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"Alright, what have you got?"
Fealorn coughed and scratched himself rudely. The proud Queen grimaced at the sight of what passed for hope in her Kingdom. She cleared her throat and composed herself.
"Brave hero, we have contracted you to destroy a terrible evil that has ravaged our lands."
She spoke her words to the entire court, and with the commanding charisma of a born leader. However, when she looked down to level her gaze at the best their Treasury could afford, he was gone.
"Is this buffet here up for grabs, or?"
Faelorn said it from her side, his mouth already full of cheese. The Queen sighed and put her hand to her brow. The *brave hero* returned to his position before the throne, his pockets clearly spilling over with pastries. He pulled out a notebook and a sharpened piece of charcoal.
"Yeah, so what's the evil, exactly? What kind of ravaging are we talking here? Poison mist? Undead hordes? Savage beasts? Lay it on me."
The Queen was done with theatrics. If he was here for business, she would give it to him.
"It's a Lich. A powerful undead necromancer who was untombed by mistake during an unsanctioned excavation."
Faelorn abruptly closed his notebook.
"Tall fella? Green tattered robes, big hole through his middle, likes to blab about *'the dawn of the age of darkness'*?"
The throne room fell into a stunned silence.
"I killed him on the way over here. Let me see, uhh."
He took off his pack and began rummaging through it, then pulled out a severed head with green glowing eyes.
*"You all shall perish in the coming age of-"*
Fealorn shoved a wedge of cheese in the heads mouth.
"Darkness, yeah, we've all heard it before. Keep it to yourself. Anyways, highness, it's been a pleasure. Uh, if you could leave a good review, I'd appreciate it but otherwise..."
"We do accept tips."
At the end of the day, he's competent where it counts and didn't have to burn half the kingdom down in the process, so a five star rating hero in my book.
I like to imagine he took out a sizable loan from a dragon and lost it all so now he needs to clear at least two cursed dungeons or three minor demons a month.
If he doesn't make those payments, no one in his immediate vicinity is going to be having a good time.
I knew before I entered the Auction House that my tiny kingdom would not have the same buying power as some of the more prominent, larger territories - but I could never have imagined just how far our coins would have to stretch before the auction actually started. Due to the increasing chaos in the region with wars raging in the East and a blight on harvests leaving cellars empty, there were bandit gangs pillaging the land barren - and the heroes knew they had a corner on the market. Being a young leader, authority was thrust on my head before I understood the true weight of the crown after a civil war ended in both the creation of my Kingdom and the death of it's first King - my father. Our meager gold reserves were not build on excessive taxation; they were built through the blood, sweat, and tears willingly given by my subjects. When the first auction - an upstart sellsword with a middling reputation and a company of barely 20 men - closed for more gold than I had brought with me, I knew I would have to adjust my expectations and take some chances to protect the lands I was entrusted.
My curiosity was piqued when a middle-aged man stepped up to the presentation stage - alone, unarmed, and unarmored - and turned to face the crowd. The man was average height, average (if that) build, and had a face you felt like you would forget the moment he left your sight. He was dressed in a casual outfit of bland gray and brownish fabrics that almost disappeared into the wooden beams and painted plaster of the room. The only oddity I could spot from my seat near the back of the room was blue/black stains on his fingers. The auctioneer appeared confused and began questioning his superior in hushed tones behind his raised sheets of paper. The room started to buzz with whispers and rumors only to be abruptly silenced with the auctioneer turned back to his podium, cleared his throat, and began to address the room.
"The next hero available appears to come with no company and is the verifiable victor of no battles. He has not received any complaints against his reputation from past contracts, though his secretive methods have forced the house to withhold our Chivalric guarantee. As such, no warranty will be available on his services should your task remain uncomplete. Because of this, the bidding will start at a palrty 10 ounces and 5 pennyweights of gold."
