Timor stood at the edge of the balustrade, watching over the spectacle below. His arms trembling from fingertips up to his elbows. It wasn’t out of his own volition that he was present at one of the most violent scenes his fearful mind couldn’t have imagined. Even his worst nightmares paled in comparison to the dread that he currently experienced. It would be an understatement to say that Timor would like to be anywhere but here right now.

“Come on, Timor!” said a high pitched voice originating from a translucent blue whimsical creature that perched itself on his shoulder. “It’s now or never.”

The creature didn’t seem too bothered by the brutal onslaught in front of them. It was more preoccupied by Timor’s supposed destiny and whatnot. Never bothered asking what Timor’s input was on that destiny. If it was up to Timor, destiny could kindly fuck off and he would be having a nice cup of tea with a biscuit, somewhere in a tranquil, quiet and most of all peaceful forest, far from the nearest human congregation. Alas, Timor was born with generational magical powers that played a key part in some prophecy that fate had in tow for the kingdom he was – without his consent – birthed in. Thus his job was to cease all fighting below, or his homeland was doomed. He didn’t exactly know all the ins and outs of this war. All he knew was that some far away place dropped off an army on the doorstep through a series of magical portals. The king had mustered an army of his own and currently they were stuck in a stalemate of sorts, but since the villains of the story could decide to reinforce their army at any point in time of their choosing, it was up to Timor to tip the scales.

“I know you can do it, Timor.” the apparition whispered in his ear.

“I don’t.” Timor replied. “I wouldn’t be too opposed to just have this play out and take my chances with a new overlord."

”Don’t be daft you idiot!” The voice suddenly taking on a more aggressive tone.

“Fine!” Timor said as he let out a deep breath.

Timor let go of the timber in front of him and took a few deep breaths to calm his fear and focus his mind. I just have to do this and then I can be back home by supper, he thought.

He raised his arms up high and started to chant a whole string of words that he had memorized under the tutelage of some old man that he was introduced to as part of his training. Above the battlefield large tears started forming in the fabric of the atmosphere. Behind them an endless sea of dark red that cast an ominous glow down on the fighting masses. For those with sharp ears a distant rumble could be heard, for those with less sharp ears it took a few seconds to pick up on the increase in rumbling that now transformed in more of a heavy tremor that was inescapable. Maybe even the deaf could feel it. Through the crimson holes came down massive meteors, each the size of a tavern. With large tails of roaring fire they dropped on the armies below. Not a single living being stood a chance as they were devoured by rock and fire, leaving massive craters in their wake.

“Can I now get my cup of tea?” Timor asked, while dusting himself off.

The fairy just looked at him dumbfounded and did not respond.

When I tap the "Roleplay" button on the server, my body lurches through the screen.

There's no gentle "Hey you, you're finally awake," no benign old guy showing me how to forage or build, no heads-up display telling me my life and mana.

Instead, a giant battle ax hurdles toward me, neck high. At the other end of it, an orc with forearms the size of my thighs foams at the mouth.

This is going to be a bad day.

I duck. The ax blade shears off the top half of my helmet and embeds in the tree behind me with a sickening thud. That could have been me. I don't know what happens if I die here.

Locks of golden hair drift to the forest floor beside me. I tap my head to make sure the top is still there. It is, and there's some hair left, too.

I'm dressed to the hilt in armor--except for my now-ventilated helmet--but my frantic hands can find no hilt. No belt pouch of magic potions, no bow strapped across my back.

The orc draws a knife and charges me. Instinct kicks in and I grab his wrist, using his momentum to throw him off balance.

How do I know how to do that? What am I, an armored ninja?

I dodge and weave between strikes, the unwilling partner in this dance of death. He lunges too far once, and I roll inside to deliver an uppercut to his jaw.

He barely flinches.

The pause gives me enough time to escape his grapple and create some distance. He glares at me.

I don’t know my body, so I do what any human of average intelligence would. I run.

The orc bellows as I take off; every hair on my body stands up on end.

