Frizan

RPGC #21: How The Guild Saved Christmas - Prompt and Entries

To everyone that is participating: Be sure to get your entries in soon! The deadline will arrive in a little under two weeks.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

Your character can get in the banquet through one of three ways.

1. Attending as a guest, under a fake identity
2. Disguised as a servant and go in the back
3. Shipped into the cargo room in box

Keep in mind that choices 1 and 2 means you must wear appropriate attires and can only carry concealable weapons. You can retain your kit with choice 3.

Reserve your role within two days, or I will assign it to you.

@Gcold

Thinkin' Sagzy will disguise himself as a servant and get in that way. Piper's gonna take the Mail Order Bride approach.

RPGC #21: How The Guild Saved Christmas - Discussion

Feel free to direct any feedback or questions here! Please keep discussion relevant to the associated contest. All other Guild posting rules also apply.

RPGC #21: How The Guild Saved Christmas - Prompt and Entries

How The Guild Saved Christmas

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Winter and the season of giving has come again! It is a time to make new friends, catch up with the ones you haven't seen for a while, and generally just be as happy as you can be! Well, what if I told you that there were some entities that despised that? Oh yes, positively hate it! The only thing that makes them happy is making sure you don't get to be, and it just so happens that the festivities give them a golden opportunity to outright yank your jubilation right out from under you like a tacky Christmas tree rug. What better way for a Grinch to make others miserable than to pull them down while they are on their tallest high horse of happiness? Why, it's outright devilish! And my, are there so many devils out on this snowy night...

And it just so happens that one of those devils has targeted you! All the honeyed ham, nutmeg and candy canes couldn't save you from getting your celebrations ruined and smashed by a sullen Scrooge. But you aren't going to take this lying down, are you? Oh no, absolutely not! You've worked very hard this year and were as nice as you could be, and you aren't going to let your holiday be taken from you! Go and get it back, for yourself and all those that have suffered the same...and Saint Nick might throw in another present as a bonus!

---

Contest Rules

1. Christmas does not need to be directly referenced, it can have any name in your universe. The general themes of Christmas must remain; having your story center around a holiday that involves decapitating people probably isn't going to go over well.

2. Aside from involving Christmas/Christmas-esque festivities, your setting can be basically anything. Victorian London? Cool! On another planet with alien life? Do it! Want to do have it be Modern Day and your main protagonist is a card-carrying super hero(or villain!) that directly beats up some sort of Anti-Santa? Granted!

3. There does not need to be a major antagonist. Heck, your story doesn't even have to focus on saving Christmas as a whole. I will gladly accept stories that zoom in a bit on focus on individuals and their experiences. But the characters' "Christmas" must have been ruined at some point by some thing or event, and your story must follow their efforts to "save it".

4. If you were to call this rule trite, I would agree, but for now I'm sticking with it: We're looking for some feel-good vibes here, folks. Been seeing a lot of long faces on the Guild the past month or so. Make them smile, or at the very least give them a good read to distract themselves with!

5. Please title your entries!

6. There will be a total word cap of five thousand for this prompt.

Bonus parameter: Feeling a bit of Seuss coming on? Write your entry in rhyme!

Grounds for disqualification

1. Plagiarism.

2. Your entry having no clear connection to the prompt.

3. Gratuitous violence or gore.

4. We probably won't be experiencing any of this but I gotta cover all bases. No explicit sex scenes. Fade to black is fine.

---

Due to the nature of Christmas celebrations, much like Thanksgiving, I do not expect many people will have all the time in the world to write. This is why I am setting the deadline for Monday, January 6th. Please post all entries in this thread, and direct all questions and feedback to my PM box or the associated Discussion thread, and I will gladly answer them.

Please hold off all votes and critiques until the proper thread has been erected for this prompt.

RPGC #20: Gratis - Discussion

I have thrown in my tiebreaker vote, and so, congratulations are in order for @Briza! Very well done, friend.

And big shoutout to @SleepingSilence for their very well written entry. When I said it was a hard choice on who to vote for, I meant it. I must have spent almost an hour going over why I liked both entries and weighing them against each other.

And now...to get 21 up and running!

Polish those sleigh bells, people.