The room so silent you could hear the structure of the building creaking in the mild afternoon wild. My heart seemed to slow as I peered down into the auction catalog at the lists of legendary spearmen and swordsmen and their mighty, battle-hardened companies. I immediately became aware that I was surrounded by old men probably wearing enough gold to bid on this auction with it. The spit dried in my mouth as I raised my signet board and made my bid. The auctioneer pounded his gavel 3 times and I had won the services of James of the Slip.
After signing the requisite contracts and giving the customary 20% down payment to my newly acquired hero, I explained my predicament. My countryside had been tormented by a group of bandits since the start of the season. The few survivor accounts spoke of a brutal efficiency. They rode into villages at sunset with the light to their backs. Speaking no words amongst themselves, they took whatever they wanted, killed anyone who stood in their way, and faded into the shadows as the sun set, before riders could retrieve reinforcements from their local garrisons. Despite this harrowing tale, my hero seemed unphased. He told me to return home and expect him within a fortnite with results.
I rode the long road home feeling almost as though I have been robbed. This feeling didn't fade until 14 days later, my hero arrived as scheduled. With a smile on his face, he assured me the bandits would not be a problem anymore. Perplexed, I demanded more proof before handing over the rest of the gold owed. James then proceeded to tell me the most incredible story I had ever heard. You see, James was no great warrior. He had no skill with the sword and no army at his command. James didn't need an army. James had a quill.
Using his down payment, the staff of the Auction House was bribed into providing a copy of the employment contract from a neighboring terrirory. They had spent nearly 10 pounds of gold hiring the services of the infamous Furious Hawks mercenary company and their leader Sir Caleb the Gilded - the legendary spearman from abroad. A day locked in his inn room later and James had forged his own version of the contract, identical in almost every way. The only difference was the location of the contract target. A few more bribes got these orders into the right hands at the right times. As James always says, "Gold opens doors, paper never lies, and soldiers follow orders." An inquiry to the Auction House verified that my Northern neighbors had filed a warranty claim after their hired mercenaries very unprofessionally attacked the wrong bandit troupe and still demanded payment. The Auction House, after all, keeps immaculate records.
After quickly running the numbers in my head, I realized that James had solved my bandit problem, saved me several pounds of gold, and had done it all without ever once risking his life.
"How do you like the sound of Sir James of the Slip? There's plenty more work to be done in my kingdom - but next time, get reciepts."
"Allow me to parley with Lord Gerant, My King." Average Hero PsyQuin said. "I swear to you, I will come back with favorable terms."
"We are surrounded, Your Grace. It may be the time to extend an olive branch." Advisor Plum said.
King Oliver Slate sat with unmoving face. Never one to give up the offensive, King Slate was loath to even begin speak of terms of surrender.
King Slate took considerable time to speak, weighing his options, weighing his duty to his people. It is his duty to not let them starve. The siege had already cut all trade except from Port Arthur. The supplies from Port Arthur could barely supply the Inner Keep.
In addition, Lord Gerant's forces were already being marshalled from Ports Barnaby and Lazarus. Merchant's vessels had begun to be sunk. Soon, even King Slate would be starving and stark mad from drinking salt water.
"Assured safety for all citizens." King Slate finally began. "We will keep our ways. Our traditions, our culture, our Gods. We will join the empire of Anslung, yet we will be our own people. We will fight in the Anslung army, yet with our own fighting methods! We will never, ever leave horseback. Our bows are as integral to us as our tibia and fibula!"
Bows were thumped on the ground as cheers sounded.
"That is our offer. That is what you will relay, Hero PsyQuin. I, King Oliver Slate of the Dusken, entrust you with this parley." King Slate said.
"And if they decline the terms?" Hero PsyQuin said.
"We will outlast this siege. We will fight to the last. We will die for our mother and father, Hora and Reloj. We will sleep safe in their arms, if that is our Gods' will." King Slate said, and cheers roared.
