together, I bring together the colors formation, granting me unlimited deific power. I kill you all and win. Good fucking game.” Arax said putting down a colorful king piece on the electronic board.

“Fucking Mother of the Star-kid what a win. I totally did not expect the doublecross of the princess.” Dagger said.

“And she loved you for it too. Ridiculous.” Spectacles said nodding his head.

“Whatever, nice-job again Arax you can take the books.” Arax nodded, grabbed all the books and put them in his backpack. He was about to grab his book of poems when Shoes gave an ahem.

“Can I read that actually? I promise I can pay you back.” She smiled, flashing Arax with a brilliant glimpse of white.

“Yeah sure thing. Totally. Radical. Be my guest.” Arax stared at her mask for a second, trying to peer underneath, only for a second. Arax handed her the book, she nodded and her mask lifted it’s lips just a bit. It was only minutes before their figures faded away into the dark of the room leaving Arax alone. Him, the table, and a load of books.