Plip. Plip. Within this forsaken place, no natural sounds could be heard. There was no wind, no distant voices, no hints of native life whatsoever within this strange void which, by all appearances, stretched out infinitely in all directions. There was only the steady dripping of blood puddling at Jerin's feet, and her heavy, exhausted breaths. She squeezed the shattered and partially melted blade tightly within her singed paws, her normally pink fingers stained crimson.
The small mouse looked behind her with her one good eye, the other squeezed shut due to the trickle of blood flowing from the deep cut in her forehead. To her left was Mathias, face down on the reflective surface of this strange space, paws still tightly gripping the shining needle, even in unconsciousness. To the right, Rowan, curled up on his side, the last bits of his green magical energies flowing from his wrinkled, outstretched fingers and dispersing into the ether. Directly behind her was Aaron, panting heavily, down on one knee, having managed to maintain his consciousness but only just. Jerin cast him a wry smile in an effort to ease his troubled and frustrated expression. It did little to help.
The air doesn't move in this place, if there was even air at all. There were no clouds, no buildings, just the endless sea of malevolent red stars, along with the glass-like floor mirroring them below. Along with the heroes, of course, stood the master of this realm: A terrifying black form with a long bladed face, heavy cracked talons and sinister, glowing, blood red eyes. It watched the exhausted champion with a bemused expression.
~Do you still intend to fight?
It spoke in its teasing metallic voice, tilting the large feathered head to one side, the faintest hint of an afterimage following the motion before once more merging with its greater self.
~Foolish child. Do you not see? This is our world, and we? We are God here. What can you hope to accomplish with your ruined blade and broken body? Just close your eyes and rest, little one. We cannot promise that your passing will be painless, quite the contrary, in fact, but it will most certainly be swift.
The small mouse lowered her head, and her shoulders shook. At first glance, one might have thought that she was sobbing, but it quickly became apparent that she was, in fact, softly chuckling to herself. She looked up at the abomination, face still bloodied, one eye still squeezed shut, with a wide grin upon her face. "The only one 'passing' will be you." she said.
The dark overlord glowered, focusing the red energies in front of itself, forming the shape of a glowing, featureless mouse which, without fanfare, split and shattered, engulfing Jerin in a torrent of pure dark power. Ahnymah Ex Mortis chirred, looking on, before its triumphant expression abruptly fell. Still standing before it was Jerin, not only undamaged but appearing downright re-invigorated as she swiveled her shoulder and cricked her neck.
"I really should thank you." she said in a calm, confident voice. "That sword was a little too heavy for me. It was slowing me down. It's so much lot more manageable now." she smiled, turning the plastic handle within her singed paws to study the damaged half-blade, the metal still glowing orange from the heat of the deflected attack. "Finally, I can fight you with all of my power!"
The dark overlord let out an enraged squawk, the very space, earth and skies, warping, trembling as three more red specters appeared to similarly blast at the small mouse, or at least blast at the space where she had previously been standing. With her newfound speed, they couldn't even touch her as she raced towards the large black bird, blade tearing through the glass-like floor at her feet, ready to settle the long, hard battle with a single blow.
Ahnymah Ex Mortis found itself consumed by fear, for perhaps the first time in its eternal existence, and as Jerin closed in on the bird, it took to the skies, flying straight up, well out of her reach. It looked down upon the tiny mouse, its eyes burning with contempt.
~What will you do now, child, now that your blade cannot hope to touch us? We must admit, you have proved stronger than we had expected, but this is the end. For you and for all of your wretched kind. From up here, We can destroy you at our leisure, and you are helpless to... what's this?
The being looked on in shock as Jerin leapt onto one of the tiny red stars, a maneuver which would have burned if not completely consumed a lesser champion, but proved effortless for her. From one to the other she bounded, using them as stairs to reach her most hated enemy who desperately tried to retaliate. It created ten more of the strange mouse spirits, firing a barrage of energy beams in her general direction which she deftly evaded, circling up and above, ready to dive down and strike. Exactly as the dark overlord had planned. Countless red glowing mice blinked into existence from all sides of her, letting out simultaneous distorted screeches, arching back and bursting, seeking to completely obliterate the small tail-less mouse.
It hurt her, of course, but not enough. Once more the dark overlord was convinced of its victory, only to once more realize its mistake. This time, however, it was too late to do anything about it. There were no more evasions or distractions, only a few precious moments to recognize its own folly as its gaze turned upwards towards the raised half-sword, now a gigantic tower of golden flames, having absorbed the massive amounts of magical energies fired upon it.