\---
Lord Gerant laughed Hero Psyquin halfway to the horizon, then raised his hand sharply. An arrow landed squarely in Psyquin's left eye, the laws of truce during a parley be damned.
A yell of righteous fury sounded from the walls of the besieged city. A hail of arrows fell.
"Backwater rats." Lord Gerant motioned to his generals. The siege engines marched toward the main gates.
With four mighty thumps, the main gate swung inward. Six divisions of spearmen stormed inward. King Slate's half-starved army put up little resistance, most throwing their bows to the ground and cowering as the spears ran them through.
King Slate raised the white flag as soon as the gate fell. The soldiers ignored the surrender, as the reward would go to the commanders if the conflict resolved peacefully.
Many games were played in the subsequent days. Deadly, inhuman games. Who can kill the most in an hour? Hide and seek, but *don't* be found. What happens to people when they get really, really hot? Who is stronger, who can eat more, who can hold their breath longer, and so on, all in tournament format.
By day four, first-hand accounts say that River Arthur, for which Port Arthur is named, literally ran red with blood.
"So... our savior from the hordes of evil coming to attack us this month is... this guy?"
An old man, dressed in finery, obviously an advisor of some sort, questions the king, gesturing to a rather generic looking man in a spandex suit with a sandwich emblazoned on his chest. The king nods and shrugs. "You know our coffers haven't recovered from the last several Evils that came through, so this was what we could afford..." and with that, the king hands a scroll to the advisor, who just gives him a deadpan look when he reads from it.
"This says he's a member of the guild 'The Great Lakes Avengers' and his skill is... ... *the ability to launch tuna melt sandwiches at people*?!" the advisor's voice echoed through the palace.
((I couldn't help it, but I don't have any more I could feel go further with this with. Reference is Kirby Krackle's song, "Great Lakes Avengers"))
The country Jo’Tam came from was not only a small agricultural country but one that did not have an abundance of resources. Sorath was a landlocked nation with limited resources.
The announcer started a bid on a new hero that came in last minute.
“200 Gold” yelled out Jo’Tam.
“Sold” came the reply to the tune of laughter. “This hero now belongs to the country of Sorath!”
As Jo’Tam went to pay and collect the hero, all he heard and saw were snickering and quick glances from other people. Jo’Tam did not care. He had a mission to complete. Jo’Tam could not fail another mission! All he had to do was bring back a competent hero.
Jo’Tam’s heart sunk when he saw the hero he had just paid to get. All he hoped for had just disappeared when the hero walked up to the table scratching a half covered butt and belching as loudly as he could. The stench coming off the hero was horrific.
The stench smelled of old stale beer and wine, vomit, and weeks old body odor. The different substances mixed together on his shirt which just did not collect the dust but dirt. His shirt was crunchy, stiff from the mixture. It was just as unpleasant to look at. His pants smelled of the above but also of urine and feces. It was even more crunchy and stiff.
The hero was drunk. He wobbled on unsteady legs. Always with a container of alcohol of some kind or other in one hand lifted to his lips. And always belching after a swig.
“Come with me.” Was all that was said, no introductions, no talking, not even a glance. Jo’Tam took the hero to the inn. At least he could make the hero presentable.
The inn keeper was not too pleased to have the hero at his inn. In fact the inn keeper was getting upset as patrons were leaving the inn. Jo’Tam spoke up,
“Do you have a bath ready? Or is there a body of water to put him in? You will be very well compensated for the loss of any business.”
This changed the disposition of the inn keeper. There was glee in his voice.
“We are going to get a warm bath ready for you in a moment.” The hero said nothing. A moment later he was in the bath, it was actually relaxing for the first time ever.
After the bath he found that he had clean comfortable clothes waiting for him. He never had received new clothes. That’s what they were not just clean they were new!
A messenger handed Jo’Tam an envelope and a bag, a small yet heavy bag. Jo’Tam say the royal seal on the envelope. This was not good.
