Lord Colbus the Mighty squared his feet, planting his heels in, and held his greatsword with both hands in front of him. He leveled his steely gaze at the tree-ogre and said a silent prayer to Ferox for strength and courage. His armor glimmered in the sunlight, streaks of silver and gold filigree decorating the polished steel breastplate and pauldrons. His weapon, the legendary blade “Stormfang”, forged from the pieces of a fallen star during a winter storm, was traced in runes revealing its magical origins.

The monstrous foliage-limbed beast advanced towards him, grumbling a leafy growl from somewhere deep within its trunk-body. Long, twiggy claws raked the earth in front of it as it moved, digging furrows in the ground like a farmer's plow. Colbus could see the glowing eyes within the dense canopy of a head, and knew that a splinter-toothed maw was waiting to rend him apart and devour him. Colbus the Mighty shifted his stance, then with a mighty battle roar, charged the monster, sword held high above his head.

“Colby, blast it, boy, knock off that noise!”

Colby winced and lowered the crude wooden sword he had carved for himself. He hadn’t meant to be so loud, and he really thought he had been far enough away from the cottage. His father was working on a new volume and needed quiet to focus. Apparently an 8-year-old’s war cry was just too powerful for some.

“Sorry, da,” he called. Looking up at the old oak tree he had been battling, he grinned ruefully, revealing his recently-lost front tooth. “I’ll get you next time, beastie.” Slipping his weapon into his hand-made rope belt, Colby skipped back towards the cottage, humming the chorus of “A Wildling Wandered Wayward”, the latest tune he heard at the tavern.

A Wildling wandered wayward

While wondering which was what

That wandering, wayward Wildling

Went wildly wrong, I thought

When we won’t watch the Wildlings

Then wild is what we’ve wrought

We’ve wasted what we’re wanting

A Wildling’s truth is naught.

Colby didn’t understand the words at all, but he liked the way they felt in his mouth when he sang them. The old bard Amfridus had been playing it on his mandolin and had all the kids in the village now singing it, much to the annoyance of their parents, Colby’s father included.

He approached the door to their humble home and stopped singing, not wanting to antagonize his father any more than he needed to. Huxley Pearce was a good and decent man, hard working, and a genuinely loving father. Colby loved him, of course, but could not understand why anyone would want to spend their entire life inside, looking at parchments and scrolls and manuscripts day in and day out. Unless they were stories, of course. His father had a wonderful collection of books full of amazing tales of excitement. Monsters and heroes, dark sorcerers and the gods and goddesses of the realm.

He entered quietly and made his way to the small kitchen, looking for something to snack on until his father was done working. He found some dried fruit and a bowl of walnuts and pulled a stool up to the stone counter and munched contentedly. Battling monsters worked up an appetite!

“Didn’t mean to shout at you, boy.” Huxley entered from the other room that he used as an office, study, and library. “I was just in the middle of a particularly tricky passage. Sorry if I scared you.”

“It’s okay, da,” replied Colby around a mouthful of dried apple. “I didn’t mean to be so loud. I thought I was far enough away. Sorry if I messed you up.”

His father waved his hand dismissively. “Not to worry, son. If I am still ruining work because of some noise at this point, I should find another career.” He tousled his son’s hair as he walked by him and poured water from an earthenware jug into a wooden cup. “Back to school tomorrow, though, right?”

“Yep. Springtime holiday is over.”

“Good. Education is important, lad. That is what opens up opportunities. It will lead to apprenticeship, and then a job that pays you well enough to live on.” He grabbed a handful of walnuts and started to eat them one at a time. “And it gives you options. If you can read and write, you can be a scholar or a merchant. Maybe learn other languages and be a trader or banker. Just please don’t be a politician!” He grinned at his son, then realized the joke was lost on the boy.

“What about an adventurer?”

Huxley chuckled. “That’s… not a real job, son.”

Colby sat up straighter in his chair. “Sure it is! They go on quests and battle the monsters and find treasure…”

His father raised his hands and shushed him. “Those are just stories, son. They are not real.”

“But Amfridus said he knew some of them! And they told him about their adventures and stuff!”

“Amfridus is a bard. A storyteller. It’s his job to make these things up.” Colby deflated. His father put his hand on his shoulder. “Look, what do we do when we want to know the truth about something?”

“Talk it out. Ask the questions. Follow the facts. Make an informed decision.” Colby recited the words by rote, words that had been drilled into his head since he was old enough to understand them.

“Very good. So let’s do that together, okay?” Huxley sat in the other stool facing his son. “So, let’s start at the beginning. What does an adventurer do?”

“Goes on adventures?”

“Right, but what does that mean?”

“They ride on their horses and go out… in the world? Looking for monsters and stuff?”

“Okay, so where do they get their horses? Where do they find their swords and armor and food…”

“They would have to buy them, I guess.”

“And where do they get the coin to do that? Horses are expensive. So are swords and armor.”

“Oh. I didn’t think about that.” Colby drooped. His father patted his shoulder again.

“It’s okay. That’s why we do this exercise. So let’s keep going. Let’s say they already had a horse and everything they needed. Maybe they got it from their family. What next?”

“Then they go on the adventure!” Colby perked up.

“Okay, how do they know where to go?”

The boy’s face fell again. “Maps?” he asked weakly.

Huxley shook his head. “Maps are expensive, too. Especially ones that might lead to treasure.”

“I don’t know… stories? Maybe they heard something about a monster?” He was grasping, and he knew it.

But Huxley grinned. “That’s actually good, boy. Good thinking. Say there is a ‘monster’ bothering some townsfolk. They send for help, and our adventurer hears about it. Now they have a destination and a ‘quest’.”

“Da, are monsters real?”

“Well, I suppose that depends on what you mean by monsters, son. Are bears real?”

Colby’s eyes widened, and he nodded. It had only been a few months since a large bear had wandered into the area, and it took several of the town's hunters to track it down and kill it.

“So to some folks, a bear would be considered a monster. Big, scary, dangerous… but if you mean things like dragons or tree-ogres,” he paused, raising an eyebrow at his son. Colby gave him a sheepish grin. “Then no. I have never seen one, nor do I know anyone who has.”

Colby sighed. His father squeezed his shoulder. “It’s alright, lad. The stories are wonderful, and I love that you love them. Reading and imagination are great things. But then we put them away and have to face the real world.”

Colby felt some tears rising up, and he bowed his head. “I really wanted to be an adventurer,” he said in a small voice.

Huxley wrapped his arm around him. “I know, son. But when you are older, you will find a real job, and you will still have your books.” He wiped his son's cheeks with a small cloth he produced from his pocket.

“Besides, if you were an adventurer, I’d never see you and I’d be worried about you all the time!” He held his son close, feeling the boy lean in to him. He hated to dampen the boy’s enthusiasm. But the thought of losing him to that life, the life that had claimed the boy's mother and nearly his own, was too much for him to bear.

Buy Me an Adventure