I run for some time, until I reach a section of trees whose branches hang lower than most. I crash through them. Then I realize the ground is gone.

An abandoned quarry stretches downward further than I'd like to fall.

I scramble for a branch to hold my weight. It does, and I swing back to solid ground.

A low chuckle grates against my ears. I turn to see the orc set his plumed helm on a stump.

He licks the flat of his knife.

"Time to taste your blood, champion."

"You really don't have to do that," I say. "If you want, I can give myself a paper cut and you can--"

"Silence!" he roars. "Die, insolent fool!"

He sprints toward me with amazing speed, and I have one fleeting thought. A long shot. A last resort.

I wait till he's almost at my throat, and I step backwards. My armor scrapes the side of the quarry as I fall.

The orc tumbles over me as I grip the edge of the cliff, his face twisted in an expression of disbelief and hatred. He screams until he doesn’t, and his armor rattles far below.

I pull myself up, panting.

“Incredible,” says an elf who’s joined by several others from the forest. “You’ve defeated the general, my liege.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I stammer.

"Are you not Floopbert the Magnificent?"

"No. I'm Joel, the guy who lives alone at the end of the cul-de-sac."

“Told you he’d log out before the fight,” says a second elf.

My body lurches backward. My reflection in the computer monitor bears red marks the size and shape of keyboard squares. The “Roleplay” button is still there.

I close the window and go for a long, long walk.

The prince took the stage to the cacophony of trumpets. The crowd murmured.

"My fellow countrymen, the rumors are true. The King is dead.

The murmuring grew louder.

"Under normal circumstances, this news might have been delivered to you by the Ministers or Cardinals," he motioned to the row of robed figures looming on the stage behind him. "My beloved father would have been interred after a month of national morning. And only then, with the blessings of the Cardinals, would I stand in front of you and claim my rights as heir."

"But we do not have that luxury now. Even as I speak, the army of Salynim surrounds our city. Our spies tell us that their reinforcements are only two days away. When they arrive, the combined army will tear down our gates and pillage our city."

Silence fell.

"With his last breath, my father urged me to move forward with his plan to attack the waiting forces. Right now, we outnumber the hordes waiting outside. A swift and decisive strike now will cripple their present forces, making the reinforcements inadequate against our city defenses. But to do that, we have to take up arms, every last one of us. For the men and women, we have arranged sticks and repurposed some farming equipment. The children will be supplied with rocks. Together, we will crush the enemy and let the world know what happens to infidels who disrespect our Queen. They could have left with the bodies of the ministers and their families, and apologized formally, but they threatened us and kept spreading the lies about our beloved Queen. We tried to warn them again by burning all their farms from Zunim to Goyari, and what did they do? They besieged our city! The bastards! We will not let them get away with this! We will fight to the last man, woman, and child! We will bathe in their blood and tears!! And then, we..."

The crossbow bolt in his throat prevented him from finishing his speech. The ministers rushed half-heartedly to their rapidly expiring new liege who clutched at this throat, trying to keep the blood in. "Guards?" someone inquired, reluctantly.

Unari had already ducked into an alleyway as the commotion broke out in the square. Five minutes later, he slipped through the back entrance of a dingy bar and found the others at the corner table.

The elderly gentleman at the table cocked his ear. The shouts were spreading. "Sounds like you did the job."

"Do you think it'll work?" Unari slumped down onto a chair and rested his mini crossbow against a table leg.

"The contacts I have in the ministry all suggest that the Ministers will all support a truce," said the man, studying his glass carefully, "And we're back-channeling terms of a cease-fire with the Salnym. But none of it would be possible if our own monarch craved war. We were lucky enough to have the King succumb to consumption, but the Prince was healthy and no one would dare touch him because..."

"Yeah, the four generation curse." Unari looked out the window as a crowd rushed by.

"You did a great service to your country, son." Everyone at the table nodded in agreement.

"What'll happen to me now?"

