O
Oliphet
Guest
Some fables are true
Alright, this will be written from the perspective of my heroine from a point beyond the end of the game. It will be first person. Anyways, here goes chapter 1... first half of it anyway. If you think it's way too long, that's still a critique, so don't be afraid to give it.
Alright, this will be written from the perspective of my heroine from a point beyond the end of the game. It will be first person. Anyways, here goes chapter 1... first half of it anyway. If you think it's way too long, that's still a critique, so don't be afraid to give it.
Dearest reader, I implore you, if you are of feint heart or frail mind, do not suffer yourself passage through my story. It is not the story of whimsy and wonder you would then enjoy, but a tale of suffering and woe. The words before you will offer you no solace, only pain and agony as the knowledge they hold unfolds. The following is my true personal account of my own life. No events have been exaggerated, and have all been, whenever their was doubt of their clarity in my own thoughts, checked and double-checked with the multitude of persons also present during the events. While this story, as aforementionedly stated, is not for those who cannot withstand the truths writ here, it is important that those same truths never be lost to the world, for fear of their corruption, and descent into lies, myths, and fables.
Now, as to my identity, it has changed many a time, from my long lost natal name, given to me by my mother before I lost her, to Sparrow by my elder sister, Rose. For the sake of continuity, and to remove any clouds of confusion that might shroud the bygone scenarios, I will refrain from altering my name at any point from Sparrow, lest the constant shift befuddle you. However, as this autobiographical narrative will be mostly of recollections, lacking in the exacts of dialog, it will be few and far between that my name be mentioned. At a young age, I was orphaned with Rose in the slums of Bowerstone's Old Town district. We were poor, living in a makeshift hovel. Rarely was it we ate our fill, and then the taste was foul and bitter, bringing with it bouts of nausea and illness, if only for a while. So we learned to save our money, and not to purchase in abundance the moldy bread and near rotten remains of the richer persons' shopping, as to avoid further illness when medication was far beyond the bounds of our wealth.
I can remember my sister having dealings with a man named Arfur. My recollections of this scumbag are vague, and I am ill equipped to describe him as the only sole I've known to also know him is... whatever Rose's communications were with this man, led me to deduce that there could be said no words of virtue toward his character, and because of such, I gathered feelings of resentment and hate toward him, wanting naught but his existence to cease, permanently. I also remember Derek, a guard of Old Town, a rather nice fellow, still is, but not the most... suited for his job. His heart was in the right place, but it never occurred to anyone that his mind was within a mile of his heart. It wasn't uncommon for him to lose his bearings, and supplies. In fact, one day... yes, that is an apt starting point, as it does hold some of my earliest recollections of my childhood. And the darkest.
I was no more than a child at the time, near ten years of age, when this trader, Morgu, or something along those lines, came into our town, with wild promises of fantastic items for sale, and at five gold pieces a bit. Magic beautifying mirrors that worked only in the dark. Clothes that were invisible to the unintelligent eye. Dolls that were also knives and lanterns. Items that only a fool would dare to purchase. Among them, was a diamond in the rough, a gem amongst garbage. It was an Old Kingdom music box, which he claimed had the power to grant a single wish. Doubtless to say, if he believed this, he would never sell it, for greed would drive him to use the wish himself. He was either unable, or doubted it. Probably both. Rose and myself were quick to agree that the box was rubbish, only to invoke the calmed rebuttal of one who would later become a great friend and mentor to me.
The strange woman, whom I now know as Theresa, was amidst the crowd as were Rose and myself. Upon hearing our derogatory claims of the box, she spoke down to us, decrying the sad state the world must be in, if children were too world weary to believe in magic. Initially we were slightly irked by her underly subtle insistence upon the artifact having merit to its acclaimed power. As she disappeared into the snowfall, Rose and I were now ready to believe the magic, for if one as old as her could find it remotely plausible, she either knew something, or was insane. The problem was, we didn't have near five gold for the box, and would have to find a means to gather such an insurmountable sum, and spending such gold on a single object that could be a ruse, would cost as much as enough food for a week. We were risking much on this venture.