Ahnymah only had time to cry out 'Noooo!' as the hero swung the mighty weapon down at the center of its head, and it refused to stop there. It cut straight through the body, straight through the floor, straight through that entire warped and accursed world itself which fell away like shattered glass, leaving the four heroes exhausted and panting upon the stone pedestal behind the palace.
"Wow, you did it!" Aaron said, rising to his feet unsteadily. "Clearly, I was just a big, dumb idiot for ever doubting you, and I was wrong about everything! Can you ever forgive me?"
Jerin chuckled, helping Mathias up to his feet as well. Rowan looked to the two of them with tired but nonetheless admiring eyes. "Heh... I'll think about it." she said, before arching Mathias back and planting a long, deep kiss onto his surprised mouth.
The crowd which had gathered about them cheered, and from the back, Theos and Leon waved their raised paws. "Hey! We also survived somehow!" Leon said, resulting in somewhat less enthusiastic smattering of applause.
<3~
"And that..." the oversized mouse woman said, "Is how Jerin defeated the dark overlord and saved the world from its evil!"
"Huh..." a somewhat thinner and significantly shorter brown spotted mouse replied. He scratched the longer fur under his chin, slowly swiveling a wooden scythe back and forth over his shoulder, listening on with a quizzical expression. "I thought that King Theos was the one who had landed the final blow?"
"No way! Do you seriously think Jerin and her friends came all that way and battled three other dark lords just for some random guy to pop in and settle everything?" The heavily armed woman asked, paws folded across her broad chest.
Really, to describe her as heavily armed would be an understatement. Countless (well, I'm sure that they didn't actually number beyond count, but trust me, there were a lot of them!) belts, straps and bandoleers were set across her torso, thighs and neck, all of which were filled with assorted sheaths and bare blades of dramatically varying size, color and material. A massive, wooden tower shield sat across her back, the curved lower rim of it regularly dragging through the dirt as she walked, but if the weight of it had burdened the warrior woman in the slightest, she certainly managed to hide it well. It was hardly surprising that the shield and abundance of weaponry caused her little issue, seeing as how her armor was no lighter, nor any less excessive. In a similar haphazard approach demonstrated by her armaments, it was comprised of thick cloth, leather straps, wooden panels, metal shards and even the occasional shimmer of glass with absolutely no hint of attention paid to symmetry or aesthetic sensibilities. From the look of it, it had appeared as though extra layers of plates and padding were regularly applied virtually anywhere that they realistically could fit, and perhaps a few that they couldn't. While this had lead to many areas of her suit which were clearly less densely shielded than others, even the most critical of observers couldn't consider even the most vulnerable spaces to be unguarded, not by any stretch of the definition. Even her ears and tail were bundled under a thick, mishappen cap, and hidden under her armor, curled about her waist, respectively. A sensible approach, as both are vulnerable and easily damaged targets, but still neglected by most proud fighters. Ears and tail, after all, are considered among the most attractive qualities among mice, and most wish to show them off. No matter how attractive they might be, however, they won't do you much good if severed by a blade or claw, or worse, seized to prevent escape from a deadly foe.
The thick suit made her already intimidating stature appear all the more significant, the normally steely gaze visible beneath the crudely fitting metal helmet enough to inspire fear in even the most battle hardened of adventurers. At least most of the time. As she relayed the story of Jerin's final battle (and don't even get me started on that abomination), her eyes twinkled with a downright childish enthusiasm. Of course she was still basically a giant and carrying enough weapons to start a small war, making this sudden and awkward change of demeanor appear far more unsettling than endearing.
"Well, when you put it that way, it does sound a little bit anti-climactic." the farmer nodded. He clearly had little stake in the matter, or interest in debating it one way or the other.
This one here? This one was a problem. The great hero, hand picked by Jerin herself to defeat the dreaded shadow king Mollenoch and his army of fanatical warriors. The issue wasn't that he appeared weak or foolish or cowardly. Contrary to popular belief, a proper hero doesn't necessarily need to be strong or handsome or charismatic. Quite the opposite, an inferior hero, weak of body or spirit can be seen as more relatable, a mouse whose successes will be all the more triumphant, and, perhaps more importantly, their failures significantly less disappointing.
What people don't want is someone that is average. Even outside of heroes, 'average' is about the worst thing that a person can possibly be. There's always the risk of offending if you insult any sort of group, but virtually everyone will laugh along if you joke about how stupid, lazy or ugly the average mouse is. They can do this because, no matter how ordinary they might be, they'll naturally assume that you're talking about someone else. Even a humble or depressed mouse will sooner be seen as inferior than average. They are unique individuals, after all, whereas being average is just so... average.