"Well, once things settle down, you'll definitely get a pardon. The tumors shouldn't start forming for at least a year, and they'll only be limited to you since your have no next of kin."

"In that case, gentlemen," Unari rose from his seat, "I better finish my paintings."

<Fantasy / Comedy>

"And you're certain this won't harm me?" the knight asked, eyeing the black liquid in the vial.

"Quite certain," the aged man said, slowly churning another concoction in his large cauldron, "No dragon would dare consume you once you imbibe it. But it only lasts for twenty-four hours."

Sir Phillip frowned and sighed, upending the vial and drinking its contents. It tasted bitter and metallic, like blood but with an acrid, smoky aftertaste.

"I should not need it that long," he said, sliding the visor of his helm back into place as he left the apothecary's shop. His horse was ready to go outside and he mounted up, riding out of town for the slopes of the Smoking Mountain.

Sir Phillip, Knight of the Realm, was terrified of dragons. Everyone was, but the beasts were a specific phobia of his. He became a knight because dragons destroyed his childhood village and killed his parents. However, every chance to face them that arose, he always ran or hid. But not today. Today he was going to do what needed to be done and save this hamlet from the monsters' tyranny.

The knight rode his horse as high up the mountain paths as it would take him before it's own instinctual fear of the beasts stopped it in its tracks. Phillip dismounted his loyal steed and gave it a swat on the rear, encouraging it to return back down the mountain. He would not force his horse to make the possibly one way journey with him.

It took a day to finish scaling the heights, but finding the lair was easy enough once he was near the summit. The large hole, devoid of snow, with visible steam coming from it was the obvious hold of the dragons.

There were three of the great beasts inside, a red, a blue, and a green, and each was lounging on a pile of gold, jewels, and bones respectively. Their heads lazily turned towards Sir Phillip as he marched in, sword drawn and shield raised. He thought they looked lethargic, likely having recently devoured a herd of cattle or something of that nature.

Phillip stood his ground, his knees quaking in fear, and held his sword aloft. If he could do this without conflict, that would be the best option. The best way out.

"Dragons!" he said, his voice echoing inside his helm, "I come to you prepared to-AHHHHH!" he screamed as the blue dragon leaned closer and snapped him up in its jaws. The three dragons tore the knight to shreds, peeled off his armor, and devoured him. After that nice snack, the trio returned to their slumber.

The next day, the old man from the apothecary entered the cave and looked around. The remnants of the knight were scattered about, and the dragons were dead on their horded treasure. The old man nodded, satisfied with his work.

Poisoned bait was the easiest way to deal with dragons.

He snapped his fingers and several retainers with horses and carts entered. The horde was collected while the old man set about to dissecting the monsters, harvesting them for the alchemical ingredients they contained. He might need more poison in the future.

----------------------------------WC: 535

r/TomesOfTheLitchKing

>The three dragons tore the knight to shreds, peeled off his armor, and devoured him. After that nice snack, the trio returned to their slumber.
>
>Poisoned bait was the easiest way to deal with dragons.

This was so horrifying that I honestly had to laugh out loud. Good one!

I'm glad you liked it! It took a while for this idea to come together but I'm so happy with the result <3 I don't think I've written anything this funny yet :P

<Lothli & Maishul>

Chapter 3: Of Mice and Men

Hello. Welcome back to Lothli & Maishul, the only show where we keep it real by exploring different realities. I'm your host, Lothli. Oh, and a big thank you to u/Not_theScrumPolice for lending her excellent character, Olivia, to today's story. Without further ado, let me introduce today's premise.

Once upon a time, in a far-off land known as Dottopia, there was a young girl named Maishul. Maishul was a Squeaker, like all residents of this land. Her mouse-like nose twitched and her wiry tail swished as she spent her days toiling in the fields.

It was a normal day, like any other. Except for when Maishul stumbled upon a magical glowing sword that fell from the sky.

"I am the MacGuffin, Maishul. Take me into your hands, and defeat the Dark Huntress, Olivia!" the sword boomed.