RPGC: Trophy Case

Winner of RPGC #20: Gratis

---

The Good Samaritan by @Briza

Her hands were shaking as she pulled a few pounds from her wallet. I watched as they trembled and carefully placed the brass into the hands of the clerk, standing behind the wooden counter. There was no warm mead to be had in the establishment, but the cold would do just fine for her. I felt the need to remove my cloak and wrap it around her, but instead I thought, No, her son, the one who had all her attention and heart. I shall clothe him instead, as she seemed to be so distracted by him to not realize how tremendously beautiful she was, standing there stricken cold in all of her simple attire.

I kept thinking to myself, How could I, a man too much of an elder, come across her without seeming as some rich fool or jerk or contrarian to my own philosophical and theological endeavors? A man of my honor had no need for a lady, nor a used one at that. However, I still found myself quite intrigued by her very nature. We had spoken slight words prior to our meeting at the shop, and she had seemed a bit dazzled by my outfit. Though, I thought her simple form, spent in underweight peasantry, was all the more delightful to admire. There was something about her. Perhaps, it was her personality. Whatever it was, I wanted to know, but first, I would put my cloak around the boy.

She was overly grateful for the cloak; black silk with rabbit fur, gold piping, and equally rich buttons. As I tied the cloak around the boy, I heard the ticking of my pocket watch, and was reminded of my own childhood. There were men just like me at every corner in my own day-to-day. Why was this? Because I had been raised in the most eloquent of homes, with the most eloquent of families, with the most eloquent of manners. I had everything handed to me, if not on a silver platter than on something even more lavish. To see such poor creatures, notably aware that my lifestyle existed, pulled my heart into believing this one gesture would be something to give them warmth. If not for a lifetime, then for at least today.

“The pleasure is all mine, madam,” I said with the finest style of speech I could muster; having found that my back was feeling chilly already, no longer being sheltered from the breeze. Thankfully, I had my goblet, and I awaited to see if the lady would say anything before I took a sip for some warmth. She said nothing daintily, and I went onwards with the same chivalrous curiosity that had driven me to comfort her boy with my cloak, by comforting her with my words. “I would never wish to see such a fine young lad as yours fall ill from such a lovely winter. Such tragedy happens all the time, and I shan’t see it happen today, not to yours, anyhow,” I was a unsure if she understood my gesture. She was unusually docile with certain things, and I could tell we were certainly of different classes.

“‘Comp’ment’d ya attire ya m’ments ago. ‘Eally, ya too kind f’r all’o’s, s’r,” she replied with unstable shyness, and I wanted to lift those spirits for the moment, as there was embarrassment in her manners. She seemed too afraid to say much more, and she had a speech impediment that made it a bit hard to clearly know her wording. I thought perhaps she was from a foreign country, or she had never been taught proper English. I was lead to heavily believe the latter, but as a gentleman, decided not to make assumptions about her, even if the given sin was written all over her. However, With a sudden realization that my status had always made me feel insecure for reasons such as these, I chose to turn a blind eye, as men of my stature did not have the best reputations for treating women in her position well. I am not God for Heaven’s sake, and neither shall I resort to being a Pharisee who had Christ, His only begotten Son, nailed to the Cross. Today, I believed I could change that, at least for myself, and I followed and supported her gratefulness by begging the question, “Would madam mind if she and her son accompanied me for a scrumptious supper?”

_Fin.

RPGC #20: Gratis - Voting and Critique

It was definitely a tough choice between the two entries, but a tiebreaker vote had to be cast. There is not much I can say about either entry that hasn't already been said, but I believe that Briza hit the mark on what I was aiming for as far as theme and tone goes. It was short, yes, and a bit cliched, but the snapshot of two people, despite being so far away from each other in wealth and class, sharing a moment of understanding and acceptance made me warm and fuzzy inside. While initially the nobleman had some rather off-putting inner thoughts("A man of my honor had no need for a lady, nor a used one at that."), he quickly became quite a warm character, showing care for the woman and her child, eventually going so far as to invite the two to dinner. The woman in the story had a hard time talking clearly, but that on top of her gratitude towards the strange man who was obviously several leagues above her own class(a rich man whom she, if real-world social dynamics are in place in this story, would have plenty of reasons to despise) made her endearing. We do not know what happens after the story ends, but I am sure the nobleman spent much more time with the young woman and her little boy, as he seems predominantly a good soul on the inside.

