Christoph
06-28-07, 05:42 PM
(Closed to Massacre)
It was a new day, a new beginning. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and all that other fairy tale nonsense. Chris stepped out of the Inn in Underwood and took a deep breath. The air was clean and crisp that morning. It almost reminded him of the Spring afternoon breezes back home in Salvar. Of course, it still wasn’t quite cold or dry enough. But really, what was cold and dry enough to pass as Salvic air?
Still, it was not time to get homesick. For the first time in months, he wasn’t being robbed, chased by zombies, being held in a prison, or forced to fight in Corone’s legendary Citadel against his will. And aside from the extremely strange dreams he’d been having recently, there was a certain lack of strange and irritating people running into him. It was pleasant beyond words. Even better was the fact that he’d been able to chat with a business partner to one of the wealthiest warehouse owners in all of Corone, on behalf of his mother’s chain of Taverns.
He strolled merrily off to the edge of the friendly logging town, soaking in the appealing sunlight like a cat in a window. Things were finally going his way, it seemed. The end of his journey was within sight, and he could spot nothing out of the ordinary that might stand in his way. It was a normal, busy morning for the townsfolk. Workers prepared to go out into the forest to cut lumber, shops and stalls began setting up for the day, children ran and played, and--
“Wait,” said the chef, thinking out loud as he walked. His warm, peaceful feeling began to waver, as though a strong wind had just swept over an exposed campfire. “How long will it be before my life will, once again, spiral out control?” He stopped walking and glanced around at the heavily wooded landscape on either side of the dirt road. Barely five minutes earlier, he would have smiled and sighed happily about how pretty and peaceful the landscape of Concordia was. The ancient trees towered above him like massive wooden pillars supporting the very heavens. Now, however, he’d talked himself right back into a pessimistic mood.
“Maybe this is the lull before the metaphorical storm!” Chris slapped his forehead and groaned, just wanting to be at home, with his friends and family. “This is turning into one of those boring stories that I used to read as a kid. What next? Am I going to turn into the ‘reluctant hero’?” He would die before letting that happen. Then, an idea struck him -- sort of like a rock, but it didn’t hurt as much and it wasn’t as funny.
“I’ll take fate... or the universe, or whatever, into my own hands!” he exclaimed to himself. He laughed out loud. “That’s it! It’s brilliant! Instead of just waiting around for random strange people to run into me unexpectantly, I’ll just go and willingly talk to the first random odd person I see! Let’s see what the fates have to say about that!” At that moment, he became awkwardly aware of several eyes upon him. They were housewives, out on errands. Most carried bundles of various sizes and contents. Some had children with them. They all glared at him with a mixture of confusion, disgust, and suspicion. The chef flushed instantly and broke eye contact with his audience, heading quickly down the road once more.
I have a feeling that fate is too busy laughing at me to say much of anything...
It was a new day, a new beginning. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and all that other fairy tale nonsense. Chris stepped out of the Inn in Underwood and took a deep breath. The air was clean and crisp that morning. It almost reminded him of the Spring afternoon breezes back home in Salvar. Of course, it still wasn’t quite cold or dry enough. But really, what was cold and dry enough to pass as Salvic air?
Still, it was not time to get homesick. For the first time in months, he wasn’t being robbed, chased by zombies, being held in a prison, or forced to fight in Corone’s legendary Citadel against his will. And aside from the extremely strange dreams he’d been having recently, there was a certain lack of strange and irritating people running into him. It was pleasant beyond words. Even better was the fact that he’d been able to chat with a business partner to one of the wealthiest warehouse owners in all of Corone, on behalf of his mother’s chain of Taverns.
He strolled merrily off to the edge of the friendly logging town, soaking in the appealing sunlight like a cat in a window. Things were finally going his way, it seemed. The end of his journey was within sight, and he could spot nothing out of the ordinary that might stand in his way. It was a normal, busy morning for the townsfolk. Workers prepared to go out into the forest to cut lumber, shops and stalls began setting up for the day, children ran and played, and--
“Wait,” said the chef, thinking out loud as he walked. His warm, peaceful feeling began to waver, as though a strong wind had just swept over an exposed campfire. “How long will it be before my life will, once again, spiral out control?” He stopped walking and glanced around at the heavily wooded landscape on either side of the dirt road. Barely five minutes earlier, he would have smiled and sighed happily about how pretty and peaceful the landscape of Concordia was. The ancient trees towered above him like massive wooden pillars supporting the very heavens. Now, however, he’d talked himself right back into a pessimistic mood.
“Maybe this is the lull before the metaphorical storm!” Chris slapped his forehead and groaned, just wanting to be at home, with his friends and family. “This is turning into one of those boring stories that I used to read as a kid. What next? Am I going to turn into the ‘reluctant hero’?” He would die before letting that happen. Then, an idea struck him -- sort of like a rock, but it didn’t hurt as much and it wasn’t as funny.
“I’ll take fate... or the universe, or whatever, into my own hands!” he exclaimed to himself. He laughed out loud. “That’s it! It’s brilliant! Instead of just waiting around for random strange people to run into me unexpectantly, I’ll just go and willingly talk to the first random odd person I see! Let’s see what the fates have to say about that!” At that moment, he became awkwardly aware of several eyes upon him. They were housewives, out on errands. Most carried bundles of various sizes and contents. Some had children with them. They all glared at him with a mixture of confusion, disgust, and suspicion. The chef flushed instantly and broke eye contact with his audience, heading quickly down the road once more.
I have a feeling that fate is too busy laughing at me to say much of anything...