Once upon a time....no.
Once, in a faraway land...nah.
Ugh. Have you ever read a fantasy story that didn't start with these opening lines? Probably not. So, in keeping with tradition, I'm going to do the same thing.
Once upon a time, in a small village not found on any maps (because cartographers are lazy and don't bother adding little specks to maps), there lived a boy named Tu'f. He was a commoner, not entitled to anything great, because everyone in his village told him so.
"You'll never amount to anything...boy!" (The term "street rat" was not used yet.)
The only person who didn't look down on him was his father, the village blacksmith. Underneath the spreading chestnut tree was the forge where his father spent most of his time. However, he seldom had any work, even though every single hutowner in the village owned a horse. Apparently, the horses that the desert nomads bred never threw a shoe.
Occasionally, someone from the village got it into his head that going on an epic quest would be a grand idea. When that happened, a sword and dagger were commissioned from the blacksmith. Strangely enough though, armor was never asked for. When Tu'f's father asked about it, the answer was always something like, "Oh, I won't need it. I'll probably find some in an abandoned cave somewhere."
The blacksmith always shrugged and went back to his hammering. He was grateful enough for the work provided.
Tu'f spent his days helping in the forge as an apprentice. He was fond of the basic work, but his real passion was making swords. As soon as his father realized this, Tu'f was made the sole craftman of swords in the forge.
But the swords he made weren't just any swords. Oh no. In this fantasy world, you couldn't just get a plain old sword. Every single sword by law had to have magical abilities and powers. Tu'f kept a vat of what he dubbed "mystery metal" in a great iron pot in the back room. It appeared to be liquid iron, but every sword dipped in the pot came out with magical abilities. Tu'f never knew what they were until he delivered the sword to its owner. If the sword's abilities turned out to be good, Tu'f never heard from the customer again (presumably, he went off dragon-slaying and won). But if the "mystery metal" turned the sword evil, the sword's owner ALWAYS found a way to get revenge on Tu'f. Even if it meant crawling back to the village with no legs and chucking the sword through the forge's opening, they always came back. It became so ridiculous, the blacksmith had to hang a sign stating, "Not responsible for any damaged caused by the sword once it is delivered to the owner." Obviously, no one paid attention and as a result, the sign solved none of their problems.
All this to say, Tu'f's life was interesting, but somehow it wasn't interesting enough. Because every single night, he snuck out onto the roof of his hut and lamented his place. Sure he had an interesting apprenticeship (what could beat angry swordowners and swords destroying the forge on a daily basis?), but he wanted more in life. He wanted an adventure in the great wide somewhere.
He received his wish one day, not long after Du'ling arrived.
Short, but sweet. Just the way I like to start a book....
Anyway, I have good news (depending on whether you liked this or not). I can churn out these chapters fairly quickly (wonder why?) so I plan to update this every two days. :D
Have a good day and thanks for reading! :D
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The Greatest Tale (Or: Two Kids on an Epic Quest to Save the World)
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