I MADE WRITANS

So instead of coloring my new picture, I wound up spending the past few days writing the first chapter of the scenario for those two kids in my last post. Surprisingly, it was really fun and easy to write, and just sort of flowed out easily, which has never happened ever. Not sure what I'll call it yet, but it'll probably be a chronicle of some kind, so I'll just call it "Chronicle" for now.

It was early noon in Tartagel, the number one most adventuringest town in the world. Tucked away in the forested hills far from most other cities, it was a fairly small village largely consisting of rounded, dome-like homes made from sod and stone. Paved stone surfaces were few and far between, allowing small plants to grow freely in the tamped soil that made up the ground there. It was the sort of place where everyone was acquainted with everyone else, where favors and friendship mattered about as much in commerce as actual money. To more snooty folks, it appeared to be a backwoods hovel.

But the people there were tough, and not easily swayed. Though they were pretty far from other people, they were not far from monsters and other creatures. What made Tartagel the most adventuringest town in the world was that it not only had to fend off frog-apes, skin-wolves and badger-badgers on a regular basis, but was also only about an hour's walk away from the Eternity Tower, the mother of all dungeons.

Stretching almost infinitely into the sky, the Eternity Tower was an invaluable resource for not only humans, but the various creatures of the realm as well. Almost every creature you could possibly imagine was capable of thriving there; wyverns, slimes, ghosts, goblins, the works. Not only that, but every floor was teeming with treasure; even though multiple times it seemed that a floor may have been cleared out for good, on a second visit there will always be new things to find. Nobody knows when or why the eternity tower was constructed, but due to all this it is probably one of the main reasons “adventurer” is a valid occupation at all. It's a place for beginners to hone their skills, for experts to aim for the top, for merchants to find new stock, so on and so forth. It's almost impossible to imagine life in this world without the Eternity Tower. Being so close to the tower, Tartagel became a crucial place for any daring dungeon explorer, and got most of its livelihood from serving the passing adventurers.

But enough exposition, dear readers. For today, a new adventurer is about to be born.

“Mom! Dad! I'm heading out now!” The young boy called into his house. He was very young, only about 12 years old, with a mop of reddish-brown hair that flared out at the back, vibrantly cheerful yellow eyes, and the widest, goofiest grin you'd ever see. He was fairly athletically built for a kid his age, and wore a simple two-layered pale green shirt with black, short sleeves, khaki shorts, and thick brown boots. Perched atop his head was a viking-like horned helmet, one of the horns having long ago broken off and left behind a cylindrical nub. Standing at the door to his dome-like house, he clutched his knapsack of the abyss (custom made for holding lots of crap!) and fidgeted, eager to get going.

In a few seconds, his father appeared in the doorway, a tall, thin, bespectacled man with the same mop of hair as his son. Wearing a heavy worker's apron and long-sleeved shirt and pants, he looked rather relaxed, a gentle smile across his face. “Eager to get going, are we?” he said in his smooth, gentle voice. “Well, I won't hold you too long. Just be sure to be careful...” he began, before being cut off by a heavy tromping from within the house, followed by the appearance of the young boy's mother.

Put simply, she was an ogre. Not as in a hideously ugly human, but an actual ogre. She towered over the father by at least a foot, her thick, powerful physique covered by a light blue dress with the sleeves torn off, exposing her massive, green-skinned arms and clawed hands that could tear a guy's head clean off. She had a shaggy, long mane of blond hair with a pair of large horns jutting out of her forehead, and two small tusks emerging from her mouth. However, despite her intimidating appearance, she had a distinct smile on her face, and her blank yellow eyes twinkled with kindness. She put a massive hand on her son's head.
“I'm so proud of you, kid.” she said, her voice a husky rumble. “Now go out there and knock 'em dead!” She clenched her other hand into a fist.

“Figuratively AND literally!” her husband added, being ever so fond of quips. She shot him a glance, and the boy chuckled a bit.

