11-03-2008, 07:01 AM
(This post was last modified: 11-03-2008, 07:04 AM by Frisk E. Coyote.)
[Outskirts of Villnore]
A lone figure draped in a showman's black, star-spangled traveling cloak slowly appeared in the distance down the dusty road. The figure was pulling some sort of miniature painted and varnished caravan decorated with elaborate markings and a few golden stars. Bold golden letters emblazoned the side of the cart and marked with a flourish; "THE TRICKSTER: Illusionist and Magician". The figure imposed itself well against the bright background, it was almost intimidating.
...Until it tripped and fell forward face-first, rump facing up. An all too human folly.
"Ow..." The figure grunted as he got up, brushing the sand and dust off his cloak. He lowered his hood to see the town of Villnore better, and sniffed, tears of relief filling his young eyes. "Oh Odin, I've finally reached Villnore!" He cheered, punching the sky with glee. "Three months. I, Ray the Trickster, sacrificed THREE MONTHS of traveling, making my name known and running from DEMONS. I've finally made it to my destination! Truly this is my destiny? If not... I would not have received those 'signs'..." He thought to himself as he wearily pulled his small caravan toward the Town of Villnore.
[Three Months Prior: Outskirts of the Town of Igelstalung]
Ray made his way back to his hometown, the orphanage where he grew up etched in his mind. The Orphanage had raised him when his parents abandoned him there. He wasn't the strongest and fittest of children, in fact, he was rather sickly, so his impoverished parents had dumped him in the orphanage.
He grew up with a natural love for parlor tricks and games. He was a clever child, quite bright. He found many ways to entertain his orphanage brothers and sisters. He especially loved to entertain young Mariam, his childhood sweetheart. When he left the orphanage one day, taken in by an abusive and selfish old Illusionist to fulfill his dreams, he vowed to return one day when he had made a name for himself, and ten years later, here he was, returning to the place that was his home until he was seven. He'd find his childhood sweetheart and take her around the world with him!
Sure, he wasn't THAT famous, but he was known simply as "Ray the Trickster", an entertainer known in several towns and small villages.
But what had happened to his sweet little village? His small, simple hometown? It was burning, charred, ruined. Billows of thick black smoke and ash blotted out the sky above it.
Ray left his cart and ran. He ran through the familiar streets, now filled with carnage and bodies. He ran through the alleys and jumped fences until he reached the old orphanage. Charred remains of burnt children, faces he never knew, and faces he remembered, but couldn't make out completely.
Grief stricken, he rolls up his sleeves, and buries his old friends and family in simple graves. Sweaty, backbreaking work, his hands covered in blood and filth, his clothes as ashen as his face. When it was over, he sat down, and covered his face. He never did meet Mariam again.
A voice spoke behind him, startling the young magician. To his relief, it was the village smith, one of the many survivors of the carnage. Ray grinned at the smith mysteriously yet solemnly, like a magician would, and straightened up.
"The Gods are dead." He replied. They became fast friends, swapping information. Ray told him about other villages and towns he had been to, and the smith told him what he had missed. They shared food and drink, helped a few survivors and injured out before they went their separate ways.
A week later, Ray practiced his tarot card reading on the side of the road. They told him to go north-east, to the city of Villnore. The handsome young magician grunted and tried again. Villnore was three months from where he was (crossroads smack-dab in the middle of nowhere). He got the same results, north-east. North-east. North-east.
He decided he'd just go west, to the nearest town, when he spread the cards out on the back of his caravan. To his surprise, scratchy letters suddenly burned through the cards, and in their current positions, it spelled: "GOTOVILLN OREIDIOT". After spacing the cards correctly, the smoldering letters read "GO TO VILLNORE IDIOT". He threw his arms up in defeat. "Alright, alright, to Villnore."
And so began his three-month quest of evading demons, surviving exposure, gaining recognition and of course, earning some Zeny along the way.
[Current Day: Outskirts of Villnore]
Ray squinted to check out another figure even further off than him. He was tired, and decided he would use that figure as a starting gun for him to continue up to Villnore's gates. When the figure reached him, he would continue walking alongside him/her.
He noticed another person had made a camp in the middle of the road to Villnore ahead of him. Perhaps that was a good idea? He was rather tired, but at least he had plenty of water and some left over bread.
