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paid the cabbie. As we headed inside, the bellhop said, “Welcome to the Trove, sir. Enjoy your stay.”
    The Trove was the latest mega-resort to light up the Vegas skyline. The doors actually opened three weeks ago, but this weekend was the official grand opening. Both the Trove and BuzzCon were owned and operated by Avalanche Entertainment, makers of the world’s most popular—and profitable—online role-playing game. The one and only Warblade .
    The entire property replicated famous locations and events from the Warblade game world. Most of the property used Sun Elf architecture, since Sun Elves were politically neutral and had the most ostentatious buildings. Nothing else had the flash to compete for attention in Vegas. The general staff wasn’t in costume, but there were a lot of actors. The Minotaur had to be a three- or four-hour makeup job by himself. Worth it, though; he made an amazing first impression.
    Second impressions weren’t too shabby, either. Winged cats perched on the pillars lining the lobby, always moving and staying just out of reach. A few Orc berserkers wearing chain and fur scraps wandered through the lobby, but they stayed away from the registration desk. The flowers in the ivy covering the lobby walls moved, pointing toward me and quivering. The lobby led down to a shopping district fronted by a three-tiered fountain. Signs around the base advised that dancing on the fountain was forbidden and the hotel was not responsible for injuries.
    As I stepped up to the registration desk, a trio of guards on armored griffons whizzed by overhead, pointing and waving as they passed over me. I tried to block the lights so I could see what was holding the griffons up, but the designers had hidden whatever it was too well.
    The young lady behind the desk said, “The track is hard to see unless the maintenance lights are on. It’s an upside-down magnetic levitation monorail. Kind of a high-speed ski lift.”
    I looked up again and chuckled. Sure, any job gets boring in time, but that one had a pretty high cool factor.
    While I was pondering the griffons, a sky-blue Damazi female—a blue half-demon with satyr-like legs and a furry tail—sidled up next to me, light sparkling off her mother-of-pearl horns. She batted her eyes and purred, “Do you have forty feet of rope and a bucket of sprocket grease?”
    I had to laugh. That’s one of the best pick-up lines in the game, and she had the semi-French Damazi accent down pat. I went with, “Nothing moves you like a steam-driven piston assembly,” in my best squeaky Gnome voice. She laughed as well, and I got a look at the other side of her face. Under the makeup, her battle scars were real. I looked down to see how she was doing the faun legs and realized what I was seeing couldn’t work. Unless she was a dual amputee, that is.
    She was.
    She waited for me to look back up and tapped the index and middle fingers of her right hand on her left shoulder, mimicking the game’s Looking For Group animation. “Care to join me somewhere quiet for a couple of one-on-one scenarios? The drops are all epic.”
    The girl checking me in gave the Damazi a stern look and went back to the registration terminal. “Mister Fraser, you’re all set. I’ll get someone to help you with your cases. If you’re hungry, the Second Watch diner is right across from the fountain and is open twenty-four hours a day. Would you like to set a wakeup call?”
    “Six, please.” I collected my key card and thanked her. The Damazi cocked her head at me and raised her eyebrows. It took me a few seconds to recall the right phrase from the role play guide. “May we converse in the common tongue?” In other words, switch to out-of-character mode.
    “Delighted. Are you traveling alone, Mister Fraser?” She smiled, showing off a wicked set of fangs. She shimmied her hips, and her long blue-furred tail swished back and forth. The effect left me breathless.
    I kept my eyes on hers. “Please