Chapter 1

Erin ©2016

Written by Lukas Alexander Singhoff

[Excerpt from an unknown writer, dated Year 200 of the Manila era]

The world shudders in its foundations with every passing moment. Far below the ground on which we wander, unknown forces push and pull at the very pillars that support the massive continent of Palaro. Dotted with countless mountain ranges and flat reaches, it is the centre for activity in every scale. From the smallest buzz of insects to the volcanoes that release fresh land, Palaro exhibits an energy rarely found elsewhere in the world.

Yet, would one cast a bird’s view over the entirety of this, they would be surprised to find it only a shell of life surrounding a dead core. Dark and foreboding, it sticks out from the vivid landmass like a wound on healthy skin, only this one has festered for two spins of the Rang century clock. I have never visited that tragic kingdom, yet rumor goes that if you ever should enter that cursed land, you will lose not only your life, but your very identity.

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The people of the world write the year 214M. It is mid-spring and the winter chill has not yet left the clutches of Palaro’s northern half, being reflected by the occasional shudder of a farmhand or merchant. The world is in the midst of a play. A play that is neither guided by a mortal, nor by an immortal. Every step in this upcoming play is done adjacent to a thousand other plays, each with their own set of characters and locations where they play out. And yet, despite the near endless variety, patterns and combinations happen over and over. A hero in one play might carry out the role of villain in the play next to it. Whether a cast member is aware of this or not is irrelevant. The world continues to weave these plays, setting them up to either benefit or destroy each other without bias. In this case, the play begins in a small, yet not wholly insignificant city in the prosperous kingdom of Rang, known to the maps as Melfis.

Melfis is not a very successful city. While it enjoys enough prosperity to maintain a cohesive line of stone wall around it’s flat location, it was placed far enough away from the centre of anything that very little happened that could be regarded as exciting. What’s more, it was neither located in a very attractive part of Rang, the land being covered in dull fields and forests that covered bland green landscapes like a rug. The uninteresting atmosphere was reflected in the buildings contained within this plain city, the sloped roofs and bending walls showcasing an almost human lack of motivation within the foundations. Not even the guard towers along the wall could muster the energy to look imposing.

The people were not particularly well-known for their good mood either, many being part-time labourers between the hard toils of the farms outside the walls and the city’s shops. As such, life in Melfis was scarce with enjoyment and relaxation. Amongst all their troubles, their lives were further burdened by their mayor who, while not tyrannical in his treatment of the citizens, still exercised a hard line of taxation that often brought a number of people to their knees in frustration.

And yet, despite its demerits, Melfis still offers something which keeps its people attached to it. That was the World Fair, a rather boastful name that did not even come close to promising what it said. Every year, during both spring and autumn, hordes of merchants and traders flock to Melfis, all set upon performing two actions: to sell their wares and promoting their business across the length of Palaro. Melfis has been the host for this mass migration for many decades now, it being the lifeline that keeps its inhabitants at a reasonably balanced level of sanity. The stalls that were erected beforehand in the central square held items that would normally require one to journey for many weeks before being thrown aside for a more preferred customer. 

Whether it was carpets or shoes, fruit or meat, cloth or weapons, the World Fair provided both the population of Melfis, along with the many hundreds of interested customers across the kingdom, with enough entertainment to last them until the next fair began again. Children would save their hard-earned wages solely to purchase a toy or a meal during the fair, the hard work more than worth it to enjoy the wide diversity of goods brought to their noses. As such, life was balanced fairly well, with Melfis enjoying its own share of events to enjoy during the years.

This spring, the World Fair was no different from usual, with throngs of people trying to enter the city almost on top of each other. The screams of children and shouts of merchants could be heard over the walls around the city itself, giving the lines outside only a taste of what was to be expected. Amongst the crowd at the southern gates, a lone farmer prepares himself for a long session of shouting as he spurs his horse to take his hay cart onwards. As soon as his horse reaches the first people, the farmer begins yelling his lungs out for them to move, loud protests audible throughout the crowd. A young man throws a tomato at the farmer and tells him to wait his turn, the farmer retorting that he needed to take the hay to the mayor’s stables. His horse continues pushing through the crowd regardless, having done this many times since its first journey into such groups.

Eventually, the farmer succeeds in pushing through the crowd completely, finding himself in the middle of chaos. The World Fair was well underway in the plaza where the wagon had entered, with dozens of stalls being crowded by large masses of all ages. The farmer let out a hiss of frustration as he prepared himself for the more arduous part of his journey, cursing the mayor for making the delivery happen today, when he usually tells him to leave the hay at the storage barn outside the eastern wall.

As he spurs his horse into motion however, both him and everyone around him fail to recognise a single figure sitting up from the hay in the back. The man looks around himself, as if having been asleep, before jumping off the wagon, landing gracefully on the muddy ground. Dusting himself off, he checks that a satchel is securely strapped to him before making his way leisurely through the marketplace, his activity muffled by the brief obscuring of the sun through clouds. Upon closer inspection, the figure is revealed to be of unusual height, standing at close to six and a half feet. 

Although he does not give the impression of being hard to detect, his presence seems to go past everyone who comes across him. In a leisurely, almost absent manner, they circumvent him without ever looking directly at him. Their avoidance is not intentional, nor are they aware of him. They simply have no interest in his direction.