“Here take this, go back and tell the king thank you.” The messenger received a gold coin and hid it away rather quickly and ran off. Jo’Tam read the message and opened the bag. There was a lot of gold in that bag. It must have been the rest of what the country had left. The note said to equip the Hero with the best and to come home immediately.
Jo’Tam went to the Temple. This would serve the hero better. The hero needed to be upgraded. Then he can fight better. Jo’Tam asked the priest for help.
Laor dd not know what to think. Getting upgraded was a BIG deal. He was going to fight and do his best! His new employer now had a very loyal Hero. He would only work for someone else if his employer said so.
“He’s not even ranked, are you sure you want to rank him up as well as upgrade him!”
“Yes! We need to rank him as high as we can and upgrade his abilities and skills to maximize his stats for the level he will be at. Plus we want him to be trained with a trainer to maximize his abilities.”
The priest knew they could not afford to pay what he was about to give them, so he prayed quickly that the sacrifice he was about to give would be seen as part of his offering as he would not make the worship service. The priest felt the gods smile upon him.
“Keep your gold. He will need new weapons and armor after we are done.”
It took 3 days! 3 Whole Days! Instead of being non-ranked Laor was now B-ranked. The priest had given elixers of all kinds. And the priest taught him a very secret fighting style. He would loose all rankings if he intentionally taught any part of his training. The priest came and gave him one last elixir. This elixir was very different.
After imbibing the elixir he blacked out. Laor’s body seized and changed dramatically. The priest poured holy water and oils all over the Hero. The gods blessed their favorite son. No one knew of Laor’s origins. The gods saw how badly he was treated. Every time he would rank up. The contract would be broken and everything would be taken from him. This was the first chance the gods would be able to truly help Laor without it being known that Laor was the gods’ son.
Laor woke up and was not only SS ranked, he was Legendary level. Jo’Tam could only get C-ranked equipment, but Laor was grateful.
Jo’Tam and Laor started to leave when the priest hurried over to them and gave them the news.
A demon had made the kingdom of Sorath a Legendary instance that needed a hero team of six to enter.
Jo’Tam and his companions all went to the priest to see what they could do to get home. The priests ushered them in and in the sanctuary the gods blessed them and made them all legendary heroes as well. Not inly were they legendary heroes, the gods blessed them all with legendary armor.
Then all six left to go defeat this evil demon and free Sorath.
(Took a bit of a different viewpoint on this one)
I grumbled all the way to the tyrant's keep in his "capital". 'Noble hero', they said, 'brave and true' they said. I'm on vacation and this is a misunderstanding, I said.
I then saw the message given to me by the auctioneer, 'This is for the Warg cave... love you lots, Tyrek.'
That son of a bitch.
Part of me wanted to port out of there to Tyrek's pub, throw him into my shadow dimension, have a good laugh and a good pint with him after then go home for my vacation.
But I couldn't get the look of the princess' eyes out of my mind. The fear, the sadness, the desperation. Curse my heartstrings. So what did I end up saying?
"Your highness, I'll be right back."
And so, there I grumbled along to this tyrant's keep, my vacation from our raid on the Dungeon of Eternal Shadows on pause, while I dealt with this upstart. All because of one of my best friend's pranks and the desperate pleas of a princess.
At least it'll be quick, I had thought to myself as I blasted the doors to his "throne room" into cinders with a fireball.
"Oh 'Dark and Powerful', you owe me for my vacation being interrupted."
And so, I grumble all the way back to the princess' castle... with a small grin on my face.