A lone figure draped in a showman's black, star-spangled traveling cloak slowly appeared in the distance down the dusty road. The figure was pulling some sort of miniature painted and varnished caravan decorated with elaborate markings and a few golden stars. Bold golden letters emblazoned the side of the cart and marked with a flourish; "THE TRICKSTER: Illusionist and Magician". The figure imposed itself well against the bright background, it was almost intimidating.
...Until it tripped and fell forward face-first, rump facing up. An all too human folly.
"Ow..." The figure grunted as he got up, brushing the sand and dust off his cloak. He lowered his hood to see the town of Villnore better, and sniffed, tears of relief filling his young eyes. "Oh Odin, I've finally reached Villnore!" He cheered, punching the sky with glee. "Three months. I, Ray the Trickster, sacrificed THREE MONTHS of traveling, making my name known and running from DEMONS. I've finally made it to my destination! Truly this is my destiny? If not... I would not have received those 'signs'..." He thought to himself as he wearily pulled his small caravan toward the Town of Villnore.
[Three Months Prior: Outskirts of the Town of Igelstalung]
Ray made his way back to his hometown, the orphanage where he grew up etched in his mind. The Orphanage had raised him when his parents abandoned him there. He wasn't the strongest and fittest of children, in fact, he was rather sickly, so his impoverished parents had dumped him in the orphanage.
He grew up with a natural love for parlor tricks and games. He was a clever child, quite bright. He found many ways to entertain his orphanage brothers and sisters. He especially loved to entertain young Mariam, his childhood sweetheart. When he left the orphanage one day, taken in by an abusive and selfish old Illusionist to fulfill his dreams, he vowed to return one day when he had made a name for himself, and ten years later, here he was, returning to the place that was his home until he was seven. He'd find his childhood sweetheart and take her around the world with him!
Sure, he wasn't THAT famous, but he was known simply as "Ray the Trickster", an entertainer known in several towns and small villages.
But what had happened to his sweet little village? His small, simple hometown? It was burning, charred, ruined. Billows of thick black smoke and ash blotted out the sky above it.
Ray left his cart and ran. He ran through the familiar streets, now filled with carnage and bodies. He ran through the alleys and jumped fences until he reached the old orphanage. Charred remains of burnt children, faces he never knew, and faces he remembered, but couldn't make out completely.
Grief stricken, he rolls up his sleeves, and buries his old friends and family in simple graves. Sweaty, backbreaking work, his hands covered in blood and filth, his clothes as ashen as his face. When it was over, he sat down, and covered his face. He never did meet Mariam again.
A voice spoke behind him, startling the young magician. To his relief, it was the village smith, one of the many survivors of the carnage. Ray grinned at the smith mysteriously yet solemnly, like a magician would, and straightened up.
"The Gods are dead." He replied. They became fast friends, swapping information. Ray told him about other villages and towns he had been to, and the smith told him what he had missed. They shared food and drink, helped a few survivors and injured out before they went their separate ways.
* * *
A week later, Ray practiced his tarot card reading on the side of the road. They told him to go north-east, to the city of Villnore. The handsome young magician grunted and tried again. Villnore was three months from where he was (crossroads smack-dab in the middle of nowhere). He got the same results, north-east. North-east. North-east.
He decided he'd just go west, to the nearest town, when he spread the cards out on the back of his caravan. To his surprise, scratchy letters suddenly burned through the cards, and in their current positions, it spelled: "GOTOVILLN OREIDIOT". After spacing the cards correctly, the smoldering letters read "GO TO VILLNORE IDIOT". He threw his arms up in defeat. "Alright, alright, to Villnore."
And so began his three-month quest of evading demons, surviving exposure, gaining recognition and of course, earning some Zeny along the way.
[Current Day: Outskirts of Villnore]
Ray squinted to check out another figure even further off than him. He was tired, and decided he would use that figure as a starting gun for him to continue up to Villnore's gates. When the figure reached him, he would continue walking alongside him/her.
He noticed another person had made a camp in the middle of the road to Villnore ahead of him. Perhaps that was a good idea? He was rather tired, but at least he had plenty of water and some left over bread.
![[Image: self_centered_coyote_by_kerol-d2zmoca.png]](http://i1223.photobucket.com/albums/dd505/Frisky_E_Coyote/Frisk%20Me/self_centered_coyote_by_kerol-d2zmoca.png)
"I don't suffer from insanity, I enjoy every minute of it!"
