Do you remember that string of posts I made months ago? Well, my story evolved into something very different. Along the way, I also developes a writing style different than what I've used before. So... Is the tone and writing just plain weird now? I'm not the best judge of that. Also, would you be interested in reading this? There would be the first two pages. Thanks!
“Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.” You looked down at a city from the cliff’s ledge. This nation’s capital jutted from the farmland like a wart on a maiden’s face. Walls of stone stood tall, keeping bandits out and the populace within. At each corner of the never penetrated barrier was a mighty watch tower. Ten archers of the highest caliber stayed atop of each, ever weary of foreign invaders.
Within the walls, you spied plumes of smoke. Factories within burned the material for power while the people burned it for warmth during cold spring nights. While streets and houses couldn’t be seen from this view, you knew the organization was without logic. The central road used to be a game trail, but people upgraded it over the trail until it evolved into today’s winding stone road. Dozens of smaller roads made of dirt or stone branched off. The houses crowded themselves, and the constant smell of human waste reminded all of the city’s lack of sewers.
Outside, farmlands stretched father than the eye could see. This year, the farmers chose potatoes, corn, and squash as the staple crops. Soon, the plethora of food shall be consumed by the hungry masses inside the walls. Of course, none of the crops had sprung from the earth’s grasp, but your magic told you what bounty will blossom.
A small figure materialized from nothing and perched himself on your shoulder. He felt light, like a child’s hand pressing down. The figure stretched and took off the hood from his russet cloak, revealing blond hair and a cheeky smile. If he stood tall like a human and lost his feathered wings, many damsels would flock to his wanting embrace. He chuckled. “So, I gather you’re not going back, my lord?” Though, it was more of a statement than a question.
“Correct.” You turned your gaze away, resolute to never see the accursed place you once called home again. “I came back to say a goodbye, one none but us may hear.” Looking up at the heavens, you muttered, “Farewell, fair cruelty.” A grin formed on your lips. “Now go we in content. To liberty, and not to banishment.”
The figure, a fairy by appearance, groaned and scratched his head in contemplation. “You’ll never blend into the people if speak that way. Despite your talk, you’re pretty ignorant of things like being normal or common sense.” He flicked you in the ear with a strength beyond what such a diminutive creature could muster.
“Did you save me to cause torment?” You clutched your ear to shield it from further assault, but when you heard his laughter, you lowered your hands and joined in with his cheer. “Albericus, thank you for caring, so I shall endeavor to…” You shook your head. “I’ll try to speak normal. Do you have any ideas where we should go?”
The fairy pointed towards the east. “That’s a good of spot as any. All we need is a town in need of a good Artist.” His wings opened and closed on instinct, a sign of excitement much like a bloodhound who treed its prey.
“Indeed, my small friend.” You took your first steps towards your future. “Though, I hope to make a difference.” You clench your first. “This time, I will.”
And so, the journey begun.
3 Years Later
When you entered the guild hall, the only one person paid you heed. He smiled like that of a man boasting of his grandiose exploits in front of children. You found his expression understandable, since others often mistook you for someone who experienced few years. Adventurers kept an appearance favoring wisdom or strength. They competed for simple bragging rights and received more jobs if they looked like the adventurer the masses envisioned.
You bore a cloak that took a plaid tone over the years from patches placed over patches. Under, you wore a jacket bought two sizes too large and baggy pants, expecting to grow into both yet never achieving that goal. The boots carried scuffs and nicks accumulated from your numerous adventures. Your leather gloves stood as the only new item on your person, as always. To most, you seemed like a young greenhorn who intended to take a job too difficult for them, thereby perishing. Besides dying, that described you three years ago.
“Oi, Lad!” The man’s muscles tore at the seams of his fabric, bulging from a life of physical toil. His voice had a graveled tone that matches his fleshly prowess. His eyes judge you with amused disdain as you nod in acknowledgment. “Scamper home to your mom’s breasts. Leave the jobs to the Artists and men.” With the last word, he pounded his chest with his fist, a display of strength of some sort.
“Then, my services are needed.” You glanced at the board for signs of a quest that fits your skills. “I am both an Artist and a man. I passed my days of youth.”
The man lets out a jolly roar and clutches his stomach. “You’re beardless as a wrench and scrawny as a twig! I won’t deny your magic, but you are no man.” He gestured towards your walking stick. “You even carry a cane like a geezer.”
You bow. “Thank you for your insightful words, though I use this in my artistry, metalsmithing.” You tapped the walking stick on the ground, and it gave a metallic thud. “And, I would cure my lack of a beard if I could, though it hasn’t arrived. I believe some higher power decided I shall never grow a beard, akin to goblins or the western men.” The man cocked his head to the side and nodded; however, his furrowed brow showed your words confused him with their eccentricities. You still have trouble conversing in less ornamented jargon. How unfortunate.
Around you, only one other person stood, a fellow Artist. Judging from her pointed hat, you surmised she was a musician. Their charms saved many, though this one propped her feat upon a wooden table and leaned back in her chair. Her lack of manners concerned you. “It appears I am early, sir.”
“You are, my boy.” He shook his head. “New requests are posted here at midday, a bit different from the other towns.” He shrugged. “We think the guild rep hates mornings.”
“I see. Do…” You stopped speaking, having heard rushed footsteps approach the building’s front entrance. A greying man rushed into the guild hall. He wore patched-together clothing and a frantic face. You have seen the eyes of a desperate man many times before, only sometimes seeing that foul emotion turn to joy.
“Please, mercy!” He held out a small bag of what almost certainly was just coppers. “My daughter caught the red kiss. Please! Will you-”
He froze mid-speech, since you placed your hand on his shoulder. Your lips rose into a soft smile. “I take it blue roses grow only deep in your forests and this town has no supply.” The man nodded and handed you the small bag. “Then, I shall return before nightfall. My employer, tell me where you live.”
“The second floor of the baker’s store.” He bows, pressing his forehead against your hand. “May God’s grace shine upon you.”
“Indeed.”
For a year, the red kiss burrowed its way into the souls of countless victims. Many perished, and the coven of witches responsible eluded all who sought them. Most adventurers became well-learned about the disease out of necessity, yourself included. Without a blue rose, the daughter shall die by tomorrow’s morning from the painful and rapid hex.