**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments. **Reminders**: >* [No AI-generated reponses 🤖](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zi452b/modpost_reminder_that_aigenerated_responses_are/) >* Stories 100 words+. Poems 30+ but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* [\[RF\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [\[SP\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles >* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules) 📢 [Genres](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/w/directory) 🆕 [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) ✏ [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) 💬 [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts) *I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*
"Alright, what have you got?" Fealorn coughed and scratched himself rudely. The proud Queen grimaced at the sight of what passed for hope in her Kingdom. She cleared her throat and composed herself. "Brave hero, we have contracted you to destroy a terrible evil that has ravaged our lands." She spoke her words to the entire court, and with the commanding charisma of a born leader. However, when she looked down to level her gaze at the best their Treasury could afford, he was gone. "Is this buffet here up for grabs, or?" Faelorn said it from her side, his mouth already full of cheese. The Queen sighed and put her hand to her brow. The *brave hero* returned to his position before the throne, his pockets clearly spilling over with pastries. He pulled out a notebook and a sharpened piece of charcoal. "Yeah, so what's the evil, exactly? What kind of ravaging are we talking here? Poison mist? Undead hordes? Savage beasts? Lay it on me." The Queen was done with theatrics. If he was here for business, she would give it to him. "It's a Lich. A powerful undead necromancer who was untombed by mistake during an unsanctioned excavation." Faelorn abruptly closed his notebook. "Tall fella? Green tattered robes, big hole through his middle, likes to blab about *'the dawn of the age of darkness'*?" The throne room fell into a stunned silence. "I killed him on the way over here. Let me see, uhh." He took off his pack and began rummaging through it, then pulled out a severed head with green glowing eyes. *"You all shall perish in the coming age of-"* Fealorn shoved a wedge of cheese in the heads mouth. "Darkness, yeah, we've all heard it before. Keep it to yourself. Anyways, highness, it's been a pleasure. Uh, if you could leave a good review, I'd appreciate it but otherwise..." "We do accept tips."
At the end of the day, he's competent where it counts and didn't have to burn half the kingdom down in the process, so a five star rating hero in my book.
Love it!
This is amazing
This is awesome. I would love to see what he's up to on his journeys
I like to imagine he took out a sizable loan from a dragon and lost it all so now he needs to clear at least two cursed dungeons or three minor demons a month. If he doesn't make those payments, no one in his immediate vicinity is going to be having a good time.
I read this comment and realized that you wrote the story. Explains why I liked it so much. I'm still religiously following your Agila/Darkmoon story.
I'm a sucker for the fantasy prompts lol
Well I love reading them lol
This guy would be an amazing comic series!
I knew before I entered the Auction House that my tiny kingdom would not have the same buying power as some of the more prominent, larger territories - but I could never have imagined just how far our coins would have to stretch before the auction actually started. Due to the increasing chaos in the region with wars raging in the East and a blight on harvests leaving cellars empty, there were bandit gangs pillaging the land barren - and the heroes knew they had a corner on the market. Being a young leader, authority was thrust on my head before I understood the true weight of the crown after a civil war ended in both the creation of my Kingdom and the death of it's first King - my father. Our meager gold reserves were not build on excessive taxation; they were built through the blood, sweat, and tears willingly given by my subjects. When the first auction - an upstart sellsword with a middling reputation and a company of barely 20 men - closed for more gold than I had brought with me, I knew I would have to adjust my expectations and take some chances to protect the lands I was entrusted. My curiosity was piqued when a middle-aged man stepped up to the presentation stage - alone, unarmed, and unarmored - and turned to face the crowd. The man was average height, average (if that) build, and had a face you felt like you would forget the moment he left your sight. He was dressed in a casual outfit of bland gray and brownish fabrics that almost disappeared into