The Everyday Life of Non Adventurers
Our journey begins like all good journeys do, in the middle. Because starting at the start means people have to wait twenty minutes before seeing any action and I fear the attention span of the audience is comparable to a goldfish. Which is worrying, like really worrying. So, worrying that after this I will be writing a letter of complaint to the local schools to tell our children to ‘do better’ and focus or face being humiliated in public as punishment. Thus, to overcome this generational problem, we are starting in the middle, where all good things begin.
Now, our protagonists are on route to the city of Sianwood, the city of flowers, with a wagon that looks it would be better use as kindling for a bonfire praying to a giant deity whose is worshipped for having a good time after the sun goes down. Will I elaborate any further, no, this is a PG piece afterall. But back to our protagonists. Two friends, Mikkon and Lustarin have acquired a handful of letters, envelopes and scrolls that need to be delivered before the next full moon. And seeing as they are tight for gold in a world where a build-up of magic in a localised area could result in spontaneous implosions and world ending events occur every third Tuesday of the month. This seemed like the safest option.
But the journey from one city to another is long, and boring. Also rather uneventful, did I mention long? So what are two friends supposed to do in a situation in order to entertain themselves? Well, Mikkon, the more mischievous of the pair, has resorted to rummaging through their patchwork sack and begin gazing upon the words of strangers in ink form. Reading a variety of material out loud in the hopes of keeping Lustarin company. From companies sending outstanding invoices for water breathing potions to inappropriate and graphic love letters between a pair of raunchy forbidden lovers. There is even a promotional piece of receiving whatever your heart desires for finding an individual that goes by ‘Nigel’. Peculiar name for a missing sorcerer, but this is not the time to judge.
“What in all of Violem does this even mean?” Mikkon blurts out with a tone that is a smooth blend between confusion and judgement.
“Well, it’s… erm… Y’know it’s… just some colours isn’t it?" His loyal friend responds.
“They are painters after all” Referring to the guild of painters known as the Dye-Ables. But you already knew that.
“Yes, I can see they’re colours thank you Mr Obvious. But why do they look like that?”
“You mean in precisely spaced circles with a spiral pattern?” Pointing to the even spaced spiral patterns that are lined out in rows along the page.
“Exactly! That isn’t art.” Mikkon states with certainty.
“Well, YOU might not think it is but that stuff’s, y’know, subjective isn’t it.” Lustarin shrugs his shoulders as he speaks his mind. Which is a bad idea, a lot of people have had their heads chopped off for that kind of nonsense. Anyway.
“… Really? You’re really going to start with that whole opinion stuff on me?”
“I’m just saying, what you think is good or bad might not be the same as someone else”
“You really want to show off your diploma, don’t you?” Glaring at his educated friend.
“My diploma, which was in divination by the way not expressing oneself, has nothing to do with this. You’re just judgemental.” Which in this case, is true.
“I’m not being judgemental; I am stating a fact. That is not art. It is clearly some kind of secret message.”
“What?”
“Yeah, a secret message baked into the colour patterns. Like one of those puzzles them adventurers were on about the other day.” The adventurers in question happened to be very nice people but took on a pair of Sabren in nothing more than oversized leather armour and a handful of level one spells. Let’s just say they did not make it to level two.
“Hmm, I don’t know. It doesn’t look like a message to me. Give me another look?” Lustarin swipes the envelope in question and inspects it with intent.
“Hmm, I mean I can see where you’re coming from. With the separation” Mikkon begins to speak in unison and finish his friend’s sentence.
“Separation of the circles, exactly! And its inside an envelope. And you know what comes inside envelopes? Letters. Which have been written to be read.”
“It doesn’t have to be letters inside them you know”
“Of course I know that, but you know what I mean. It is some kind of secret message” A bold claim from Mikkon, who doesn’t have a diploma in Divination. Which is not relevant now but might be in the future depending on the trajectory of this particular narrative.
“Well, how are you supposed to read it?” Lustarin asks curious as to what will come out of his friend’s mouth.
“If I knew that I wouldn’t be here thinking what is all means now would I?”
“I suppose so… What do you think it says?" The conversation goes quiet as the two companions ponder the meaning of this encrypted form of communication. With only the sound of a squeaky wheel spinning as it turns over a well-trodden dirt path.