Okay, technically there are a few people out there, the especially deprived or those who are burdened by greatness and the soul crushing responsibility that comes with it who might long for an ordinary life, but these people are generally considered to be a minor demographic and hardly worth considering.
This standard applies doubly to heroes. Legends only exist because they are remembered. Otherwise, they're just another of countless forgotten tales. Thus, the most important trait that a fame seeking mouse can possess is being memorable. It doesn't necessarily take a lot, either. Oddly styled fur of an unusual color, a prominent tattoo or scar, even just a stylish yet asymmetrical outfit can go a long way (note the 'stylish' part, which naturally excludes the look of someone like Meryll, here. There's a subtle art to such things). Although, to be fair, it is somewhat more difficult in recent days. Many people have figured this out, and you can hardly throw a rock these days without hitting at least two outlandishly dressed would-be champions with spiky fur who are carrying oversized weapons.
The thin mouse standing here was the textbook image of average. He wore plain overalls, patched and dirty, (clearly a result of simple laboring rather than past battles or tragedies), which hanged loosely from a rather typical frame. He had a decent bit of muscle from a life of field work, but nothing that would impress. He had a plain complexion of light brown fur with the occasional pale spots. He had Indifferent yet respectful brown eyes, where I could sense no hint of steely determination or inner turmoil, and trust me, I'd tried my damndest to find it. Across his shoulder sat a gnarled wooden scythe, which at first glance had promise. While hardly an effective weapon, it is an emotive one, which brings forth images of shadowy cloaks and cold, merciless assassins. Still, that image relied heavily upon the remainder of the outfit, and in this case? It simply resembled a heavily used gardening tool. Which it was.
From his poor posture to his dumb half-smile (a proper hero either needs to be cold and aloof, dark and sinister but with a good heart deep down, or an energetic ball of pure enthusiasm), where he chewed a small stalk of grass with the corner of his mouth, this man who, of course, looked neither particularly young and full of potential nor older and more experienced was simply... there. He was the sort of person who, if you were to scan your eyes across a large crowd, there could be several duplicates of him within it and it's very unlikely that you'd ever notice.
You should take the fact that I spent so much time talking about the sheer nondescript nature of this man as a sign of my eagerness to find something, anything interesting or noteworthy to latch onto. Instead, however, he comes off as plain and bland to an almost supernatural degree. How and why Jerin had picked this person to be the new hero was baffling, and while others had faith that clearly she must have known what she was doing, standing here right next to him, watching the way he stands, the way he walks, the way he speaks, the manner in which he carries himself as a whole? I found myself less than convinced.
"That's right! Jerin just made up that part to help legitimize the new ruler. She's so brave and so humble that she didn't need the credit! Victory and the act of defeating a mighty foe being more than enough reward." the large woman sighed contently, leather gloved paws knitted together under her chin as she looked up, eyes wide, not-so-briefly lost within her own imagination. It took quite a while for her to escape these fantasies, her comrade too polite to say anything, but eventually she remembered what she was doing. "Yes. That's how it went. Any questions?" she asked.
"Hmmm... yes, just one." The farmer said. He looked up at the woman with a mildly (the same adjective which could be used to describe virtually everything that he did) confused expression. "Who are you again?"
Another sigh from her, this one significantly less pleased. "We've already been over this!"
"No, I don't believe that we have." Jebediah, (who had yet to properly introduce himself by this point, but I'd done my homework) said in a frustratingly even voice. "I'm pretty sure that you just walked up to me and started talking about how Jerin defeated the dark overlord."
I had been walking alongside the man for quite some time now. His memory of the events in question was 100% accurate.
"Ugh, fine. I suppose I can go over this again." the woman said, shaking her head. "I am Meryll, a mighty warrior. For my entire life I've trained and honed my body ready to fight for the greater good! That's when the perfect opportunity arose: Jerin, a young girl with nothing but her bravery and stout heart embarked on a journey to face the dark lord Midnight and, in turn, free all of us from their tyranny! From the moment that I first learned of her quest, I was eager to join her, to fight at her side, to act as her shield even at the expense of my own life!"
"Huh. Your name doesn't sound familiar." The hero said, "You weren't in the story that you just told, either. Are you sure you that you fought alongside Jerin?"