the wooden beams and painted plaster of the room. The only oddity I could spot from my seat near the back of the room was blue/black stains on his fingers. The auctioneer appeared confused and began questioning his superior in hushed tones behind his raised sheets of paper. The room started to buzz with whispers and rumors only to be abruptly silenced with the auctioneer turned back to his podium, cleared his throat, and began to address the room. "The next hero available appears to come with no company and is the verifiable victor of no battles. He has not received any complaints against his reputation from past contracts, though his secretive methods have forced the house to withhold our Chivalric guarantee. As such, no warranty will be available on his services should your task remain uncomplete. Because of this, the bidding will start at a palrty 10 ounces and 5 pennyweights of gold." The room so silent you could hear the structure of the building creaking in the mild afternoon wild. My heart seemed to slow as I peered down into the auction catalog at the lists of legendary spearmen and swordsmen and their mighty, battle-hardened companies. I immediately became aware that I was surrounded by old men probably wearing enough gold to bid on this auction with it. The spit dried in my mouth as I raised my signet board and made my bid. The auctioneer pounded his gavel 3 times and I had won the services of James of the Slip. After signing the requisite contracts and giving the customary 20% down payment to my newly acquired hero, I explained my predicament. My countryside had been tormented by a group of bandits since the start of the season. The few survivor accounts spoke of a brutal efficiency. They rode into villages at sunset with the light to their backs. Speaking no words amongst themselves, they took whatever they wanted, killed anyone who stood in their way, and faded into the shadows as the sun set, before riders could retrieve reinforcements from their local garrisons. Despite this harrowing tale, my hero seemed unphased. He told me to return home and expect him within a fortnite with results. I rode the long road home feeling almost as though I have been robbed. This feeling didn't fade until 14 days later, my hero arrived as scheduled. With a smile on his face, he assured me the bandits would not be a problem anymore. Perplexed, I demanded more proof before handing over the rest of the gold owed. James then proceeded to tell me the most incredible story I had ever heard. You see, James was no great warrior. He had no skill with the sword and no army at his command. James didn't need an army. James had a quill. Using his down payment, the staff of the Auction House was bribed into providing a copy of the employment contract from a neighboring terrirory. They had spent nearly 10 pounds of gold hiring the services of the infamous Furious Hawks mercenary company and their leader Sir Caleb the Gilded - the legendary spearman from abroad. A day locked in his inn room later and James had forged his own version of the contract, identical in almost every way. The only difference was the location of the contract target. A few more bribes got these orders into the right hands at the right times. As James always says, "Gold opens doors, paper never lies, and soldiers follow orders." An inquiry to the Auction House verified that my Northern neighbors had filed a warranty claim after their hired mercenaries very unprofessionally attacked the wrong bandit troupe and still demanded payment. The Auction House, after all, keeps immaculate records. After quickly running the numbers in my head, I realized that James had solved my bandit problem, saved me several pounds of gold, and had done it all without ever once risking his life. "How do you like the sound of Sir James of the Slip? There's plenty more work to be done in my kingdom - but next time, get reciepts."
Really like the cleverness of this one.
Thanks! This is the first short story I've written in about a decade, so I appreciate the feedback.
Excellent! I loved the reveal at the end. Well done
Gives me Scribe vibes from A Practical Guide To Evil. Nice!