SleepingSilence's story still deserves much praise. I liked the choice of giving the characters titles instead of names. It gives a very quick description of each character and their personalities without having to spend pages explaining their nuances. The entry is general is very well written, with good detail in the scenes. It was easy for me to imagine the setting of each part of the story. Overall the The Wanderer On Wilhelmsvale Trail was a good read but it had a bittersweet taste, which wasn't entirely what I was going for. I understand and appreciate the overall message, expressed through the ending song, but it just didn't flicker a fire in my heart, so to speak.

Well done to both of you! Like I said it was very hard to vote either way, and I loathe being a tiebreaker as the official holder of the contests as I fear my own biases, but I also wish to stray from repeated instances of multi-winner situations.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

Goodbye, catfriend. I hope you don't get turned into a Kamal battle flag

RPGC #20: Gratis - Discussion

Hey guys, I'll be leaving the voting thread for Gratis up for a little while longer, and during that time I will also be working on the next prompt! I expect to have it ready by the 14th.

RPGC #20: Gratis - Voting and Critique

Gratis

Voting and Critique

---

Welcome to another round of voting!

I encourage everyone that cares about the Contests(and if you don't already, I encourage you to begin now) to read through all of the wonderful entries submitted in the past two weeks, and cast their vote for their favorite! The submission with the most votes will be posted in a stickied "Trophy Case" thread where it will be displayed for all to see, and its author added to the list of Meritorious Writers at the very top!

Of course, this thread is also for critiquing. Note I said critiquing, not shitslinging. Constructive criticism only, please. Feel free to go through any one or all of the entries and give your two cents in helping your fellow writers improve! Those that have entered this contest are absolutely allowed to critique each others' works, contestants can absolutely vote, though not for their own, obviously.

Needless to say, using multiple accounts to vote more than once is NOT ALLOWED, and if an author uses alts to vote for their own work, they will be disqualified on the spot and disbarred from entering any future Contests.

Please vote based on the merits of the work, not for the sake of a clique or just because the author happens to be your friend. And mostly certainly do not attempt to have an author falsely disqualified because you don't happen to like them, because I'll fucking find out and it won't be pretty.

---

The Good Samaritan

_{The Good Samartian
^{By Briʓa}}

---

Her hands were shaking as she pulled a few pounds from her wallet. I watched as they trembled and carefully placed the brass into the hands of the clerk, standing behind the wooden counter. There was no warm mead to be had in the establishment, but the cold would do just fine for her. I felt the need to remove my cloak and wrap it around her, but instead I thought, No, her son, the one who had all her attention and heart. I shall clothe him instead, as she seemed to be so distracted by him to not realize how tremendously beautiful she was, standing there stricken cold in all of her simple attire.

I kept thinking to myself, How could I, a man too much of an elder, come across her without seeming as some rich fool or jerk or contrarian to my own philosophical and theological endeavors? A man of my honor had no need for a lady, nor a used one at that. However, I still found myself quite intrigued by her very nature. We had spoken slight words prior to our meeting at the shop, and she had seemed a bit dazzled by my outfit. Though, I thought her simple form, spent in underweight peasantry, was all the more delightful to admire. There was something about her. Perhaps, it was her personality. Whatever it was, I wanted to know, but first, I would put my cloak around the boy.

She was overly grateful for the cloak; black silk with rabbit fur, gold piping, and equally rich buttons. As I tied the cloak around the boy, I heard the ticking of my pocket watch, and was reminded of my own childhood. There were men just like me at every corner in my own day-to-day. Why was this? Because I had been raised in the most eloquent of homes, with the most eloquent of families, with the most eloquent of manners. I had everything handed to me, if not on a silver platter than on something even more lavish. To see such poor creatures, notably aware that my lifestyle existed, pulled my heart into believing this one gesture would be something to give them warmth. If not for a lifetime, then for at least today.

“The pleasure is all mine, madam,” I said with the finest style of speech I could muster; having found that my back was feeling chilly already, no longer being sheltered from the breeze. Thankfully, I had my goblet, and I awaited to see if the lady would say anything before I took a sip for some warmth. She said nothing daintily, and I went onwards with the same chivalrous curiosity that had driven me to comfort her boy with my cloak, by comforting her with my words. “I would never wish to see such a fine young lad as yours fall ill from such a lovely winter. Such tragedy happens all the time, and I shan’t see it happen today, not to yours, anyhow,” I was a unsure if she understood my gesture. She was unusually docile with certain things, and I could tell we were certainly of different classes.