“But, first....” she said, turning her attention back to her son. Quickly, she plucked off his hat, revealing a pair of small green horns growing from his head, just barely managing to poke through his hair. “Oh, they're getting so big!” she remarked, then began ruffling her son's hair proudly and shaking his whole head back and forth in the process. “You're such a good little kid! I know you'll do great!” she cooed (as well as an ogre can coo, anyway).

“Maaaaaaa! Stop iittttt!” he whined as he clutched his head, both from embarrassment and a mild headache.

“Okra, dear......” her husband sighed, a wordless reminder of her inhuman strength. She glanced at him briefly, then turned her attention back to her son.

“Fine, fine,” she chuckled, releasing his head from her death grip and letting go of his hat, causing it to fall neatly back onto his head with a plop. “I'm just so proud to see my little one heading out on his own. Now, stay safe, you hear?”

“I willllllll.” he replied, and turned to leave. “Don't worry. I'll be back soon! With treasure and stuff!” he called back over his shoulder as he dashed off into town, eager to get prepared for his first visit to the Eternity Tower.

“Ah, Fuga! How've you been?” the bald, bespectacled potion mixer greeted the child as he strolled casually up to his laboratory-like stall, where beakers and bottles could be seen rampantly fizzing and bubbling on shelves in the back. Though the local potion master looked almost unbelievably sketchy and the fumes from his experiments were rather unpleasant, he was still a reliable, helpful member of the town.

“Awesome! My adventure license has finally arrived!” he said eagerly, as he pulled out a small sack of coins and counted some out.

“Oh, really! You want some preparations for slime-bashing then, I presume?” he replied in his elderly, crooked-sounding voice, as he turned to the back of the store and fiddled with something. Soon, he turned back to the boy, holding two corked beakers full of a translucent blue fluid and red crosses drawn on them. “You'll want these then. Two medical potions, good for what ails ya!”

Fuga chuckled and dumped the coins on the counter. The potionmaster always seemed to know ahead of time what you needed, so you almost never actually had to ask. As Fuga began stuffing the potions into his backpack, the elderly man leaned on the counter and adjusted his spectacles.

“You might wanna be careful, though, kid. My sources tell me those slimes have been getting a little more crafty and wary of people as of late. They might not be as easy a mark as you'd think.” Fuga looked up at him blankly.

“Eh, they're just slimes! It's not like they can-”

Before he could finish, the massive clanging of an enormous bell echoed throughout the town. It was the monster alarm; whenever that bell rang, it meant the town was under attack by whatever creature was gutsy enough to try and ruin the townspeople's day. At the sound of that bell, almost everyone in the town would unite to drive off the threat.

Of course, being so young, Fuga had never actually participated. But he figured now was a fine time to start, and before the potionmaster could say another word, he had dashed off to the center of town, where the people would be gathering with their weapons, and before long he was at the edge of the throng of people preparing to fight off the creatures, carrying all sorts of real and improvised weapons.

“Hey, what's going on?” he asked, prodding a large, fat woman who was carrying one of those large, thick rakes that could impale someone on its tines. She turned to size him up, appeared to recognize him as the ogre's kid, then spoke. “Seems we've got a pack of croachimps incoming. Nasty little bastards, they are.” Croachimps, also known as frog-chimps by people fond of apt descriptions, were the tinier, nastier relative of frog-apes. Though frog-apes were incredibly strong and known mostly for ripping people's skin off their bodies, they were territorial and kept mostly to themselves. Croachimps, however, had an unpleasant combination of curiosity, adventurousness, and bloodlust.

“We don't have much time for preparations!” a voice called over the crowd. Everyone looked to see a hunter, wearing a fur cap and wielding a rifle, had stepped in front of the crowd. “My hunting party spotted the little bastards making a beeline for town when we were out hunting. There has to be at least two dozen of them. I don't know the specifics, but they can't be too far by now. All I can say is hide your food and valuables, and expect anything; these things are incredibly merciless. Now, first of all....” he trailed off, as he seemed to hear something in the distance. Soon, a horrible, squawking combination of a croak and a screech could be heard, and one of the croachimps appeared on the rooftop of a nearby building, a shaggy, three-foot-tall primate with the sucker-tipped feet and hands of a tree frog and a single, large eye centered in its face. It crouched down, flailing its long tail wildly, and with another horrible noise, it lunged off the rooftop directly towards the hunter's face at incredible speed.