"Of course I didn't!" she growled, before her expression faded from anger to mere disappointment. "I mean, I wanted to... I really did! Once I heard about her and her friends successes, I trained extra hard just to make sure my body was in tip-top condition! Okay, maybe I trained just a little bit too hard and tired myself out. I figured a good long nap, just to refresh myself wouldn't hurt. and then..."
"You slept through the whole thing?" he said, showing the barest hint of surprise at this revelation. Not proper righteous anger or sympathy or any other expression which could be considered dramatic or interesting in any way, but still, it was marginally better than nothing.
She stopped in front of him, arms to her sides, paws balled into fists. "Well, who would have thought that an epic crusade against multiple dark lords would start and end within a single day?" she said, repeating her past pattern of light rage followed by somewhat lighter depression. Technically, that wasn't quite true, either. Jerin's fight had technically started a couple of days before, but naturally, it took a little while for it to become proper public knowledge. "It's my fault, really. I clearly misjudged her strength." she suddenly perked up, rejuvenated, "But I won't make that mistake again! Sure, you might not be Jerin... you're a lot older... you don't look as physically strong... you're certainly lacking and sort of charisma... and I don't know what that smell is on you..."
"Thank you." he nodded.
"That wasn't a compliment."
"I know. I was just trying to be polite and couldn't think of anything more relevant to say." he replied. For the record, that smell was the sort of earthy fragrance which comes from a life of toiling within the soil. Not particularly objectionable, by mouse standards. Of course compared to Meryll who, despite a complete lack of care towards her overall appearance made a point of being strangely heavily perfumed, I could see it standing out.
"Anyways, as I was saying, despite your appearance, Jerin never would have picked you if you didn't have the potential to be a mighty hero and accomplish great deeds! I may have missed her battles, but I won't make that mistake again! Consider me your loyal sword, eager to vanquish all who stand in your way!" She said, drawing a glass broadsword and pointing it to the sky, she smiled up at it as the warped blade caught a sunbeam. This went largely ignored by the nearby populace, as such proclamations of heroism had become a near hourly event.
"Um... thank you?" the farmer replied with somehow even less certainty this time.
"It is my honor and my pleasure. Even if you are scrawny and weak and have no battle experience and questionable social skills, why, that just means the glory of my... I mean of our victory will be all the greater!" she said. In this pose the woman could have almost passed for proper hero, but still wasn't quite there. I couldn't fault her intent nor her enthusiasm, even if it was a bit on the self serving side. Still, she was just a little too brutish to be a proper champion. Would likely make a better villain, really, but not even a primary villain. More like the muscle, the henchman for a proper evil mastermind. Still, she was certainly not a face that you'd miss in the crowd, no matter how much you would have liked to. She put no more care into the appearance of her body than she did her attire, the fur of her round snout scruffy and muddy-brown, her eyes small black pits. Even through the thick fur of her face, more than a few hints of past battle scars peeked through, and one could safely guess that under her armor she had plenty of more, each of which surely having an overly long story behind them should anyone dare to ask. Note to self: Be sure to never ask.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
Jeb, the shortened form of his name which he really didn't care for, slowly nodded his head. He didn't thank her this time, but the temptation to do so purely out of habit surely remained and needed to be actively fought back against. Instead he turned to his left. "And what about you? Who are you?" he asked.
To his left stood a particularly short mouse, even smaller than Jerin and downright dwarfed by Meryll. Unlike the warrior, he showed no signs of being armed or armored, unless one can consider the small notepad and quill held within his small paws to be weapons (and, in fairness, the paper cuts it could cause were probably more dangerous than a lot of mouse armaments). He wore a small brown beret and a heavy cloak about his shoulders, but both of which were entirely devoid of any sort of decoration. The closest thing to it would be the elaborate pattern of stitching all across the set, a product not of design but rather constant repairs to keep the old garments from completely falling apart. His short fur was a pale gray, his eyes a deep green, not that one were like to see them all that often, his head more often than not buried in his notes. There was a softness to his features, both in face and furless hands, neither of which showed any signs of battle or difficult manual labour.
This mouse also just happened to be me. You perhaps expected a more flattering and grand description? Well, that's the difference between a braggart and a proper historian. Plus, after spending multiple paragraphs explaining just how boring Jebediah was, I figured was there was little need to linger on such details.
"Oh, that's not important. Just ignore me." I said in a soft, deliberate voice.
"Okay." Jeb nodded, turning away. There was an awkward pause.