“‘Comp’ment’d ya attire ya m’ments ago. ‘Eally, ya too kind f’r all’o’s, s’r,” she replied with unstable shyness, and I wanted to lift those spirits for the moment, as there was embarrassment in her manners. She seemed too afraid to say much more, and she had a speech impediment that made it a bit hard to clearly know her wording. I thought perhaps she was from a foreign country, or she had never been taught proper English. I was lead to heavily believe the latter, but as a gentleman, decided not to make assumptions about her, even if the given sin was written all over her. However, With a sudden realization that my status had always made me feel insecure for reasons such as these, I chose to turn a blind eye, as men of my stature did not have the best reputations for treating women in her position well. I am not God for Heaven’s sake, and neither shall I resort to being a Pharisee who had Christ, His only begotten Son, nailed to the Cross. Today, I believed I could change that, at least for myself, and I followed and supported her gratefulness by begging the question, “Would madam mind if she and her son accompanied me for a scrumptious supper?”

_Fin.

by @Briza

The Wanderer On Wilhelmsvale Trail

The Wanderer On Wilhelmsvale Trail

The wintry winds whistle wrought weariness in the wretched wanderers weathering their own weaknesses to and from warmer whereabouts. The citizenry stayed sheltered from the monstrosities they feared inside the bustling town of Wilhelmsvale. Parents telling tall tales to their terrified tykes to further their fear from the unknown; despite the depths of their knowledge missing the nearby forest from the trees. The enormous beast stomped forth on his two feet through inches of powdery snow. His row of sharp pointed teeth exposed like his body clothed in fur alone. The growl of his stomach could prompt passerby to dread getting devoured whole like the oncoming dark-grey clouds eating up the afternoon daylight. A wandering beast crossed the plains and reached a stone trail that connected the many towns’ travelers and stretched farther than his collective memory. Without real purpose to pass his time, it became easier to abandon those forgotten in his past. And yet, The Wanderer’s sunken eyes still purposefully searched for the living near his wits end. His thick claws clasped together over his maw, curdling the blood of those ears that hear his frustrated howl.

“Prey! Where is my Prey?!”

A moment of eerie silence answered by a raucous barking, as a large dog with its muzzle covered in blood charged fearlessly forward with impressive speed. As it leaped up into The Wanderer’s outstretched arms and opened paws. The beast scooped up the dog like a newborn baby, firmly holding its fluffy double fur coat, grooming it with his tongue and simultaneously tasting its dinner.

“Prey! You can’t just keep leaving the forest to catch rabbits! You had me worried that I wouldn’t find you...” The Wanderer scolded like a parental figure, shooting the dog a stern glare that slowly slowed the excitable wag of the dog’s tail to a stop then quickly kissing his nose. Rubbing the back of his neck as nervous tension released with a smiling sigh, The Wanderer thought that he must have been parched, since he suddenly felt so driven to drink...

---

Meanwhile four fellows had followed the Wilhelmsvale Trail in a strange hierarchy, with different wealth statuses and walks of life making the same route for indulgence in all mortals’ sins. Stopping in and heading single file through the tavern’s doors, the warmth from the flickering fireplace melting their frosty coats. Equally warm were the bar wench’s words welcoming them in while she cleaned off the countertops. Each sitting beside the other as the eldest, the most casually dressed in the group, had went up to order the first two rounds of drinks. The elder’s cadence droned on like a prophet predicting the preordained present, or perhaps a politician in the presence of his people.

“Time to celebrate my successfully passed legislation that I spent all week negotiating trades between our greedy neighboring villages. I wouldn’t rest until they contributed their fair share to our town, benefiting the place and people I care strongly about.” The Authority proclaimed with a raised glass.

“Is that why you’re dressed so drably?” The Aristocrat taunted teasingly. His smirking face wearing more makeup than the woman serving them drinks while also having the most foppish apparel. He scoffed at the mugs of swill sliding in front of him and swiftly scooted them to the others. “Enjoy.” The Aristocrat commented with an eye roll, reaching for coins inside his purse and politely ordering wine instead.