Of course, Maishul was hesitant. This magical glowing sword was highly suspicious, after all! What kind of ulterior motive could it have? The girl cautiously approached the—

"Ooh, shiny sword! Mine, mine!"

...Maishul snatched up the MacGuffin, completely heedless of her hapless sister's words of warning. But all was good, as the sword did not seem to have malicious intent.

With new blade in hand, Maishul set off toward the land of The In Between. Together, they faced numerous challenges, including treacherous mountains, dark forests, and the temptation of snack time. But with the help of her magic sword, and her unwavering determination, our protagonist emerged victorious at every turn.

After a long and exhausting journey, Maishul finally arrived before the Temple of the Huntress. The ominous fortress rose before her like a dark cloud on a stormy day, casting its shadow upon the land. Its walls were as high as mountains and as black as the night sky, adorned with the visage of screaming Squeakers and muscular bodybuilders.

Shaking her head at the strange sight, Maishul gripped her MacGuffin and entered the fortress. And lo and behold, there sat Olivia, the Dark Huntress.

"Tremble before me, fool!" Olivia roared, overtly flexing her muscles in a monstrous display of strength. "I am Olivia. Dark Huntress! Smasher of Squeakers! And The One With Zero Chill!"

Maishul, cowed by the rippling musculature on the Dark Huntress, took a moment to steel herself.

"Today your reign ends, Olivia! No more will you smash Squeakers against the cobblestones! In the name of Queen Dot, I will smite thee!" Our reluctant hero strikes a pose, before lunging at The One With Zero Chill.

Yet, Olivia's brawn was too much for our heroine's blade. With a mighty flex, the Dark Huntress deflected Maishul's swing.

Was all hope lost? No! Maishul closed her eyes and thought about the friends she was fighting for.

...

...

...What? She had no friends? Ah.

With a brilliant flash, Maishul's sword evolved to its true form, the Deus Ex Machina!

"Oh! Deus Ex Machina, YOU were the friends I made along the way!" Maishul exclaimed, raising her newest and only friend up high.

With this newfound power, Maishul's body underwent a magical transformation. Her body bulked up to three times her size. Her wiry tail grew as thick as a sewage pipe. Her adorable little ears grew as large as a parachute.

Maishul knew what she had to do. She slammed her sword into the ground before she poised with her glorious new muscles.

"NO! NOOOOO! I JUST WANTED A HUG! I DIDN’T DESERVE THIS!" Olivia cried, attempting to shield herself from Maishul's new form.

But it was all in vain.

"Admittedly, Huntress, you were quite the entertainer," Maishul smirked, her hands on her hips.

WC: 598

You may read u/Not_theScrumPolice's very lovely SerSun that actual Olivia is from here!

Chapter Index

<= Previous Chapter / Next Chapter =>

I love this! So funny!

There was an audible crunch when Tam’s fist met the old wizard’s face. The man staggered back, clutching his hands over his nose and gasped incredulously. The long oak staff he held fell into the mud with a splash.

“Ouch, why in Hel’s name did you do that for?”, the man asked.

Tam just looked at him blankly and turned his attention back to the three pigs in the pen in front of him. He picked up a bucket of swill and tossed the contents into the pen.

“I know your type, and I know what you are about to say”, Tam said in a cold, uninterested voice. “And I don’t want anything to do with it. I am happy here, minding my own business, just like I wish you all would do”.

The gray-haired man had produced a white silk handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it with one hand against his nose. A red stain had already started to form.

“But the fate of the world depends on you!” he exclaimed. “The prophecy…”.

Before he could finish the sentence, Tam spun around raising his fist.

“I dare you to say that word again. I double dare you!” Tam almost shouted. His calm demeanor had evaporated in an instant. Tam’s face turned red, his nostrils flared and his eyes burned with the intensity of a mad man.

“Leave now, or I can not be held responsible for my actions”, he said, visibly struggling to control his rage.