Not to be outdone, the hunter swiftly cocked his rifle and fired, blasting it in the chest and causing its limp, dead body to splatter to the ground near his feed, bleeding from the chest. Fuga felt a little uncomfortable.

Wordlessly, the hunter turned back to the crowd as more of their croaking screeches could be heard in the distance. Raising his rifle over his head, he bellowed a manly “LET'S GET 'EEEMMMMMMM!!!!!”

The voices of the crowd filled the air as a collective roar of battle, and the crowd dispersed in every direction, ready to defend their own from the invading force, leaving Fuga standing in awe. So this was battle. At once he felt mildly nervous. What if he should just sit this out? Those things were definitely tougher than your average slime.

But at the same time, he felt incredibly fired up.

Fishing his sword out of his backpack, he raised it to the air and shouted a belated war cry of his own. His sword was not special in any way. It had no markings, a bland hilt, and by all means was just a basic sword. But it was enough for him, and, ready to join the fight, he charged off in a random direction.

He didn't have very far to go before he found a battle. The shopping district was in total chaos, a group of five apes clawing at the shutters to try and get at the valuables within, scampering over the rooftops and the square as the townspeople swung at them with various blunt objects, the monkeys occasionally stopping to swipe at them with their suckered fingers. Fuga watched in awe, unsure of when or how he should enter the fray. The mustached, turban-wearing, vaguely foreign-looking jewelry merchant soon burst out of the back door of his shop, wielding a jeweled scimitar and looking incredibly angry as he swept his gaze from side to side. One of the monkeys had begun harassing the fat woman with the rake from earlier, grabbing onto it and pulling hard, hissing and baring its fangs savagely at her as she tried to grab it back. Seeing it as a target, he charged it with a battle cry and swung his scimitar down on it hard, cutting a deep, bloody gash on its back. Screeching in pain, it let go and fled.

The rest of the monkeys stopped and looked at the merchant....and also, the nice, shiny scimitar he was wielding. The remaining four leapt off the rooftops and all began converging on him from each direction, determined to kill him and plunder his corpse. Fuga guessed this was as good a time as any to enter the fray.

Roaring a small battle cry of his own, he charged one of the monkeys that was bearing down on the merchant. It stopped and turned to look at him with its teeth bared, drool dripping from its maw. The boy was intimidated, but couldn't stop now; the other three monkeys were still converging on the merchant, who was looking less angry and slightly more nervous now as he stood his ground with the fat woman. Continuing his charge, he swung his sword at the monkey as hard as he could, just barely missing and striking the ground as it leapt sideways out of the way, then jumped towards him with its teeth bared. Flinching, he accidentally dropped his sword, and, with adrenaline pumping and a lack of other ideas, hit the monkey in the face with a right hook.

Screeching in pain and hopping back, the monkey had stopped its advance. Fuga blinked, then realized this was the sort of opening he could exploit. Hastily grabbing his sword, he pulled two quick, clumsy slashes on the monkey, the first one giving it a shallow wound across the chest, the second just barely scraping it in the eye. Blinded, the monkey hopped up and down in pain covering its eye, then turned tail and fled at full tilt, crashing into a trash can and falling over before getting back up and hobbling away.

Fuga blinked. He'd actually won a fight!

“Oy! Kid! A little help would be nice!” he turned and saw that though the woman and merchant had managed to fell one of the monkeys, the other two had managed to get to them and buried their sharp teeth in their arms, holding fast to their bodies with their suction cup fingers as their victims cried in pain and tried to pull them off. Hastily and clumsily, Fuga ran over in a panic and quickly slashed both of the monkeys, causing them to howl out and stop biting as they turned to look at the new assailant. The merchant and the woman took this opportunity to bash them in the face with the blunt parts of their weapons, knocking them off and onto the ground before simultaneously stomping on them. The monkeys lay unmoving.