“Clothes make the everyman.” The Authority countered sipping his suds. “Besides, you’re simply letting your fancy dressing be ruined by the oncoming blizzard tonight — which reminds me,” Interrupted by the maiden dumping crimson candles on the table, the odor was odious.

“Hey boys. There’s been talk of packs of wolves attacking travelers coming into town. Especially during these colder months where food is scarce. These are the cheapest and most effective repellent. I sell matches too.” Her sales pitch didn’t appear to phase the rest, but The Authority looked mortified of this and downed his other drink, rummaging in his pockets and slapping the money down. Supplying himself and each man with a candle as he started to button up his coat and stride toward the door.

“If that’s the case, I shall alert the Night Guard immediately.” Opening the door to meet the unforgiving winds as he said his parting words. “Our election is drawing near, I hope you’ll consider voting for me. Enjoy your night...” With that said, The Authority left as the door creaked closed, stepping outside to become engulfed in the snowfall. Hell couldn’t have gotten much colder than the weather. The individual snowflakes may have been considered beautiful, but their true intentions were shrouded in a chilling haze and lost in the millions among the crowd, like demons cascading from the clouds and falling from their salvation.

---

The growls weren’t coming from him anymore. The fresh smell of blood brought a haunting presence as a surrounding circle of yellow eyes gleamed bright, harrowing his hardened heart. Panic gutted The Wanderer’s motor functions, a flight or fight response would both lead to an early grave. Prey stood aggressively and snarled at the wolf pack, shielding its master. The largest wolf stepped forward revealing its past scars, as the others remained still. The Wanderer having an ill-fated feeling that in their death glares, both seemed to acknowledge that it would be a battle for survival. It was humiliating to think about being to afraid to even speak, silently standing there to cheer on the sidelines...

Difficult to see between the swiftness of Prey’s charge and the growing snowstorm, he briefly lost track of them. His ears focusing intensely at the sounds of claws digging in flesh and holding his paws over his squinted eyes, finally catching a glimpse of The Alpha’s neck crushed in Prey’s jaws. The wolf thrashed around for a few moments before toppling over and spazzing out until it lied motionless. The Wanderer’s eyes lit up, as Prey triumphantly barked off the retreating pack.

“Prey! Come!” The Wanderer called out with extended arms. Prey’s aggressive stance turned 180 and returned to face him with a happy wag…

And it pranced forward…

From left paw...

To right…

Wobbling slightly…

Thud.

Collapsing on his side…

His heart sank so low, it drowned in his stomach. It rushed over and fell to his knees and watched in terror as the pool of red soaked the stone. His hands hovering over the dog, noticing a deep cut in his stomach. The pained whimpering shook his spine and gripped him until he was on the verge of breaking. His own voice shaking with a gentle tone caressing what he feared touch would only make worse.

“Ssh. Ssh. Don’t cry…” The Wanderer whispered, struggling not to commence in hypocrisy. He had no medical supplies and couldn’t risk moving the body. The forest he dwelled in was too distant and an important oath refused to set foot in civilization long ago. It felt like a punishment from the gods. Was there any better explanation of the frail display of selfishness? Nobody mourns for the thousands that die everyday, but you shed tears for one that’s breathing?

The desperation of him calling out for help, spotting a quickly approaching flame amidst the trail. The sound of whinnying and hoof prints marching forth, seeing The Authority halting at a short distance from the crouching beast.

“My Sir, are you alright? Were you bitten by that wolf? Let’s get you to the hospital. Don’t worry, it will cover any charges—” The Authority spoke with concern, holding a candle close and determining exactly what he was awkwardly gawking at, realizing this vagrant had no clothing.

“No. My dog. Can you bring him to the medicine man? Please.” The Wanderer pleaded, he couldn’t follow, but knew Prey shouldn’t have to suffer. The Authority’s sympathy blew away with the shift of the bitter breeze, inspecting a non-citizen lawlessly roaming with a creature that likely wouldn’t last the trip. It was certainly not worth risking the funds, nor under his jurisdiction.