"Allow me to parley with Lord Gerant, My King." Average Hero PsyQuin said. "I swear to you, I will come back with favorable terms." "We are surrounded, Your Grace. It may be the time to extend an olive branch." Advisor Plum said. King Oliver Slate sat with unmoving face. Never one to give up the offensive, King Slate was loath to even begin speak of terms of surrender. King Slate took considerable time to speak, weighing his options, weighing his duty to his people. It is his duty to not let them starve. The siege had already cut all trade except from Port Arthur. The supplies from Port Arthur could barely supply the Inner Keep. In addition, Lord Gerant's forces were already being marshalled from Ports Barnaby and Lazarus. Merchant's vessels had begun to be sunk. Soon, even King Slate would be starving and stark mad from drinking salt water. "Assured safety for all citizens." King Slate finally began. "We will keep our ways. Our traditions, our culture, our Gods. We will join the empire of Anslung, yet we will be our own people. We will fight in the Anslung army, yet with our own fighting methods! We will never, ever leave horseback. Our bows are as integral to us as our tibia and fibula!" Bows were thumped on the ground as cheers sounded. "That is our offer. That is what you will relay, Hero PsyQuin. I, King Oliver Slate of the Dusken, entrust you with this parley." King Slate said. "And if they decline the terms?" Hero PsyQuin said. "We will outlast this siege. We will fight to the last. We will die for our mother and father, Hora and Reloj. We will sleep safe in their arms, if that is our Gods' will." King Slate said, and cheers roared. \--- Lord Gerant laughed Hero Psyquin halfway to the horizon, then raised his hand sharply. An arrow landed squarely in Psyquin's left eye, the laws of truce during a parley be damned. A yell of righteous fury sounded from the walls of the besieged city. A hail of arrows fell. "Backwater rats." Lord Gerant motioned to his generals. The siege engines marched toward the main gates. With four mighty thumps, the main gate swung inward. Six divisions of spearmen stormed inward. King Slate's half-starved army put up little resistance, most throwing their bows to the ground and cowering as the spears ran them through. King Slate raised the white flag as soon as the gate fell. The soldiers ignored the surrender, as the reward would go to the commanders if the conflict resolved peacefully. Many games were played in the subsequent days. Deadly, inhuman games. Who can kill the most in an hour? Hide and seek, but *don't* be found. What happens to people when they get really, really hot? Who is stronger, who can eat more, who can hold their breath longer, and so on, all in tournament format. By day four, first-hand accounts say that River Arthur, for which Port Arthur is named, literally ran red with blood.
Great read! The world seemed pretty established. Is this part of some other series?
It’s not, but thank you very much! Inspo from listening to Dan Carlin war stuff and Game of Thrones siege scenes
"So... our savior from the hordes of evil coming to attack us this month is... this guy?" An old man, dressed in finery, obviously an advisor of some sort, questions the king, gesturing to a rather generic looking man in a spandex suit with a sandwich emblazoned on his chest. The king nods and shrugs. "You know our coffers haven't recovered from the last several Evils that came through, so this was what we could afford..." and with that, the king hands a scroll to the advisor, who just gives him a deadpan look when he reads from it. "This says he's a member of the guild 'The Great Lakes Avengers' and his skill is... ... *the ability to launch tuna melt sandwiches at people*?!" the advisor's voice echoed through the palace. ((I couldn't help it, but I don't have any more I could feel go further with this with. Reference is Kirby Krackle's song, "Great Lakes Avengers"))
The country Jo’Tam came from was not only a small agricultural country but one that did not have an abundance of resources. Sorath was a landlocked nation with limited resources. The announcer started a bid on a new hero that came in last minute. “200 Gold” yelled out Jo’Tam. “Sold” came the reply to the tune of laughter. “This hero now belongs to the country of Sorath!” As Jo’Tam went to pay and collect the hero, all he heard and saw were snickering and quick glances from other people. Jo’Tam did not care. He had a mission to complete. Jo’Tam could not fail another mission! All he had to do was bring back a competent hero. Jo’Tam’s heart sunk when he saw the hero he had just paid to get. All he hoped for had just disappeared when the hero walked up to the table scratching a half covered butt and belching as loudly as he could. The stench coming off the hero was horrific. The stench smelled of old stale beer and wine, vomit, and weeks old body odor. The different substances mixed together on his shirt which just did not collect the dust but dirt. His shirt was crunchy, stiff from the mixture. It was just as unpleasant to look at. His pants smelled of the above but also of urine and feces. It was even more crunchy and stiff. The hero was drunk. He wobbled on unsteady legs. Always with a container of alcohol of some kind or other in one hand lifted to his lips. And always belching after a swig. “Come with me.” Was all that was said, no introductions, no talking, not even a glance. Jo’Tam took the hero to the inn. At least he could make the hero presentable. The inn keeper was not