Immediately the two of us set out on our task, finding small errands we could run to get our needed five pieces. The guard, Derek, was the first person we stumbled across who could use our help. As per his usual manner of being, he had let some wind blow a few arrest warrants out of his hands and down the alley ways. He claimed that for helping him, we'd be just like little constables, and gave us the who line about justice being its own reward. We pushed for payment, and he agreed to a gold piece. We were already on our way to getting our first bit of gold, we just needed to find the warrants that were now scattered across the town's back alleys.
As he headed down the road in search for the warrants, we stumbled across an odd man named Barnum, whom was on one of his many ventures into business. It was a small box, which he claimed could grab our image with a click and flash of light, transposing it onto a piece of paper. We agreed to model its usage for him, if he was willing to hand over a gold piece. He was initially reluctant, but agreed with our offer, claiming that it would be wise for him to further invest in his product, out of some ill-based foreknowledge that it would be a rousing success. We posed, and he activated his box across our two waiflike figures before a picturesque backdrop of the town, all the while spewing nonsensical and incoherent words, spawned from a malevolent thesaurus. And just like that, we were now sparred his jabber, and had in hand our first true gold piece toward the box.
Around the bend into another alley we found a gathering of children, as a local bully was asserting his dominance, and cruelty, toward a then weak, and defenseless animal. It was a stray dog, corned and whimpering as he lurked closer, casting an omnipotent shadow over the poor creature. Rose stood defiant to the punk, only to be felled by the vile sod. Angered, and unafraid of the degenerate, I drew the closest thing I had to a weapon, my toy sword, and I pounded the creep into the ground, until he begged for forgiveness and safety. I don't know what was more humiliating to him, losing to someone half his size, or losing to a girl. After he had fled, I helped Rose back to her feet. She was more than a bit surprised that he had actually hit her, as it was more than a tad taboo for a boy to hit a girl. Putting aside the lad's immorality, we turned our attentions toward the dog, comforting it, but making sure we conveyed that it couldn't follow us. We barely could feed ourselves, we didn't need another mouth as it were.
We continued down the road until we reached the bottom of a stair, atop of which their was the whimpering of a grown man. Queried by his whining, we ascended and confronted him. He explained to us his predicament, and his eagerness to rid himself of it, if it weren't for his fear of the beetles he so wished were vanished from his warehouse. We chidingly commented that we held no such fear, and would rid him of the vermin if he were to pay us to do so. He hastily agreed, making sure to add a worrisome comment about the maintenance of his stock. I agreed to let his stuff be, and only do damage toward the bothersome bugs therein. Upon entering his warehouse, the same man from earlier, whom I had seen many a time making rank communique with my Rose, appeared in the window, offering me equivalent payment if I were to ignore the beetles, and in their stead, destroy the boxes of supplies that lined the lower floor of the structure.
I was conflicted, here was the disgusting shell of a human being, offering me gold to smash boxes, which would lend to me having to avoid dealing with the beetles. Sure I had promised to leave the items be, but it could have been fun to smash them. And he did say that the man outside owed money, and refused to pay. I concluded that it was alright to carry out the man's work, after all, it was like taking what he was owed by the man. So instead of slaying the insects, I broke open, and strewed about the stock of the shed all about the floor. I'm sure that Rose would have been upset by my doing so, but we were still getting our gold piece, and the man was not paying his debts. He deserved this, didn't he? I thought so, at the time. Not anymore.
After thoroughly ransacking the storage held there, Arfur tossed me the gold piece, and I left, turning before I did to flick off his back. My sister and myself left the man weeping at his lost stock, and persisting beetle problem. It was rather good fun breaking the boxes open, but it pained me to see a man weep as he did. The sooner I left earshot of him, the better. As we raced back down the stairs, Rose made no mention of the seedy character I had dealed with just prior, as we were immediately distracted by a gust blowing a scrap of paper into our faces. It was a warrant, the first one we found, for this Lenny character. It didn't appear as if he had done anything wrong from what we could read off the sheet, but we made sure to keep a good hold of it as we continued looking for a means to earn more gold.