“Get that bloody mongrel off the trail before I have the soldiers carry it off. You’re disturbing the public. Now get out of the storm!” The Authority warned with a swift exit, cold as air filling The Wanderer’s stunned and stuttering lungs, with only the darkening atmosphere left in The Authority’s wake…

---

The tavern had been packed with patrons, lively drinking the night away as the three men shared stories of their day. The Aristocrat admiring his painted nails, almost as much as the guzzled grapes in his gut.

“I spent all day cooped up in my wagon. Giving speeches in the nearby villages, explaining the plight of all the poor woman and children that go hungry in this season. It sure feels good helping the misfortuned.” He squeaks with a flutter of his gloved fingers. Soon feeling alone in his company that he grimaced at. The Alcoholic had consumed booze to match his pudgy weight twice over, his light armor reflected his middle class status, caked in dirt from his stressful day at mining work. He hadn’t uttered a word to anyone since arriving, only poorly whistling happy tunes and grumbling slurred sweet nothings to the equally fat feline sitting upon his lap. Purring as it was pet, pouting with a jealous stare at his owner too busily feeding the customers. The Actor had flirted with every inebriated woman, or at least far as he could tell them apart, owning a bag of cheap doohickies instead of money meant clever words would buy their attention.

“Yes. I’m auditioning for the lead role of upcoming play at the castle. Not for the limelight, but for my little smiling siblings that cheer me on when I succeed. I’ve struggled hard for my passion.” The Actor exclaimed while wearing an eye patch that he didn’t need. Clenching both of his fists up in the air, sounding as if he was about to cry yet looking like he’d start a brawl.

“The drunk actually has a real job.” The Aristocrat muttered, grinding a thinning patience against his temples as their debauchery was getting sickening and his overwhelming desire to smoke was enough to leave to the comfort of his wagon. Wrapping himself in layers of luxurious blankets, stuffing his pipe with tobacco and striking the match to lit his candle and pipe before entering the darkness...

---

The paranoia failed to distinguish the distance and direction of the harmonious howling. The Aristocrat’s flame was snuffed out from his pipe, heading down the trail with haste. A creature piercing eyes lunged in front of his wagon causing the horses to freak out. A violent shout unleashed a high-pitched shriek met with awkward silence. The hulking figure shivering and his stomach rumbling as it stood beside a dog that laid motionless.

“I’m sorry…” The Wanderer lamented with crossed arms and frozen tears. He explained his situation and previous encounter in as few words as possible, sparing the energy it took for him to stand. The Aristocrat fluffed up his blankets and fur coat, the redness in his cheeks could at least be blamed on the weather, trying to cover up his distress with a loud throat clear. Coming to the conclusion that the beast was an outsider and the dog had clearly died.

“Then I apologize for my reaction…and how dreadful for that man to act so cruelly.” Sounding offended for The Wanderer’s sake as The Aristocrat pointed behind him, speaking informally. “There’s a tavern just up the road. It can provide you the cheapest meal and warmth.” But The Wanderer shook his head.

“No money. All I want is something to carry my dog’s body back to the forest so I may give it a proper burial. Might I borrow one of your blankets? Please.” The Wanderer begged.

“Good heavens no!” The Aristocrat rejected sharply, clenching his many blankets for dear life. “I traveled and paid extravagant prices for these.” The Wanderer didn’t even give a reply, only sitting down in the snow by his dog. The Aristocrat scoffed at such a ridiculous request, pulling out a single silver and two copper pieces and tossed them from the wagon as they landed in The Wanderer’s sight. “That’s enough for a meal and a night at the tavern. Take care of yourself.” The Aristocrat’s tone was critical, beginning to go around and fade into obscurity. The Wanderer stroked the dog’s fur, all hope had been extinguished from his heart like the dog’s body heat.

“You were faster. You could have ran away and had a chance to survive...so why? Why did you stand to fight for me when I didn’t do the same? How’s that fair? Prey. It’s too cold to be alone. Don’t—leave me...”

---

Even the tavern was dwindling in activity, as many had paid for rooms to sleep there until the blizzard ended in the morning. However, The Actor was awake and nervously calculating his budget and realizing he’d blown nearly everything on the women’s allure. Making his way toward the fireplace where The Alcoholic was asleep in a chair. The bar wench was cleaning the tables and shrugged it off since he’d technically paid for a room already. The Actor heavily shook The Alcoholic awake, as he opened his weary eyes and let out a slight groan. Getting an unexpected line to be sung sluggishly.