The two stood for a bit, breathing heavily, then turned to look at each other. Grinning, the two gave a celebratory high-five.

“YEAH! Oh god ow ow ow ow ow.”

Unfortunately, they weren't thinking and high-fived with the arms that the croachimps had bitten into, causing them to recoil in pain and fall onto the ground. Fuga approached them nervously.

“U-um. Are you okay?” he asked nervously. The wounds on their arms looked pretty severe.

“Ugh. Yes, yes, we're fine. Thanks for the help, kid.” the merchant spoke curtly, grimacing in pain.

“Yeah, thanks. That was some pretty good fighting for a kid your age.” The woman spoke, breathing heavily. Fuga felt flattered for a moment, then realized they needed help.

Thinking quickly, he pulled out one of the medicinal potions he'd bought earlier. He was hoping to save it for his adventure later, but it looked like there were more important uses for it right now. The two looked at it in surprise, and then, happiness.

“Here, take this,” he said, popping the cork out and releasing the strong chemical scent into the air. The two took it, looked at it, then gulped it down, each taking half the bottle. Soon, their arm wounds began patching up before their eyes.

“You're a good kid.” the woman said warmly, patting him on the head. Fuga giggled a little, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Come to think of it, do your parents know you're out here?”

Fuga stopped stiff in his tracks. Now that he thought about it, his parents had no idea that he'd decided to help fight off the pack of croachimps. As far as they knew, he might have gotten caught up in the fray while he was out getting supplies, or something else. And his mom was not good at dealing with uncertainty.

As if on cue, he heard a monstrous bellow of “FUUUUUGAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!” echo from the distance. The two looked at him in confusion. He nervously smiled.

“E-hehe. Uh, I guess I forgot. I...I guess I'll go let them know I'm fine.” he said nervously, before shuffling and breaking into a full tilt run towards his mom's voice. The two exchanged glances as he left.

Crap. He forgot how protective his mom could get about him sometimes. He wasn't worried about her having trouble with the croachimps; if she'd been in the market district for the battle she probably could have clobbered all five of the monkeys singlehandedly. But if she got too panicked, she might wind up doing just as much damage as the monkeys could.

Another roar of “FUUGGAAAAAAAAAA!” could be heard, followed by a loud smashing sound. Fuga saw clumps of assorted debris and a pair of the croachimps being hurled high into the air, flailing wildly, before plummeting back down with a crash. Well, at least he knew where she was now. He picked up his pace.

Before too long, he emerged from a crack between the buildings to see his mother, yellow eyes gleaming, as a pack of the monkeys charged her. She snarled loudly, exposing her rows of jagged teeth; to her, they were simply an inconvenience, and a rather annoying one at that. Snagging one of the monkey's arms with a single, massive hand, she swung it around like a bludgeon, clubbing the other three in one massive swing before letting go and hurling the unfortunate monkey into a nearby building, breaking an enormous hole clean through the wall. Even though she had settled down in Tartagel, an ogre never completely loses its destructive habits. Having her in the fray was a double-edged sword; whatever monster happened to be attacking that day was usually pretty fucked, but at the same time her destructive fighting style sometimes caused as much damage as the actual enemy. She continued stomping forward, her gleaming eyes sweeping the area.

“Mom! Mom!” Fuga called, waving frantically. Her pointed ears perked up, and she slowly turned to face her son as he ran forward and tackle-hugged her. Her snarl slowly vanished. Then she embraced Fuga with a bone-cracking hug, knocking the wind out of him.

“Fuga! Where were you?! I was so worried that you might have gotten attacked by one of those savage things!” she said, her voice sounding as wrought with concern as a monster's voice possibly could.

“I-it's okay mom! I just (oof) went to help fight off the attack! I beat one of them, too, mom! I'm fine!” Fuga reassured her, feeling a little short of breath from her embrace. She smiled widely.

“Aww, that's my boy. You've grown up so fast!” she said proudly, but quickly regained her serious composure. “But it's still dangerous out here for you. If you got ambushed by two or three of those things, you'd be done for. I want you to head straight back home and wait there until the attack is over, is that clear?” she asked, sounding vaguely militant. Fuga pouted.