The wizard looked as if he was about to protest, but then he shook his head and muttered something about how the world was doomed before scurrying away. Tam sighed and bent down to pick up the staff. He went around the pigsty and tossed the staff in a heap with similar looking items. The pile was as high as Tam’s waist.

Today, it is a bad day.

I woke up too early, I am tired and now I am following the big crowd that is converging in the main square in this dreary day. In contrast with the bad weather, I can hear the sound of the trumpets and drums of the royal guard echoing through the streets. The royal palace and its central square, the opulent structure that towers over all the others buildings in the capital, is now open for the sacred selection ceremony that will determine the new chosen hero.

Everyone in the city is obliged to participate to the trial to determine the godsend warrior that will drive out the demons from the kingdom. As we do not know the choice of the gods, even the lowliest thug may be a powerful knight that in the future will save the city from the darkness. Nonetheless, all the heroes chosen in the past were nobles or rich, so the citizens of the low city like me consider this ceremony as a dumb way to choose someone that is good looking enough to be certified as a hero and act as a beacon of hope for the people.

I am sorry for the man or woman that will be chosen, because being a hero means fighting the worst enemies of the humanity without the guarantee to return alive.

I look blankly to the magic brazier in which the suitors will put their hand to be judged by the gods. I really hope that the selection will be short and the hero be revealed before my turn: I admit that putting your hand in the fire, even if it is a magical one, may be stressful, and I would like to avoid it. Moreover, I must return to my family’s shop before noon.

The symphony of the royal guard stop, and we all see the royal councillor start talking about the importance of duty, heroism and the importance of sacrificing our lives for the kingdom when needed, as if he is really determined to do it himself.

“My fellow citizen, we must resist the invasion of these foul creatures. As such, the royal family has decided to choose the new champion in our city. The gods must have already sent us the chivalrous warrior that will save us: may the gods bless us in our search.”

I wait for my turn. It is frivolous to think that a merchant’s son like me have the right to set foot on the sacred ground of the palace, but at least I am in good company. Old, young, rich and poor: the people start putting, one after another, their right hand in the fire of the magical brazier without being burned. No reaction whatsoever from the flame: the hero has not been revealed.

It is my turn. I take courage: the flame is almost stroking my hand, and the red, bright colour turned blue.

The others suitors watch me in disbelief. I do not understand what is happening. The royal guards and the councillor stand beside me. What have I done? Have I broken the brazier?

“The gods have chosen! We have a new hero!”

“What?!?”

One of the guards take my arm and raise it to the sky, almost lifting me in the process.

I knew it.

Today, it is a bad day.

The Bravo sat in the tavern, contemplating his next move. He decided retirement was his best option.

Then she walked in. Taller than him, obviously fitter than him, clearly out of his league. He smiled to himself, in his younger days he would have seen her as a challenge.

She stopped at his table. Sat down without an invitation.

"We're going on a journey." She said.

"Not interested. Thanks." The Bravo said and made to stand up.

"Wait. you've done the standards. You've saved some countries from themselves, by killing off their warlords. You've done the crown prince thing. You've done the protecting the princess thing. The next thing is take an orphan across the country. That's what I'm proposing," she said.

He waited.

"Long story short. The orphan is important to several factions. It would take too long to explain. Just trust me. So, you will be transporting an orphan, but not THE orphan. You will set out before us. Me and the real orphan will take another route. The factions will follow you and leave us the hell alone."

"How do you know about me? And why would I take on a suicide mission like this?"

"You'd going to do it for this."

From the scabbard strapped to her back she drew a long, beat up sword. She dropped it on the table. It made no noise.

"I have many swords. I don't really need another."

"This one is different. Pick it up."

He did. The hilt was wrapped in some kind of squishy, yet grippy material. The balance of the sword felt good. He stood and swished around experimentally a couple of times. It made no sound at all.

"A stealth sword? Great for assassins, but that's not my game."

"Oh, but I'm so much more than that." An androgynous voice whispered in his head. "I'm also a guide, mentor and wish grantor."

"That's nice."