“Err, probably something about that package back there.” Mikkon points to the tightly packed box that sits in the back of the wagon. Wrapped in a dull white canvas cloth with paint speckles and twine that is knotted three times over.
“That’s a good shout, yeah...” The pair continue to sit in silence for a few more minutes, potentially losing the attention of the reader once more, like I warned about in the beginning paragraph.
As the two friends think harder than they should about a letter that they shouldn’t have opened, the world around them begins to stir with life. The clouds above slowly drift over the day star. The air loses its pleasant warmth and is replaced with a cool breeze that pricks the hairs on the back of Mikkon and Lustarin. Foreshadowing that something is about to go down in the next scene. As an entire story about two friends delivering packages from one city to another would be a rather lacklustre form of storytelling that definitely shouldn’t be attempted for any reason whatsoever.
The pair notice the change in weather and tuck away the secret code of the Dye-Ables. Sitting upright in their seats, waiting for the other to speak up and make a comment regarding the change of scenery. But our theorising protagonist Mikkon breaks first. Commenting on having a bad feeling, in a cliche kind of wya. To which his Lustarin responds with the fact they ate some strange meal yesterday at the tavern. A lovely little place that goes by the name of the Leaky Bowl and is now under new management due to the last owner intentionally using illegal substances to make the food irresistible. Not only to higher forms of intelligent life, but also to the local rodents. "No, no that kind of feeling. The kind of feeling where something bad is going to happen." Mikkon explains to his companion for this journey. "Cause it suddenly got a little overcast?" "And the chill in the air?" "That usually follows clouds." Once again stating the obvious. "No no, think about it. First is gets a little cloudy. Then that turns into a storm, then the Sauratar appear out of nowhere and come down and gobble us up." Lustarin turns to towards Mikkon with a facial expression that could be explained with flowery text, but is is best described with the use of the word, uh. "They don’t eat people." "Well how do you know? They might see us as a threat?" "Yes, two people in a wagon carrying letters is a threat to giant flying beasts." An unlikely threat for sure, that is also unimportant on the grand scheme of things. At least he is aware of his place in all of this. "Exactly, best be on the look out for..." Mikkon loses his words pricks his ears up. Cupping one ear in the hopes that would actually help. Which might be true, but one can never be too sure when all you watch is theatrical performances and never do any adventuring yourself. "Do you hear that?" "No. Hear what?" Lustarin taking his friend seriously for a moment. "Shh, shh, shh, shh. Do you hear that?" The sound of the wagon continues quietly with the sway of grass accompanying the noise to create a natural quietness. "No, what can you." "That! Can you not hear that? Sound like, chanting." "Well I would if you shut up." Lustarin snaps but Mikkon doesn't seem to notice his friend's abrupt tone of voice. The pair listen some more and hear the feint sound of a high-pitched vocal trying to sound manly and butchering an ancient language. Followed by the sound of a popping bark and watching as a plume of smoke appears over the horizon. Turning round the corner of the road, they slow down their wagon and watch with intrigue as they arrive closer to the sound of the commotion. Finding a small boy wearing dark red robes which are all muddy and soiled at the bottom, draping and sitting in the mud at the side of the road. Sleeves far too big for their skinny ass arms that sit inside it. Fingers wiggling and continuing to mispronounce words of a time gone by. Their back is turned to the couriers and stood in front of a burning cart that has not yet turned to a complete pile of ash. Wrapped in meek, orange flames dancing around the wooden corpse. Pulling the horse to a total stop, the two friends stop to watch, not with fear, definetely not fear. I wouldn't be fearful of someone with that level of muscle ratio either. Instead, they watch with confusion, whispering to each other ideas of what the stranger before them could be doing. "Do you think we should call for help?" Lustarin maing sure to speak softly as to not be heard. "Nah, doesn’t look like much of a threat." "Yeah, suppose... What do you think he’s upto?" "I would say a ritual. But if he is, it’s the weirdest incantation I’ve ever heard." Mikkon speaks aloud showing no signs of character development from the previous scene. Continuing to be just as judgemental and setting a bad example to the younger readers. ‘D’orr err uurreehh’ The short stranger gargles out of his mouth like a baby who is trying to learn to speak but is unable to the fact they are a metaphorical baby. "That’s not how you pronounce it." Our judgemental protagonist state with higher volume in his voice, unsure if the person stood before them is a threat that should be taken seriously or one of those roleplaying people who go the extra mile. With intricate clothing they made themselves to