“But mooooom, I'm gonna be fighting other creatures soon anyway.....” he grumbled. It's true that he probably needed to level grind a bit before he could take on two or three of them, but.....

“NO BUTS!” she roared in his face, nearly blowing his hat off and spraying him with monster saliva. Fuga grimaced. Before she could elaborate, her ears perked again, and she looked around, releasing Fuga from her grip and allowing him to breathe properly again. After regaining his breath, he looked up at his mom.

“What's up?” he asked, curious and a little scared. Those pointed ears of her gave her a significantly more impressive hearing range than most people. Whenever she stopped and looked around like this, usually something bad was going to happen.

This time, though, she didn't have time to react appropriately.

With only a split-second's croaking screech as a warning, a croachimp nearly twice the size of the others with ragged, bloodied fur lunged from the shadows and clung onto Fuga's mother from behind, grabbing wildly at her face and covering her eyes, biting onto her head savagely. She roared in pain, blindly trying to punch and claw at her attacker, but it held strong, screeching horribly with bloodlust. Fuga, knocked onto his ass in surprise, watched the struggle in horror, almost too scared of the prospect of his mother being hurt to act. Fearful and stuttering, he reached for his sword, and slowly came to his feet.

“GET OFF!”

With a cry full of both fear and anger, he stabbed the sword into the alpha chimp's back as hard as he could. Screeching that horrible cry again, it released its grip on his mother's face, only to immediately leap off backwards at incredible speed, slamming into Fuga and pinning him to the ground. Face to face with the horrible bastard monkey, it snarled, baring its dripping fangs, and reared back to tear his face clean off. His mother, just recovering from the pain, turned to look, and her eyes widened in horror as she lunged for it, time seemingly slowing down. It was going to get him before she could get it.

Fuga stared wide-eyed in sheer horror as the fangs closed in.
Suddenly, they recoiled back as the monkey let out a short cry of pain and turned to look at its side. Looking, Fuga noticed that a sharp, jagged chunk of ice was embedded deeply in the monkey's side. Not a serious wound, but enough to stop it in its tracks.

Soon, the strong hands of the ogre had wrapped around the monkey's body and, with incredible force, yanked him off. He saw his mother, clutching the flailing, screeching monkey tightly with both arms, her face contorted with burning hatred and rage. She quickly gave her son a fake smile.

“Fuga, could you close your eyes for a moment?” She growled, restraining the flailing monkey. Fuga quickly nodded and looked the other way, its horrible screeches giving him a terrible headache.

A few moments later, there was a thunderous crash, the screeching instantly stopped, and Fuga felt something warm splatter his body.

“Okay, it's safe to look now.” Fuga turned around and opened his eyes to find that everything within ten feet, himself included, had been heavily splattered with blood that had seemingly splashed outward from a deep crater in the ground that hadn't been there a few moments ago. Clambering over and peering in, he found nothing but a monkey-shaped indentation in the ground. His mom, her blue dress now dyed completely red from blood, beamed a joyful smile at him with her sharp teeth. Fuga shuddered involuntarily. Her subsequent hug and speech about how glad she was that he was alive was lost on him as he pondered his mortality as well as a 12-year-old boy can ponder mortality.

Then he remembered the icicle lodged in the monkey's side. Someone else had helped him. But who? He didn't think any magicians lived around here.

A crystalline noise resounded from further down the road, cutting short the cry of another croachimp. Snapping out of his trance, he looked down the road to see a small figure in a large coat standing next to a croachimp frozen inside a clump of ice; He was too far away for Fuga to make out any more details. The figure looked towards him; he must have been the one who'd helped him. Then he turned and began walking away. Fuga began struggling against his mom's grip.

“Mmm? What's wrong?” she asked, confused.

“Mom, someone else helped us!” he said, nodding his head in the general direction of the figure. She turned her head and squinted at them, then released her grip on her son. Soon, Fuga was running down the street, curiosity in full force almost as much as his desire to thank them. “Hey! Wait up!” he shouted after them. Fuga's mother shrugged, then slowly lumbered after him.