"Um... aren't you just a little curious as to who I am, and why I'm walking alongside you?" I asked. We'd been traveling all this while, of course. From the main courtyard of the kingdom where so many mice had gathered upon hearing the commotion, where Theos rather flatly announced himself as the new regent, and where the young hero, Jerin, with her broken sword and scarred paws announced her retirement from the world of battles and adventurers. Also where, of course, the new hero had been chosen. We'd since left the royal quarter, Meryll's story taking terribly long, with the above version being highly abridged with many, many disturbing references to the young hero's lithe, muscular form and radiant beauty, of course, omitted. As for our current destination, that was somewhat unclear. It would seem that the hero was leading the way, with both me and the oversized Jerin fangirl directly following him, but I strongly suspected that he was more escaping the crowd, rather than aiming to go anywhere in particular.
"A little." the farmer shrugged. "Still, figure if you don't want to tell me, that's your business."
"Ahem, well, if you absolutely insist, I suppose I can explain who I am, along with my current business here." I said. "My name is Bertrand, and I am a scribe. It is my job to record history as it happens, a relatively new occupation but one that I consider it to be very important. Thanks to mice like me, we'll finally have an accurate record of events which transpire..." I paused, casting a side-eye to Meryll, "And not have to rely on... that."
As to whether by 'that' I was referring to her story or the mouse herself, I, of course, meant both. She was just so... inappropriate, in a way that was difficult to quantify. Like a food that isn't necessarily too sour or bitter or unpleasant in any obvious or specific way. You just know that you don't want to keep eating it. The pair just don't really fit, and while at first glance, I could sort of see the potential for the woman as a valued sidekick, it was a little difficult to look at her in quite the same way after her laborious descriptions of Jerin which would have made even the most romantic of poets blush. Really, as with everything else about her, it was the uncertainty that was the problem. Was she a hardened, determined warrior, or a childish and over-enthusiastic fan? Was she a brave and powerful knight, or just some mindless brute? Was she aware of just how inappropriate it is to describe, in excruciating detail the taut buttocks and tensed thighs of a young girl? These were questions which, for the moment, lacked answers. Some of which I figured I would be better off never having answered, but I was certain that I would find them eventually. The relentless pursuit of knowledge can be a terrible curse, after all.
"Hey, my story was 100% accurate! If anything, I understated it!"
"Right..." I sighed, very much eager to change the subject. "Anyways, I'll be accompanying you on your journey to record your deeds, whether great or minor. You don't need to concern yourself with me, as it's purely my job to document, not to influence the coming events." I paused once more, looking down as my stomach growled. "Um... I don't suppose I could borrow something to eat though? Then I can go back to being a completely silent and impartial observer... at least until dinner-time."
Jebediah shrugged and removed a few crumbs from the front pocket of his overalls, which I, of course, hungrily devoured. Sadly, the occupation of scribe paid very little. It really was a shame. The man seemed like quite a friendly and agreeable fellow. Not the sort that you would want to spill your heart out to, but fine enough for idle small-talk, ideally in even smaller doses. Just not a proper hero. A proper hero might have a certain engaging charm to them, but they were rarely what you would call 'agreeable'.
"And what about your friend over there?" The farmer asked.
"Oh... that's Dave." I replied, a little bit awkwardly. "Apparently."
The brown mouse standing at my side gave two quick nods in response. I had a few different reasons for speaking uncertainly. For one, I wasn't even positive that his name was 'Dave'. I thought that I had heard someone call him that, but I couldn't dismiss the possibility that they were, instead, referring to any of the other mice within the crowd that had first gathered about the new hero. Secondly, he wasn't my friend. At all. This isn't to imply that he was an enemy or anything so dramatic as that, but rather that I had no idea as to who he was, or why he had taken to walking so close to me. One might think that those would be mysteries which could have been solved easily enough, but you'd be very much mistaken.
"Ah, I see." Jeb said, offering a smile and an extended paw to the naked and blank faced male mouse. "Nice to meet you. Do you plan on accompanying us as well?"
There was an uncomfortable silence of a few seconds as he stared at the farmer vacantly before, one again, nodding his head twice in quick succession.
"Well, I've certainly never been one to be picky when it comes to companionship, and you're more than welcome to join us." Jeb said, slowly withdrawing the extended paw once it became clear that Dave had no plans to shake it. "So, what brings you here, specifically? What exactly are you hoping to accomplish?"
The hero smiled. I suspected that he was unconcerned with the answer, simply trying to be open and personable. In response, he was rewarded with more awkward, blank stares, a pair of quick nods, and then... nothing.