look like their favourite characters from IPs that are legally not allowed to be mentioned and learn fake languages to see who the biggest nerd. "Pronounce what?" "Dhoraye, the ancient word for repeat I think." "How do you know that word?" Yes, Lustarin utters with curiousity as to how the uneducated one of the pair knows such a word. "It’s one of the questions I got wrong on the entry test." The entry test that was mentioned and really did become relevant because of the narrative taking the correct path. Which could be interpreted in several ways from the formation of tea granules inside a ceramic cup or seen in a vision from a crystal ball. Just two of the mediums that are taught during the divination course. "I never got that question." "Well why do you care, you actually got in." "Well yes, but that’s a hard question to put in an entry exam." "That’s what I thought when I got my results back." Mikkon fully turning to his friend to show how much this entry level test means to him. "Wow, the entry requirements must have been raised after I got in, why in Violem would you… " "Ahem." The pair are interrupted by a pre-pubescent voice clearing his throat up and glaring at them with a stroppy looking face and hands on not one, but both his hips. The shininess of the boy’s face reflects the flames of the fire and reveals his babyish features, including but not limited to his thin ginger eyebrows, a disfigured nose that looks like a ball of gum after being chewed on for an hour or so and pale blue eyes surrounded by purple face paint that has smudged due to an overamount of sweating. "Do you mind? I am trying to concentrate! Hmph!" The young boy grunts. Our couriers apologise to the child and gesture him to continue. They watch in silence for another minute or so before carrying on their conversation, unable to stop themselves from commenting as it has been a long trip and they still at least another's day ride. Which is going to be a long time to sit in silence, so might as well make the most of conversation while something is happening. "I don’t think he’s saying it right either." "I don’t even know what it is he's trying to say. Got to be some kind of summoning spell right?" Mikkon calmly speaking out loud in the hopes of coming to a rational conclusion. "Yeah, yeah no doubt about that, with the whole burning and.." "And burning and chanting and all that bardic jazz." The boy stomps his foot and turns back round, with overgrown robes whipping round to nearly hit his face. "Well it would be a lot easier if you two weren’t watching me! Wittering on about my pronunciation. I have been practicing all week and its really, really hard okay. So go away and let me focus." The hissy fit of the young child forces our couriers to stop and stare at one another, raising an eyebrow which signals to the other 'wow, that was rude'. "What is it you’re upto anyway?" The ginger boy sighs before taking a deep breathe and responding with irritation. "I am trying to summon the Wheels of Terror!" "Well that doesn’t sound good." Lustarin states with a straight face. "No, its not. It’s a demonic monstrosity that has killed over a hundred soldiers and soon it will be under my control!" The boy attempts a maniacal laugh but is more akin to what I imagine a sentient mouse to sound like. Too high pitched to be pleasant and not taken seriously unless you had a fear of mice, talking animals and or both. "Not with pronunciation like that it won’t." Mikkon chimes in. "Will you just leave me alone!" "I’m just saying, you might want to practice the sounding of it before you really give it a go. Like my educated friend Lustarin here says, its all about enunciation." "I, I've never once said that. I didn’t even know you knew that word actually." "I know lots of things me, you don’t need a diploma in future peeping to know things like that." "UUUGGHHH!" The boy screams in frustrations and begins chanting in a deep dark voice the ancient words of a necrotic spell. "See, now that’s enunciation!" Mikkon compliments the boy but doesn’t react and continues the spell, summoning some kind of dark swirling vortex above his head that looks quite impressive. Upon witnessing this, the couriers eyes start widening and their jaws slowly drop. Tapping and touching each other as if to say run. After a delay of incomprehension, the pair leap into action and spin around as the young boy incubates an ever growing dark force of nature before them. Mikkon leaps head first into the wagon and Lustarin whips the horse by the reigns to get away as fast as possible. Behind them they hearing thunder growling and magical sparks cracking against the air. A Sudden blast of midnight rays strikes the path three feet besides them, causing them to scream in fear. Mikkon screaming a low melody of AAHHs with each exhale getting faster and faster. Whilst Lustarin keeps muttering to himself 'Oh no, Oh my, Pray to the Acuran, What the, Who, Who the, Get the, Ahhh!' The pair rush away from the scene, weaving across the road trying to avoid blast after blast of dark magic being sent in their general direction by a ginger boy having a temper tantrum. Escaping the overcast region and returning into the afternoon of gentle sunrays. Disturbing the peaceful and tranquil scenery with wails of hysterics and sheer panic.