He considered for a minute. A stealth sword with, presumably, magical capabilities would be quite the addition to the arsenal. He weighed his options. He dropped the sword. He ran out of the tavern.

He didn't stop running until he was barricaded in his cabin in the woods.

Much later, he learned that both parties transporting orphans had been decimated. Orphans and all.

Which just goes to prove: You shouldn't trust muscular women proffering magical swords, whether said swords had been pulled out of lakes or not.

Neutral Ground

* * *

Clang.

First, it was the humans.

Clank.

They came into our mines, came into our homes. At first, they were reasonable. Firm, perhaps, but reasonable. They wanted weapons of war, swords and hammers by the plenty. Armor if we could spare it, but mostly weapons. They cared very little for defense, leaning instead into the offensive side of their inherent nature.

Clink. Clong.

As neutral parties to all sides, we insisted we could only sell them a marginal amount. No more than the seasonally-agreed upon amounts, and only implements designed for farming and agriculture. Weapons of war were against the treaties. The humans left, but only after many words of venom were thrown our way.

We did not care. We had our pride as dwarves to carry us through, and trade often did not favor the loser.

Clang.

Next came the orcs. They, too, wanted instruments of war. Where humanity wanted weaponry, they wanted armors of steel and iron. Chest plates of bronze, shields of iron and full suits of steel, anything and everything we could spare to keep their soldiers alive in the coming war. A war against, in their words, those “man-heathens that walk their sacred lands.”

Clang. Spang… Clong!

We told them the same answer. Dwarves were neutral, we could not take sides. Unless the orcs wanted their yearly allotment of farming equipment, there was little we could provide them. When they left our home, they left under much the same foreboding attitude as did the humans.

We should have heeded the warnings, but we did not.

Clonk.

The day the war came to our home is one no dwarf will ever forget. They came under pretense, hiding under the flag of negotiation to get around our guards. Once the forward guards were slaughtered, the bulk of the human army pressed forward, entering our home in force. It did not take us long to respond in kind, but betrayal lurked at our rear gates.

Spang… Clonk.

The orcs, aware of mankind’s attempt to steal our weaponry for themselves, made their own moves into our home at the same moment. They pushed past our southern gates while we were distracted by the humans at our northern front. If we’d only been forced to fight on one side, perhaps we would have had a chance. But to fight on dual fronts, both surprise attacks, and when many of our kin were not in a place to effectively fight back?

It was a massacre.

Clonk.

Sssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

The sword was ready. I did not inspect the blade as I sharpened it; I already knew from the sounds of the blade as it sang while I hammered that it was forged to perfection. My breastplate was already polished to a high sheen, ready to show the face of terror reflected on both orc and human alike. All that was left was to finish the edge of the sword.

My kind was now scattered to the four winds, left to our own devices while humanity and orc kind fought over our scraps. I would be surprised if even a quarter of us remained alive. But, as they would soon find out, they had made one critical mistake.

They’d left me alive. I would show them the error of this judgment and bring justice for my people – using the weaponry that humanity so desperately wanted forged, and the armor that the orcs wanted for their own.

One soul, and one corpse, at a time.

Mercenary

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zeny was an unfortunate young lady. Not only had she been named after the local currency, but her parents had sold her off to a band of travelling mercenaries when she was sixteen. That had been five years ago and, in that time, she had seen just about every corner of Azterra. It hadn’t been a bad ten years, but it certainly hadn’t been easy.

Her hands had been stained by so much blood from fighting. None of it had been wanted of course, but the Thorn Rose band had been her home for far too long to not fight to keep them alive. Zeny busied herself in their latest camp as she sharpened her sword.

“Oi, Zeny. Get your hide over here.”

“Go boil your head Morn. You want something you can shift your lazy ass over here and tell me.”

Morn sighed heavily. The highlander made Zeny look tiny in comparison with his gigantic frame. “I knew letting you hang out with Olivia.”

“Hey, I resent that remark, Morn. You corrupted the kid just as much as the rest of us.” Olivia’s elvish tinged voice echoed through the camp from the nearby tree she was scouting from.