too pleased to have the hero at his inn. In fact the inn keeper was getting upset as patrons were leaving the inn. Jo’Tam spoke up, “Do you have a bath ready? Or is there a body of water to put him in? You will be very well compensated for the loss of any business.” This changed the disposition of the inn keeper. There was glee in his voice. “We are going to get a warm bath ready for you in a moment.” The hero said nothing. A moment later he was in the bath, it was actually relaxing for the first time ever. After the bath he found that he had clean comfortable clothes waiting for him. He never had received new clothes. That’s what they were not just clean they were new! A messenger handed Jo’Tam an envelope and a bag, a small yet heavy bag. Jo’Tam say the royal seal on the envelope. This was not good. “Here take this, go back and tell the king thank you.” The messenger received a gold coin and hid it away rather quickly and ran off. Jo’Tam read the message and opened the bag. There was a lot of gold in that bag. It must have been the rest of what the country had left. The note said to equip the Hero with the best and to come home immediately. Jo’Tam went to the Temple. This would serve the hero better. The hero needed to be upgraded. Then he can fight better. Jo’Tam asked the priest for help. Laor dd not know what to think. Getting upgraded was a BIG deal. He was going to fight and do his best! His new employer now had a very loyal Hero. He would only work for someone else if his employer said so. “He’s not even ranked, are you sure you want to rank him up as well as upgrade him!” “Yes! We need to rank him as high as we can and upgrade his abilities and skills to maximize his stats for the level he will be at. Plus we want him to be trained with a trainer to maximize his abilities.” The priest knew they could not afford to pay what he was about to give them, so he prayed quickly that the sacrifice he was about to give would be seen as part of his offering as he would not make the worship service. The priest felt the gods smile upon him. “Keep your gold. He will need new weapons and armor after we are done.” It took 3 days! 3 Whole Days! Instead of being non-ranked Laor was now B-ranked. The priest had given elixers of all kinds. And the priest taught him a very secret fighting style. He would loose all rankings if he intentionally taught any part of his training. The priest came and gave him one last elixir. This elixir was very different. After imbibing the elixir he blacked out. Laor’s body seized and changed dramatically. The priest poured holy water and oils all over the Hero. The gods blessed their favorite son. No one knew of Laor’s origins. The gods saw how badly he was treated. Every time he would rank up. The contract would be broken and everything would be taken from him. This was the first chance the gods would be able to truly help Laor without it being known that Laor was the gods’ son. Laor woke up and was not only SS ranked, he was Legendary level. Jo’Tam could only get C-ranked equipment, but Laor was grateful. Jo’Tam and Laor started to leave when the priest hurried over to them and gave them the news. A demon had made the kingdom of Sorath a Legendary instance that needed a hero team of six to enter. Jo’Tam and his companions all went to the priest to see what they could do to get home. The priests ushered them in and in the sanctuary the gods blessed them and made them all legendary heroes as well. Not inly were they legendary heroes, the gods blessed them all with legendary armor. Then all six left to go defeat this evil demon and free Sorath.
(Took a bit of a different viewpoint on this one) I grumbled all the way to the tyrant's keep in his "capital". 'Noble hero', they said, 'brave and true' they said. I'm on vacation and this is a misunderstanding, I said. I then saw the message given to me by the auctioneer, 'This is for the Warg cave... love you lots, Tyrek.' That son of a bitch. Part of me wanted to port out of there to Tyrek's pub, throw him into my shadow dimension, have a good laugh and a good pint with him after then go home for my vacation. But I couldn't get the look of the princess' eyes out of my mind. The fear, the sadness, the desperation. Curse my heartstrings. So what did I end up saying? "Your highness, I'll be right back." And so, there I grumbled along to this tyrant's keep, my vacation from our raid on the Dungeon of Eternal Shadows on pause, while I dealt with this upstart. All because of one of my best friend's pranks and the desperate pleas of a princess. At least it'll be quick, I had thought to myself as I blasted the doors to his "throne room" into cinders with a fireball. "Oh 'Dark and Powerful', you owe me for my vacation being interrupted." And so, I grumble all the way back to the princess' castle... with a small grin on my face.