“Do you think I’ll be able to find a dungeon someday?” 

“I’m not sure dear, they are really dangerous, I’d stay clear of them.”

CHAPTER 1 - FOLK TALE

The sound of young kids’ laughter and horses’ hooves filled FareHart with a joyous, youthful ambiance. FareHart is a traditional village now turning 114 years old. The gates of FareHart were left open as long as the sun was out, and closed upon nightfall. FareHart can be found far in the north isolated from the mountains and heavy forests. Mostly plains surrounded the village, with occasional patches of woods that have been searched and rummaged through for resources time and time again. Despite the lack of woods and potential threats, FareHart was heavily protected and armed. If a rumor about a new goblin tribe were to spread, the village would send hunters out for a week straight. Or, if a villager was found outside of FareHart past sunset, the demi-gods that cared for the village would punish them by torturing them with starvation and thirst for 2 or more days. It sounds rough, and well, it is. They do it because they think it is for the best.

The community of FareHart is still very strong, they’ve survived their entire lives together, and they’d fight for the rest of their lives. FareHart also accepted all- well, almost all people. FareHart had been around since the demi-gods had been born. So, the village was very “traditional”. They believed that everything should go by classic godly testaments and scripture. In other words- sorcery, or witchcraft of any kind, resulted in punishment: death. So, the people of FareHart live their entire lives in fear of magic. The demi-gods preach that only the gods are the only beings capable of magic, and demi-gods can only use magic when granted to them in a state of emergency. 

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That’s why I, Mara Fynn, don’t fit in. I was taken in at a young age by an old couple that lived in the village. Their names were (...) and (...). I called them Mom and Dad since they were the only parental figures I had growing up. Mom was in her thirties, she had long ginger hair and pale skin brushed with freckles. She was also an excellent cook, she would use the various berries and fruit dad had found whenever he went on foraging missions to cook delicious feasts and would even create different medicines using the metaphysical abilities of the berries. Dad looked like the opposite of mom, besides being extremely pale. He had dark brown, almost black hair. He was in his late forties. I always loved when Dad went out to forage. He specialized in finding berries and fruits. My favorite was Bloodfruit. It was a dark red citrus, and definitely the juiciest fruit you’ll ever sink your teeth into. Dad would always sneak me some and tell me stories while I ate them. My favorite stories were the stories about dungeons and the creatures south of the village. It made me eager to leave and see the outside world. Mom and Dad never let me leave the village. Actually, as I got older, I was barely allowed to leave the cottage. 

When I had turned 13, I was woken up by banging on our door. A demi-god had taken my parents away. My parents were sent to the council building and had to plead for their lives, unfortunately, the pleading didn’t work. They were burned for being accused of sheltering a witch behind the village’s back. Sadly, their accusations were correct, I was the witch, I was the reason they died. 

I stayed alive and the village “cleansed” me multiple times. They would use their granted magic to rid me of any metaphysical ability I had, but I’m not sure it worked, considering I’m not sure what I could do in the first place.