“♪ Drink up what you enjoy. ♩ Even if it’s all gone... ♪”

“Sounds morbid.” The Actor bluntly responds before shaking his head to get back on track. “Might I borrow a silver piece? I need to get into town, but don’t have enough to get a room.” The Alcoholic burped in response, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry. I spent all my money to load my cart with barrels of beer and the rest of my supplies is all the unprocessed gemstones that I harvested. I reaped such a huge bounty today. I doubt I’ll collect this much again in my all years.” The Alcoholic replied yawning yet shockingly articulate for drinking a seas’ worth of foam, just proof of genetic differences, not that it helped his cause. The Actor frowned slightly upon having that rubbed in his face. “You can...sleep in my room? This chair is comfy enough...”

“I’ll never make it to my audition if I slept here. Nevermind, I’m sure I’ll be able bargain...” The Actor replied throwing his hands up in the air, noticing The Alcoholic had fallen asleep again, letting out a snore. He headed toward the door, grumbling to himself.

“Perhaps, you’d be better off taking his advice.” The bar wench interjected. “It’s not safe out there...” He gave her a polite smile while bowing his head.

“I wouldn’t be able to live without taking any risk.”

---

The burden was a significant undertaking, heavy as the falling snow. A meager candlelight leading the way, before coming across The Wanderer who hadn’t moved from his sitting spot like a statue frozen in place. The Actor spotted the coins the beast stared at within in his open paw. He was imaginative enough to understand the scenario without needing to read a script, devising a strategy of word choice. He reached into his bag and pulled out a religious book.

“Sir? You have my condolences for the fate of your fallen friend.” The Actor’s kind and sympathetic tone had The Wanderer turn to face The Actor. He held out the book and candle to highlight his proposition. “It’s hard to let go. But I just so happen to be a pastor. Might I offer my services for those few coins? The gods smile on those who bequeath their whims. I’ll begin a sacred ritual and passing ceremony to ensure its soul will find its way into the heavens...”

The Wanderer contemplated and tried to concentrate on the symbols and writing on the black hardcover, though his lack of education made him illiterate, only able to recognize the iconography. It sounded like a sincere gesture, so how could he turn down the proposal? The Wanderer stood upright and stepped over to The Actor, close enough for him to take the coins.

The Actor could have feigned a little prayer to recompense the ignorance, but evenly blinded by such moral poverty required to recover lost time. With his fee taken, The Actor smacked the horse’s rear as it galloped off. Hearing the burst of anger roaring out from behind.

“BASTARD!” Unleashing the pent up frustration soon erupting with hoarse coughing and a deep burning sensation in his bones. His heart raced until his head began to spin, dizzily collapsing on his side to meet the cold hard ground. Facing the cruel reality as he stared into the dog’s hollowed eyes, he closed them with his paw and closed his own eyes. He had no will to move on, no strength to cry anymore tears. Inhaling rapidly with exasperated breath as the beautiful snowflakes bitterly stun his lungs. The Wanderer clung to his Prey, memories aching that surpassed the exterior numbness. Just deciding to finally rest until his problems were buried beneath the weight of the world...

But, The Wanderer would never get what he really wanted, as fate would always have something else in mind. As sounds of a dozen snarls sung a serenade of impending doom…

---

“Get! Get out of here! You damned wolves!” The voice demands through hiccups. The beast heard the sounds of growling and an unsatisfied departure, as The Alcoholic shouts at the pack with the horrid smell of the candle warding them away. He stumbled forward from his oxen cart and toward the motionless beast, throwing his only blanket over it and watching it instinctively curl into it. The Wanderer keep ignoring their existence until it felt something being poured into his mouth. The strong burning taste was addictive and swallowed before he knew it. Fueling him with energy to thrust himself upright and shove The Alcoholic backward with enough power to slightly sober him up as he fell down. It might have been a little too late to remember that he had already bought a room and didn’t need to be the last to return home.

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” The Wanderer roared with such weakness that it wouldn’t have brought a frown to a child’s face. The Alcoholic shook his head, rejecting The Wanderer’s plea for death.