The pair notice the change in weather and tuck away the secret code of the Dye-Ables. Sitting upright in their seats, waiting for the other to speak up and make a comment regarding the change of scenery. But our theorising protagonist Mikkon breaks first. Commenting on having a bad feeling, in a cliche kind of wya. To which his Lustarin responds with the fact they ate some strange meal yesterday at the tavern. A lovely little place that goes by the name of the Leaky Bowl and is now under new management due to the last owner intentionally using illegal substances to make the food irresistible. Not only to higher forms of intelligent life, but also to the local rodents. "No, no that kind of feeling. The kind of feeling where something bad is going to happen." Mikkon explains to his companion for this journey. "Cause it suddenly got a little overcast?" "And the chill in the air?" "That usually follows clouds." Once again stating the obvious. "No no, think about it. First is gets a little cloudy. Then that turns into a storm, then the Sauratar appear out of nowhere and come down and gobble us up." Lustarin turns to towards Mikkon with a facial expression that could be explained with flowery text, but is is best described with the use of the word, uh. "They don’t eat people." "Well how do you know? They might see us as a threat?" "Yes, two people in a wagon carrying letters is a threat to giant flying beasts." An unlikely threat for sure, that is also unimportant on the grand scheme of things. At least he is aware of his place in all of this. "Exactly, best be on the look out for..." Mikkon loses his words pricks his ears up. Cupping one ear in the hopes that would actually help. Which might be true, but one can never be too sure when all you watch is theatrical performances and never do any adventuring yourself. "Do you hear that?" "No. Hear what?" Lustarin taking his friend seriously for a moment. "Shh, shh, shh, shh. Do you hear that?" The sound of the wagon continues quietly with the sway of grass accompanying the noise to create a natural quietness. "No, what can you." "That! Can you not hear that? Sound like, chanting." "Well I would if you shut up." Lustarin snaps but Mikkon doesn't seem to notice his friend's abrupt tone of voice. The pair listen some more and hear the feint sound of a high-pitched vocal trying to sound manly and butchering an ancient language. Followed by the sound of a popping bark and watching as a plume of smoke appears over the horizon. Turning round the corner of the road, they slow down their wagon and watch with intrigue as they arrive closer to the sound of the commotion. Finding a small boy wearing dark red robes which are all muddy and soiled at the bottom, draping and sitting in the mud at the side of the road. Sleeves far too big for their skinny ass arms that sit inside it. Fingers wiggling and continuing to mispronounce words of a time gone by. Their back is turned to the couriers and stood in front of a burning cart that has not yet turned to a complete pile of ash. Wrapped in meek, orange flames dancing around the wooden corpse. Pulling the horse to a total stop, the two friends stop to watch, not with fear, definetely not fear. I wouldn't be fearful of someone with that level of muscle ratio either. Instead, they watch with confusion, whispering to each other ideas of what the stranger before them could be doing. "Do you think we should call for help?" Lustarin maing sure to speak softly as to not be heard. "Nah, doesn’t look like much of a threat." "Yeah, suppose... What do you think he’s upto?" "I would say a ritual. But if he is, it’s the weirdest incantation I’ve ever heard." Mikkon speaks aloud showing no signs of character development from the previous scene. Continuing to be just as judgemental and setting a bad example to the younger readers. ‘D’orr err uurreehh’ The short stranger gargles out of his mouth like a baby who is trying to learn to speak but is unable to the fact they are a metaphorical baby. "That’s not how you pronounce it." Our judgemental protagonist state with higher volume in his voice, unsure if the person stood before them is a threat that should be taken seriously or one of those roleplaying people who go the extra mile. With intricate clothing they made themselves to look like their favourite characters from IPs that are legally not allowed to be mentioned and learn fake languages to see who the biggest nerd. "Pronounce what?" "Dhoraye, the ancient word for repeat I think." "How do you know that word?" Yes, Lustarin utters with curiousity as to how the uneducated one of the pair knows such a word. "It’s one of the questions I got wrong on the entry test." The entry test that was mentioned and really did become relevant because of the narrative taking the correct path. Which could be interpreted in several ways from the formation of tea granules inside a ceramic cup or seen in a vision from a crystal ball. Just two of the mediums that are taught during the divination course. "I never got that