"I... see." The farmer said, his warm expression falling somewhat, having the good sense to abandon his efforts at communication. To his credit, he figured it out much quicker than I had.
The mouse who was maybe named Dave was simply... off. There was no single quality of his, in appearance, at least, which was deeply flawed or easily identifiable. Rather, instead, virtually every single thing about him was just the tiniest bit wrong in ways which were difficult to actively quantify. It wasn't just that empty stare of his, nor the fact that whenever acknowledged, he seemed to spend an unusual amount of time considering the words only to then nod in agreement, regardless of what was said. He was just so... still. He could clearly move just fine, but when idle, which was usually the case, he stood stiffly, not fidgeting or looking around at all. I had absolutely no idea why this man was following me (or perhaps following Jebediah, who could say), but my polite efforts to inquire and, eventually, to shoo him away had proved to be entirely unsuccessful.
The farmer then looked to his right at yet other male mouse standing there, but said nothing. The other mouse met his gaze and similarly said nothing. This continued for several long seconds, until the unknown mouse could bear the awkward silence no more. Have I not mentioned that this man was also walking with us all this time? Well, it didn't really feel relevant until now.
"Well? Aren't you going to ask who I am?" he asked in an annoyed tone.
"I wasn't planning to, no."
The mouse blinked in confusion with his one good eye. "Why not?"
"Pattern recognition. I figured since the first three people I talked to were reluctant to reveal their own identities, it was only reasonable to assume the same of you." Jebediah gave his chin another scratch. "Guess it's not a perfect method, though. So, who are you and what do you want?" He asked. The logic there felt sound enough, although one would hope that a hero would have at least a little bit more curiosity about his general surroundings, especially when it comes to those traveling alongside him.
The white furred mouse froze in place. Somehow, this was a question that he hadn't anticipated. He wore a long green cape and tunic, with full gloves and boots, along with a thin belt holding a few small potion vials as well as the long, narrow wooden blade at his hip. He curled his head inward, only meeting the gaze of others with his one good eye, bright purple in color, with the other covered by a forest green eye-patch, matching the rest of his attire. Beneath the patch ran a twisted scar which continued down the side of his face, leaving the corner of his mouth deformed, permanently curled upwards in an unnatural half-smile. In truth, he actually was, for very good reason, very much reluctant to reveal his identity. Samuel, nicknamed 'Smirk', a name which he cared for even less than Jebediah cared for Jeb was, of course, the royal magician for prince Leon, better also known as 'Deathlocke Soulcrusher', a name which the former ruler had inexplicably liked a great deal. He was, naturally, less than eager to be associated with what could charitably be called an unpopular administration. This isn't to say that his own actions were any more popular, of course, so it was generally in his best interests for others to fail to recognize him. I, naturally did, but one can't hold everyone to my own high standards of observation.
I have little to say about him, as he'd always been a mysterious figure. His origins, connections and the details of the climactic showdown atop the hand of god tower, along with those of his defeat were largely unknown. Historically, he'd been known for his striking red and black attire which had since been inherited by Jerin through similarly unknown means. His current outfit was a little more under-stated, lacking the sinister white mask (although the scarred portion of his face was now uncovered, his habit of always keeping his head tilted seemed to be motivated to both more effectively meet the gaze of others, as well as to draw attention away from that disfigurement). Even with the somewhat less flamboyant clothing, (and don't get me wrong, his manner of dress was, still, of extremely high quality), unlike Jebediah, he certainly knew how to hold your attention, for better or for worse. While maybe still a little bit too devious looking to be a proper hero, the hallmarks of looking distinct were all there, from dress to the look in his eye to the scars to the impressive looking blade. Still more fitting as a villain, however. He was the sort of person who, even when he smiled or laughed, as rare occasions as those were, was downright incapable of looking kind, gentle and unguarded.
It goes without saying that even if he looked like a decent adventurer in his own right, he didn't compliment the other two very well (other three, I suppose, if one included myself, but it would be foolish to do so. Four if one counted Dave, but I'm even less sure of how much he qualifies). If anything, he made the pair, the hero in particular, look shoddy in comparison, and overshadowing the leader is a major taboo among adventuring groups. He'd been rumored to be a cunning thinker, and given the circumstances, one would have assumed that he would have had some sort of plan in order, but the act of being essentially ignored had clearly caught him off guard. Instead, he found himself essentially trapped.