As the spring sun finally breaks through the cloudy fabric, he is revealed to be wearing a bright blue tunic with light-grey patterns on short sleeves. His tunic was complemented by an elegant, dark brown leather vest showcasing a large number of pockets, some being filled to the point of bursting with unidentifiable objects. His leggings were made of patches of brown cloth with a thick leather belt, while his feet were covered by a pair of high-quality shoes. On his right hip hangs a wooden scabbard with a sword, an item that should have raised the most attention to anyone walking past him. The pommel and guard of the sword were simplistic in design, lacking any fine gems or engravings, yet it showed a lifetime’s worth of use and careful handling. Swords are usually only granted to members of royalty and warriors, with the latter being gifted a newly-forged sword after a grueling period of service to another warrior. This sword held no indication of being new, rather, it seemed ancient in both design and age. On top of his head was a mane of unkempt, thick brown hair, not washed for many a week. Almost not visible in his hair was a plain blue hair clip, seemingly without purpose as it did nothing to improve his appearance. His skin was a pleasant shade of light brown, tanned under a strong sun. On his exposed arms, unusual for the temperature of this season, one could see a small number of scars, almost invisible, looking similar to long scratch marks. His facial features were unknown to the people around, had they been able to look at him directly. A quick guess would place him at perhaps twenty-five, though none could give an accurate estimate. What was evident though was the brilliant blue colour in his eyes. 

The markedly exotic individual made his way casually through the stalls erected at the sides of the market street, inspecting the goods presented by traveling merchants and farmers from all corners of this kingdom and beyond. Over the tumult of the market, he picked out a trader selling apples from the coast of Mercin, a rare commodity at this time of year. He wrinkled his nose at a nearby butcher, the smell of half-rotten meat unmistakable from his ghastly collection. A dark-skinned woman in bright robes from the stall across was in a heated argument with him, complaining about her carpets being ruined by his stench. While observing the argument with a mixture of boredom and laziness, a stall further down the road caught his interest. Forgetting the two bickering individuals behind him, he makes his way quickly towards his new destination.

A woman, appearing to be in her mid-thirties, is selling lemons, likely harvested from her own small farm, for a price that a merchant would find appalling and a farmer cheap. She has an air of confidence around her, as if she thought that she could attract customers by sheer willpower, She shows clear signs of hard work in the fields, being betrayed by her bent back and dark, dirt-infused fingers. The unknown man approaches the stall and inspects one of the many baskets before him, the mottled brown and yellow lemons sticking out like a sore thumb. The man's gaze carried over to the woman in the midst of attempting to sell one to an elderly couple. He noticed that, whenever she pointed towards the item in her hand, she would hold the rotten side towards her hand while convincing the customer to buy it, before placing it in their own basket in such a way that the buyer had no way to see the afflicted side. A smile of amusement spread across his face as the couple politely excused themselves before leaving, the woman behind the stall staring back at them with an expression comparable to a predator having lost its prey. Facing her directly, he asked with a somber tone, his voice both smooth and friendly:

“Madam, I am interested in purchasing this basket of yours. Would you be alright with that?”

She turned to face the direction of his voice, but became immediately distracted by another man on the opposite end of the stall showing interest. Not wanting to give up on a customer, she spoke to him indirectly while handling the trade:

“The whole basket? I think not. What would I do then, just walk on home? I’ve weaved these baskets myself with my own fingers. As if I will part with them. There’s not an amount in the world you could offer me to……” .

As she turned towards him, she recognised two things. One, the man who spoke had disappeared, together with an entire basket of hers. Second was the pile of gold coins in place of the basket, easily equal to ten baskets of the same kind. Completely bewildered, she had no idea what had become of her basket nor the lemons, above all the mysterious person who had paid so much for a basket of rotten fruit. All she knew was that she had to act fast to grab the coins before some bedraggled rat-child came and snatched them from her.

A fair distance away, the man watched as she quickly stuffed the coins into her pocket, looking left and right to catch sight of him. Chuckling, he readjusted the basket of lemons in his hands and walked off towards the other end of the city. He grabbed a lemon from the basket on the way and bit into it, immediately regretting his decision. Sighing, he continued to make his way when he sensed something unusual in the distance, his eyes akin to a hawk scouting its territory.

His head turned to the right, towards the maze of small alleyways and paths behind the first row of houses. His eyes began to narrow, not recognising a passerby knocking the basket out of his hands by accident. Yet the passerby did not seem to be aware of his own actions, instead focusing on approaching a stall containing a variety of pelts. What also escaped the person’s attention was that the basket had not fallen onto the ground, but remained afloat in the air without its cargo having been moved. It was soon however grabbed by the tall stranger as he made his way into the direction he had gazed towards before, his pace both relaxed and firm as a smile bounced on his face.

He is but a single member of the play, a person without any awareness of his role nor of his own significance. With time, he might be able to realise what he can bring about. Perhaps then, he will decide whether to pursue one path or the other, as the world does not wish a certain end, but leaves it up to the participant to choose. The thing that one must be most aware about is that in the eye of the world, nobody is special. Nobody is the chosen, nor is anyone the hero destined to fulfill a great prophecy. Many might perceive themselves as the mastermind, or as mere pawns, yet they are all incorrect. Other characters exist in the play, some involved in many plays at once while others play a single, solitary role separate from the rest. It remains to be seen how this particular play will progress, though one thing is for certain.

Regardless of the present, an ending will always be reached. Whether it be joyful or tragic.

Author's Note

Names of locations are intentional.