Not too far away, we saw a lady conversing with a drunkard. He complained about having lost his booze, and she relentlessly struck a chord of virtue amidst his choir of stench and filth. She denounced his pursuit of alcohol, reminding him of his goal of becoming sober once more. When he offered the four of us a gold piece to retrieve his stolen drink, apparently seeing duplicates of my sister and I, the lady offered us equal payment if we were to prevent his reclaiming the beverage. He claimed that a thief by the name Magpie had stolen it from him, and that this Magpie was a disgrace to all bums who earned their keep, as he stole his. Rose claimed that, as the drunk had bought his drink with his own money, it was his right to have it back, and that the lady had no authority to keep it from him. It made sense to me, what she said, and when we set off to reclaim the ale, it was to return it to its rightful owner.
Now, as to my identity, it has changed many a time, from my long lost natal name, given to me by my mother before I lost her, to Sparrow by my elder sister, Rose. For the sake of continuity, and to remove any clouds of confusion that might shroud the bygone scenarios, I will refrain from altering my name at any point from Sparrow, lest the constant shift befuddle you. However, as this autobiographical narrative will be mostly of recollections, lacking in the exacts of dialog, it will be few and far between that my name be mentioned. At a young age, I was orphaned with Rose in the slums of Bowerstone's Old Town district. We were poor, living in a makeshift hovel. Rarely was it we ate our fill, and then the taste was foul and bitter, bringing with it bouts of nausea and illness, if only for a while. So we learned to save our money, and not to purchase in abundance the moldy bread and near rotten remains of the richer persons' shopping, as to avoid further illness when medication was far beyond the bounds of our wealth.
I can remember my sister having dealings with a man named Arfur. My recollections of this scumbag are vague, and I am ill equipped to describe him as the only sole I've known to also know him is... whatever Rose's communications were with this man, led me to deduce that there could be said no words of virtue toward his character, and because of such, I gathered feelings of resentment and hate toward him, wanting naught but his existence to cease, permanently. I also remember Derek, a guard of Old Town, a rather nice fellow, still is, but not the most... suited for his job. His heart was in the right place, but it never occurred to anyone that his mind was within a mile of his heart. It wasn't uncommon for him to lose his bearings, and supplies. In fact, one day... yes, that is an apt starting point, as it does hold some of my earliest recollections of my childhood. And the darkest.
I was no more than a child at the time, near ten years of age, when this trader, Morgu, or something along those lines, came into our town, with wild promises of fantastic items for sale, and at five gold pieces a bit. Magic beautifying mirrors that worked only in the dark. Clothes that were invisible to the unintelligent eye. Dolls that were also knives and lanterns. Items that only a fool would dare to purchase. Among them, was a diamond in the rough, a gem amongst garbage. It was an Old Kingdom music box, which he claimed had the power to grant a single wish. Doubtless to say, if he believed this, he would never sell it, for greed would drive him to use the wish himself. He was either unable, or doubted it. Probably both. Rose and myself were quick to agree that the box was rubbish, only to invoke the calmed rebuttal of one who would later become a great friend and mentor to me.
The strange woman, whom I now know as Theresa, was amidst the crowd as were Rose and myself. Upon hearing our derogatory claims of the box, she spoke down to us, decrying the sad state the world must be in, if children were too world weary to believe in magic. Initially we were slightly irked by her underly subtle insistence upon the artifact having merit to its acclaimed power. As she disappeared into the snowfall, Rose and I were now ready to believe the magic, for if one as old as her could find it remotely plausible, she either knew something, or was insane. The problem was, we didn't have near five gold for the box, and would have to find a means to gather such an insurmountable sum, and spending such gold on a single object that could be a ruse, would cost as much as enough food for a week. We were risking much on this venture.
Immediately the two of us set out on our task, finding small errands we could run to get our needed five pieces. The guard, Derek, was the first person we stumbled across who could use our help. As per his usual manner of being, he had let some wind blow a few arrest warrants out of his hands and down the alley ways. He claimed that for helping him, we'd be just like little constables, and gave us the who line about justice being its own reward. We pushed for payment, and he agreed to a gold piece. We were already on our way to getting our first bit of gold, we just needed to find the warrants that were now scattered across the town's back alleys.