"My name is Sam...son." he said, still more than a little bit flustered. "I am eager to join your cause, to do right and defeat injustice!" he added, clearly feeling a little dirty as he spoke those words. One would have thought he could have at least come up with a better false name in advance, but I suppose it worked. In truth, I would have very much liked to reveal his true identify. Not that it would likely have meant much to Jebediah, but I have little doubt that Meryll was familiar with Jerin's sub-nemesis, even if not quite familiar enough to recognize him in the flesh. This wasn't because I would have liked to see the inevitable fight which would break out between them, rather that it would have been good to have been able to ask the former court magician some questions about what had really transpired during Jerin's battles. Still, such an intervention would have been a clear violation of my oath as a scribe, to simply record history and not intervene. Well, that and the fact that given his reputation, the one-eyed mouse could very well have decided to murder me if I were to do so.
"Very well. Nice to meet you, Sam Son." the hero said with a polite nod, not that he was capable of any other sort.
"Just one word... no pause there." the green suited mouse sighed, still flustered and eager to change the subject, as so many have been today. "Alright, so what's the plan here?"
"That's easy! We go to the southern continent, find Shadow King Mollenoch, defeat him and save the day!" Meryll grins, slamming a large, gloved fist into her paw.
There was an awkward pause. "No, seriously, what's the plan?" Samson asked. "He's not even in the southern continent anymore, he and his forces are marching for the city."
"Well, that's convenient. That means he's considerably closer then, right? We won't have to walk quite as far." Jebediah replied.
"Oh, come on! We have five warriors..." the one-eyed magician said, throwing his arms up into the air.
"Four. I'm a non-combatant." I chimed in. For me to fight would be, again, in violation of my principle as a scribe. Also, I couldn't imagine I would have been very good at it.
"Okay, fine, four warriors..."
"I'm really more of a farmer than a warrior." Jebediah interjected. Dave gave a pair of quick nods as well. From context, I assumed he was similarly agreeing that he wasn't a warrior, but honestly, there was no way to really tell.
"Okay. Great... so we've got two warriors..." Samuel sighed, even though he was probably not much of a front-line fighter either, "...against what? An army?"
"No problem! We just need a good plan!" Meryll grinned.
"Are you good at planning?" The one-eyed mouse asked, raising an eyebrow to her, the only one capable of moving.
"Um... no, not really. I'm more of a mouse of action." She admitted, turning to the apparent leader. "How about you?"
"Never really tried, to be honest... figure even if I did have a natural talent for it, it would still take a little while to get good at, though." Jeb said. I had to respect his honesty, even his leadership was less than inspirational.
"So that's a 'no', then." Sam shook his head.
"I'm pretty good at planning!" I said, "But, unfortunately, by contributing I would be potentially corrupting future history. I'm just recording, not intervening."
Samuel continued to shake his head, clearly regretting hitching himself to this wagon. "Okay. Well, I guess I'm pretty good at planning..." he said, even if, I assume, the whole reason that he was with us was due to the fact that his past plans had all failed spectacularly. Of course there was always the possibility that he was joining us as a part of some grand, evil scheme, but when one considered just how much he had been fumbling so far, it felt increasingly unlikely.
"Great! So we're set! You come up with a clever plan, then we can defeat our enemy!" Meryll chimed in once again, eager to latch on to any hint of good news. The optimism was admirable, even if a little misguided. If she didn't look like some lumbering war-machine, she might have made a decent hero.
"What, do you really think it's that easy? They have an army! Even putting aside the fact that it's a strong fighting force, it means they have a whole lot of people. That means a lot of accumulated brain-power. That means that at least someone there is probably also good planner, and that means that we have absolutely no advantages here." he paused, resting his forehead in his paw. "Maybe you don't know much about how armies work, but they require a lot of time and resources to manage. If all that was required to defeat one was five mice and a mildly clever plan, nobody would even bother creating them! And that's not even considering all of the other factors..."
"Huh, what factors would that be?" Jeb asked in his usual somewhat apathetic manner. I would say he sounded bored, but that would be an actual personality trait, and Makers forbid he have any of those.
"Well, aside from obvious numbers... you know, the fact that they have an army of soldiers, and we don't, reports say that they are armed with very strange and advanced weaponry." Samuel said.
"Advanced weaponry... what, you mean like really big swords?" Meryll asked.
"Something like that. Then there's Mollenoch himself. He might be a older now, and he's said to have gone insane, but he's still a legendary hero who literally wrote the book on adventuring. I'm not sure that even if he were alone if the five of us combined could defeat him."
"Four... I'm a non-combatant." I said.
"Three. I don't really know how to fight... but, if you need some grass harvested, why I'm the person to go to!" Jebediah chuckled, seemingly unconcerned by these new revelations. It's unclear whether he was even be capable of being concerned.