“I’m afraid my conscience wouldn’t let me sleep tonight. How about you hop on back here and bring yourself and your friend to my home? You can use that blanket.” The Alcoholic offered stumbling forward to put the flask in The Wanderer’s paw. The Wanderer paused for a moment, baffled and exhausted in every way. He was in no mood for whatever tricks they had planned for him, as he cautiously watched The Alcoholic stumble about aimlessly to find the back of his cart filled with barrels of alcohol and crates with indescribable riches. He grabbed each crate of considerable weight collectively crowding the back and hurled it off into the snow. The sounds of gemstones crashing down one by one until only barrels remained, which gave the large beast enough room. The Wanderer chugged the flask, filling his body with potent liquid. He exhaled slowly, something seemed compelling him to reconsider his choices. The Wanderer wrapped the dog carefully in the blanket and stood up, walking slowly over to the cart and laying the dog inside. His eyes squinted suspiciously trying to find the strings attached.

“Why would you do all of this for me?” The Wanderer questioned expecting some satisfactory answer, but only received a shrug of the shoulders. The Alcoholic merely smiled and took the empty flask from The Wanderer’s paw to refill it.

“It’s better to drink with a companion. Get in the back. I can only offer you my floor to rest your head, but its still shelter...” The Alcoholic said with slurred words.

“I’ve made an oath never to step foot in civilization again. If you can bury my dog in the forest outside nearby where I reside, you’ll have done me a favor I’d never be able to repay.” The Wanderer replied, still shaking. The Alcoholic climbed in, knowing the beast would likely die without shelter.

“Please, before you head back into the forest. Share a few barrels with me. I think it's appropriate you tell me your story.” The Alcoholic stated. The Wanderer gulped as gluttony penetrated his pride, climbing in the back and accepting the trade. The barrel of booze serving as his mug, chugging down its contents. The ale ailing his emptiness as the impeccable taste danced across his tongue. The warmth embracing his insides and replenishing his soul, but it wasn’t the booze that gave The Wanderer his sense of hope back. He started speaking but most of it was unintelligible gibberish, grabbing yet another barrel after he finished the previous.

“Feeling better?” The Alcoholic asked watching him empty several entire barrels of the strongest stuff available as they carelessly rolled away with the wind. The Wanderer laid back and wiped his eyes and mouth off with his paw.

“Yeah…” The Wanderer uttered absentmindedly, then hiccuped which got The Alcoholic to burst into hardy laughter. And despite any sense, The Wanderer laughed as well, unbeknownst to him that they had arrived at Wilhelmsvale. The Alcoholic saw the soldiers opening the gates, just as The Alcoholic downed the flask. The Wanderer had polished off the remaining booze to the last drop. It wasn’t long before both headed into his humble abode. The Wanderer stumbled forward to follow the The Alcoholic inside, getting on all fours to squeeze through the door still conking his head. But he didn’t care right now, taking a look at his large, but rather lonely living quarters, feeling the smoky fireplace melt his troubles away. It wasn’t long until the lumbering beast found the floor he’d plop onto into a deep blissful slumber. The Wanderer wandered no more. The Alcoholic smiled and rubbed his eyelids with a long yawn, heading into the bedroom just across the hallway.

“Goodnight.” He burped slumping into his bed and curled into a cocoon of blankets, hoping to sleep off the butterflies in his stomach.

---

All tales told don’t have pleasant endings with joyous smiles, some end in the worst headache one soul could imagine once waking up. Groaning as you empty your poor decisions repeatedly in the lavatory then stumbling through the hallway to see nobody there. However, The Alcoholic didn’t actually have any regrets besides betraying The Wanderer’s trust. Figuring even if he could write, he didn’t exactly anticipate a ‘Thank You’ note...

His treasures likely stolen or lost in the snow. His blanket taken along with the booze he spent all his paycheck on. Knowing the beast wouldn’t stay in one place for long, meaning another encounter would likely to never occur, let alone benefit him. But he shrugged his shoulders, thankful to have another day. Wanting to be reliable for work, he prepared a hot soak to submerge in his own sense of salvation. Beginning to whistle out a happy tune poorly, singing his song with satisfaction.

“♪ Drink up what you enjoy. ♩ Even if it’s all gone. ♪”

by @SleepingSilence