“Gods above you two.” The last member of the group, an orc named Urgoth, grunted as they came into the camp. “I swear all I hear is you all whinging about this or that. Isn’t it bad enough we got the kid in exchange for killing that monster?”

“That ‘monster’ was my uncle.” Zeny spoke quietly. “You guys just showed up, killed him, got me in the bargain and we’ve been murdering and stealing since.”

The camp went silent save for the crackle of the fire. It had been an unspoken thing between everyone who had died the day they had gotten Zeny in the bargain. The man had been evil and morally corrupt. Stealing not only money, but also young women from the region. Zeny had been his next target and her father decided to cut the knot instead.

Olivia spoke softly, “It is not your fault Auria. It has been a hard life, but…”

“But what Olivia? You going to tell me how we’re ‘saving the world’ by murdering some black hearted souls? Because if you are, I’ll tell you right now you’re full of harpy dung.”

“Peace Auria. I meant no disrespect.” Olivia said, trying to placate the young woman.

“Hmph. Whatever. And why do you call me that? Five years of it and no explanation.” Zeny said as she stared at the campfire, her zeal subdued.

Olivia chuckled. “It means gold. Like the coin you are named after, Zeny. All you had to do was ask.”

“Oh. Uhm…thanks.” Zeny tried to hide the blush that coloured her cheeks as she changed the topic. “So. What are we going to do next?”

Morn chuckled and with a smile said, “We’ve got orders from the Queen herself. Seems a member of the royal family pissed off the wrong person and got kidnapped. We’re going to get them back.”

“Why in the name of all that is holy in Azterra would we do that?” Urgoth grunted the words at Morn.

“Because you meathead, we get to be the heroes for once.” Morn snapped back.

Zeny sighed loudly as she walked over to Olivia and sat down on her lap to watch the two other start wrestling.

“I so did not sign up for this.”

Olivia chuckled warmly. “No, you didn’t. But there are worse things in the world to be than a mercenary hero.”

“Sorry, kid, there’s monsters roaming around out there. You should stay here in town where it’s safe.”

Alvin thanked the town guard for his service and went to roam the town some more. It was a pretty small town, just a couple shops, an inn, a church with six pews, and a few houses. And a well. Alvin looked down the well. There didn’t seem to be much water in it.

There were a couple kids chasing each other in circles around the well. He took a moment to talk to them.

“Mommy says I need to stay in town because there’s scary monsters out there. But I’m not scared of any stinky monsters!”

“They say there’s a dragon hiding in the hollow east of town. He sounds scary.”

Alvin let them get back to playing. There was another girl standing nearby, so he went to see what she had to say.

“My friend Tom went to explore the hollow east of town and he hasn’t come back yet. Will you go look for him?”

“No.”

He went back to exploring the town. The shop didn’t have much, but he picked up a few healing herbs, those were always good to have around. He tried to leave town but the guard stopped him again. After some more wandering he found himself talking to the young girl again.

“Will you go look for him?”

“No.”

There was a man wearing a cloak sitting in one of the rooms of the inn.

“Hey, you want to buy something awesome? It’ll only run you 300 gold pieces.”

“Okay, okay, 200.”

“Wow, you done a hard bargain, how does 100 sound?”

“Geez, you’re quite the cheapskate. 50 gold pieces and that’s my final offer.”

Alvin paid the 50 gold and took the sword. It was a pretty nice sword, and cheaper than the store had been selling it for.

By this point he’d talked to everyone town at least twice and there wasn’t anything else left to do. So with a sigh he went back to the little girl.

“Will you go look for him?”

“Yes.”

On his way out of town the guard gave him a wave. “Be careful out there. The store has plenty of herbs if you need!”

He hasn’t made it very far outside of town when he heard a voice calling him.

”Alvin, it’s supper time!”

”Just a minute Mom!”

He raced back to the church in town, saved his game and logged out. The hollow would have to wait—he could smell tacos.