As he headed down the road in search for the warrants, we stumbled across an odd man named Barnum, whom was on one of his many ventures into business. It was a small box, which he claimed could grab our image with a click and flash of light, transposing it onto a piece of paper. We agreed to model its usage for him, if he was willing to hand over a gold piece. He was initially reluctant, but agreed with our offer, claiming that it would be wise for him to further invest in his product, out of some ill-based foreknowledge that it would be a rousing success. We posed, and he activated his box across our two waiflike figures before a picturesque backdrop of the town, all the while spewing nonsensical and incoherent words, spawned from a malevolent thesaurus. And just like that, we were now sparred his jabber, and had in hand our first true gold piece toward the box.
Around the bend into another alley we found a gathering of children, as a local bully was asserting his dominance, and cruelty, toward a then weak, and defenseless animal. It was a stray dog, corned and whimpering as he lurked closer, casting an omnipotent shadow over the poor creature. Rose stood defiant to the punk, only to be felled by the vile sod. Angered, and unafraid of the degenerate, I drew the closest thing I had to a weapon, my toy sword, and I pounded the creep into the ground, until he begged for forgiveness and safety. I don't know what was more humiliating to him, losing to someone half his size, or losing to a girl. After he had fled, I helped Rose back to her feet. She was more than a bit surprised that he had actually hit her, as it was more than a tad taboo for a boy to hit a girl. Putting aside the lad's immorality, we turned our attentions toward the dog, comforting it, but making sure we conveyed that it couldn't follow us. We barely could feed ourselves, we didn't need another mouth as it were.
We continued down the road until we reached the bottom of a stair, atop of which their was the whimpering of a grown man. Queried by his whining, we ascended and confronted him. He explained to us his predicament, and his eagerness to rid himself of it, if it weren't for his fear of the beetles he so wished were vanished from his warehouse. We chidingly commented that we held no such fear, and would rid him of the vermin if he were to pay us to do so. He hastily agreed, making sure to add a worrisome comment about the maintenance of his stock. I agreed to let his stuff be, and only do damage toward the bothersome bugs therein. Upon entering his warehouse, the same man from earlier, whom I had seen many a time making rank communique with my Rose, appeared in the window, offering me equivalent payment if I were to ignore the beetles, and in their stead, destroy the boxes of supplies that lined the lower floor of the structure.
I was conflicted, here was the disgusting shell of a human being, offering me gold to smash boxes, which would lend to me having to avoid dealing with the beetles. Sure I had promised to leave the items be, but it could have been fun to smash them. And he did say that the man outside owed money, and refused to pay. I concluded that it was alright to carry out the man's work, after all, it was like taking what he was owed by the man. So instead of slaying the insects, I broke open, and strewed about the stock of the shed all about the floor. I'm sure that Rose would have been upset by my doing so, but we were still getting our gold piece, and the man was not paying his debts. He deserved this, didn't he? I thought so, at the time. Not anymore.
After thoroughly ransacking the storage held there, Arfur tossed me the gold piece, and I left, turning before I did to flick off his back. My sister and myself left the man weeping at his lost stock, and persisting beetle problem. It was rather good fun breaking the boxes open, but it pained me to see a man weep as he did. The sooner I left earshot of him, the better. As we raced back down the stairs, Rose made no mention of the seedy character I had dealed with just prior, as we were immediately distracted by a gust blowing a scrap of paper into our faces. It was a warrant, the first one we found, for this Lenny character. It didn't appear as if he had done anything wrong from what we could read off the sheet, but we made sure to keep a good hold of it as we continued looking for a means to earn more gold.
Not too far away, we saw a lady conversing with a drunkard. He complained about having lost his booze, and she relentlessly struck a chord of virtue amidst his choir of stench and filth. She denounced his pursuit of alcohol, reminding him of his goal of becoming sober once more. When he offered the four of us a gold piece to retrieve his stolen drink, apparently seeing duplicates of my sister and I, the lady offered us equal payment if we were to prevent his reclaiming the beverage. He claimed that a thief by the name Magpie had stolen it from him, and that this Magpie was a disgrace to all bums who earned their keep, as he stole his. Rose claimed that, as the drunk had bought his drink with his own money, it was his right to have it back, and that the lady had no authority to keep it from him. It made sense to me, what she said, and when we set off to reclaim the ale, it was to return it to its rightful owner.