Dave similarly did his Dave thing, presumably counting himself out of the number as well.
"Wonderful. Anyways, my whole point is that I don't see how this could possibly work." Samuel continued. Samson, I mean. I made a note to be careful to never say his real name out loud. That's the sort of thing that could get a mouse stabbed.
"Sounds like we need to round up an army ourselves." The hero said, idly swiveling his wooden scythe over his shoulder.
"Wow... that's actually... right." Samuel said, downright shocked by that fact. "That might be a bit easier said than done, but if we can gather more people to our cause, it will help balance the scales at least a little more in our favor."
"Great! So, where do we go to do that?" Meryll asked. This was followed by a long silence all around.
At this point all four of us all stopped. We had apparently reached the center of town purely due to following the inattentive wanderings of the hero. Although it hadn't been long since the attack of the dark lord Fury, things had largely been cleaned up, and as for the damaged buildings? Well, the crude and varied construction methods of the homes meant that most of them were on the brink of collapse even before the city ceiling had come down upon them. One thing I will say about the attack is that since then, the city has gotten considerably more sunlight. The crisscrossing cat-walks and metal plates still existed within the overcity up above, but in considerably diminished numbers. Most of them were made up of little more than thin and brittle rust which quickly gave away when forced. The rare streams of sun which previously had to fight their way through a maze of metallic ruin to actually reach the ground now had far more openings.
Not only did this make the earth a little more dry (although there were still no shortage of puddles which could submerge the average mouse up to their neck were they to walk carelessly), but it also improved visibility dramatically, and offered a significant boost to local morale. There were other factors which lead to this as well, of course: the defeat of multiple dark lords, the rise of a new hero (in this case, I'm speaking of Jerin. Jebediah hasn't become quite so well known yet), and, of course, the removal of a fairly competent but always unpopular ruler. Still, it was the simple appearance of sunlight that really helped to elevate peoples spirits.
As for the city itself? Not a whole lot had changed. It was still the ugly mishmash of mud domes and crude walls made out of virtually any sort of material capable of standing upright. Many new structures were being built to replace those destroyed, but they certainly didn't have aesthetics in mind, purely designed to fit in as many mice as possible. Up close, they resembled little more than piles of trash, but from a distance they were clearly series' of stacked apartments of varying sizes and materials, linked to both the ground and one another by ropes, uneven stairwells and ladders. There were more people about as well. This isn't to imply that the population had dramatically increased over a period of a few days (but it likely had slightly. More mice were always being born, and even as dangerous and harsh as this world could be, it was happening at a considerably quicker rate than we were dying off), but they didn't huddle inside so much anymore. Outside of the main market street, historically, you didn't see many people about. The streets and alleys were particularly poorly lit, with was no shortage of thieves and pickpockets about, so even if one did happen to go wandering, you kept your distance from strangers. Sure, there were just as many thieves and criminals around as ever, but they seemed a lot less frightening in the light of day. The sinister figure which stalked the shadows suddenly looked like little more than a ridiculous nuisance without actual shadows to lurk in. It's somewhat ironic that the attack on the city, something that Jerin herself considered to be a tragedy and her greatest failure had helped do so much to revitalize the place.
"I guess I could always check the library and speak with the other scribes. Perhaps they would be willing to offer their vast wisdom to the cause." I finally said. I wasn't intending to speak up, but someone had to. I couldn't record history unless something actually happened, after all.
"I'm sure they'll be just as helpful as you are." Samson sighed once again. An exasperated sigh was quickly becoming his catch-phase. "I suppose I could visit the university. Perhaps the mages have grown a little more powerful and a little less antisocial since my last visit. I don't have high hopes, however."
"Great! I'll try the local taverns... they always have plenty of folks eager for a fight!" Meryll added.
"I guess I can check out the castle, see if they have got any resources to offer. Apparently I'm a legendary hero now, or... something. Don't really know exactly how that works, but I figure it has to come with some clout, right? Huh, never had actual 'clout' before." Jebediah said, "Wonder how it's used?"
Dave stared and nodded, twice, just a little bit too late.
"Fine, fine I guess this is... something?" Samuel said. "Let's all gather back at the marketplace when we're finished, and see what we have to work with."
And thus, with the lowest of expectations we went our separate ways to rally brave champions to join the crusade against the mad shadow-king and his terrible army, seeking out the accumulated strength and wisdom of the kingdom. Our long and difficult journey had finally begun.