question." "Well why do you care, you actually got in." "Well yes, but that’s a hard question to put in an entry exam." "That’s what I thought when I got my results back." Mikkon fully turning to his friend to show how much this entry level test means to him. "Wow, the entry requirements must have been raised after I got in, why in Violem would you… " "Ahem." The pair are interrupted by a pre-pubescent voice clearing his throat up and glaring at them with a stroppy looking face and hands on not one, but both his hips. The shininess of the boy’s face reflects the flames of the fire and reveals his babyish features, including but not limited to his thin ginger eyebrows, a disfigured nose that looks like a ball of gum after being chewed on for an hour or so and pale blue eyes surrounded by purple face paint that has smudged due to an overamount of sweating. "Do you mind? I am trying to concentrate! Hmph!" The young boy grunts. Our couriers apologise to the child and gesture him to continue. They watch in silence for another minute or so before carrying on their conversation, unable to stop themselves from commenting as it has been a long trip and they still at least another's day ride. Which is going to be a long time to sit in silence, so might as well make the most of conversation while something is happening. "I don’t think he’s saying it right either." "I don’t even know what it is he's trying to say. Got to be some kind of summoning spell right?" Mikkon calmly speaking out loud in the hopes of coming to a rational conclusion. "Yeah, yeah no doubt about that, with the whole burning and.." "And burning and chanting and all that bardic jazz." The boy stomps his foot and turns back round, with overgrown robes whipping round to nearly hit his face. "Well it would be a lot easier if you two weren’t watching me! Wittering on about my pronunciation. I have been practicing all week and its really, really hard okay. So go away and let me focus." The hissy fit of the young child forces our couriers to stop and stare at one another, raising an eyebrow which signals to the other 'wow, that was rude'. "What is it you’re upto anyway?" The ginger boy sighs before taking a deep breathe and responding with irritation. "I am trying to summon the Wheels of Terror!" "Well that doesn’t sound good." Lustarin states with a straight face. "No, its not. It’s a demonic monstrosity that has killed over a hundred soldiers and soon it will be under my control!" The boy attempts a maniacal laugh but is more akin to what I imagine a sentient mouse to sound like. Too high pitched to be pleasant and not taken seriously unless you had a fear of mice, talking animals and or both. "Not with pronunciation like that it won’t." Mikkon chimes in. "Will you just leave me alone!" "I’m just saying, you might want to practice the sounding of it before you really give it a go. Like my educated friend Lustarin here says, its all about enunciation." "I, I've never once said that. I didn’t even know you knew that word actually." "I know lots of things me, you don’t need a diploma in future peeping to know things like that." "UUUGGHHH!" The boy screams in frustrations and begins chanting in a deep dark voice the ancient words of a necrotic spell. "See, now that’s enunciation!" Mikkon compliments the boy but doesn’t react and continues the spell, summoning some kind of dark swirling vortex above his head that looks quite impressive. Upon witnessing this, the couriers eyes start widening and their jaws slowly drop. Tapping and touching each other as if to say run. After a delay of incomprehension, the pair leap into action and spin around as the young boy incubates an ever growing dark force of nature before them. Mikkon leaps head first into the wagon and Lustarin whips the horse by the reigns to get away as fast as possible. Behind them they hearing thunder growling and magical sparks cracking against the air. A Sudden blast of midnight rays strikes the path three feet besides them, causing them to scream in fear. Mikkon screaming a low melody of AAHHs with each exhale getting faster and faster. Whilst Lustarin keeps muttering to himself 'Oh no, Oh my, Pray to the Acuran, What the, Who, Who the, Get the, Ahhh!' The pair rush away from the scene, weaving across the road trying to avoid blast after blast of dark magic being sent in their general direction by a ginger boy having a temper tantrum. Escaping the overcast region and returning into the afternoon of gentle sunrays. Disturbing the peaceful and tranquil scenery with wails of hysterics and sheer panic.
An attempt to write some form of narrative in the world of Violem that doesn't involve the grand and spectacular lives of heroes, gods and colossal monsters. Instead focusing on the more average life of the everyday people. Writing in a style inspired by Terry Pratchett with use of sarcasm and making the narrator an additional character to help progress the simple plot. Unsure if it works but it was fun to write :D
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