The figure turned to face him just as Fuga had caught up. It was another boy around his age, wearing an enormous reddish trenchcoat that hung down to his knees and concealed most of his hands in its sleeves. His long brown pants drooped down and partly hung over his grey shoes. His face was gloomy and expressionless, with wide, slit-pupiled eyes, and his stringy black hair hung down to around his shoulders. Perched atop his head was a wide-brimmed wizard hat that crooked back and then straight again in a lightning-bolt shape, with a row of zig-zags resembling jagged teeth sewn around where the base met the brim, and what looked like a single, staring eye was embroidered above it. The wide brim of the hat kept most of the upper part of his face shadowed. He stared at Fuga expressionlessly. Between his appearance and lack of emotion, Fuga felt a little intimidated, but wouldn't show it.

“Um....you're the guy who helped me with that big monkey, right?” he asked nervously.
A brief pause. Then the other boy opened his mouth, and the word “Yeah.” rolled out, plain as could be, and he became quiet again. Fuga smiled his wide, goofy grin at him, though, and the other boy's eyes widened a bit, as if he was nervous. He grabbed one of the boy's hands with both of his and began shaking it vigorously.

“Thank you SO much! I thought I was a goner! That was really cool too, I've never seen real magic before! What's your name? I've never seen you around here before!” the words tumbled out of Fuga's mouth in a stream of excitement and friendly gratitude. The boy began nervously sweating.

“Uh. Uh-um. Uh.” he began stuttering, as if he didn't know what to do, his eyes darting back and forth as if he was hoping someone would show up to bail him out. “My name's....Vale. I'm sort of wandering, this is my first time here....” he murmured quietly, looking at the ground. Fuga's mother slowly lumbered up from behind, sizing him up with a vague frown of confusion. Vale stepped back a bit, clearly intimidated.

“Oh, don't worry, this is just my mom. She's a nice person!” Fuga said, as she tried her best to give a friendly-looking smile and wave. Between the copious amounts of blood splattered all over her and her fangs, it didn't exactly work that well.

The sound of the enormous bell resounded through the town again, this time in a pattern of three long rings, signaling that the attackers had been successfully fought off. The air was once again quiet; no more horrible shrieks, gunshots or metallic clangs could be heard. Afterwards, the townspeople would gather in the center of town once again to report damages, casualties, that sort of thing. To Fuga, it sound boring as hell.

“Well, I'm off to the meeting.” Okra rumbled as she turned to leave, looking over her shoulder. “Fuga, why don't you take your new friend home? He's probably tired.” With that, she slowly tromped out of sight. Fuga turned back to Vale and smiled widely.

“C'mon, let's go!” and with that, he grabbed onto Vale's hand and began running, dragging him through the city streets towards his home.

Overhead, a small, winged figure roosted upon the rooftops, watching.

Before long, they'd arrived at his family's dome-like house. They'd passed a number of other frozen monkeys along the way; apparently Vale had helped more people than just Fuga. The sun was starting to sink from the sky; it was around 5 pm by now. Fuga pushed the door open, still holding Vale's hand and grinning like a loon, excited from everything that had happened and what he thought of as a potential new friend. Vale seemed slightly less enamored; in fact, he seemed downright uncomfortable. But Fuga didn't notice.

“Are you sure this is okay?...” Vale asked quietly, as he peered inside. The dome-like house was rather cozy on the inside, but had just enough space to not be cramped. The door led into a single room that divided neatly into two sections. The left section was a small kitchen with a coal burning stove, enchanted box of cooling (aka refrigerator) and numerous cooking implements hanging over the adjacent countertop, while the right section was a living room consisting of a large, comfortable-looking sofa and three plushy chairs centered around a round table just spacious enough for people to eat on. In the back was a small, separate room that presumably was the bathroom, wedged underneath a spiraling staircase that led to the upper floor, which consisted of the two bedrooms for the family; one for Fuga, the other shared by Okra and her husband, Edmond.

“Of course it's fine! Mom said so, didn't she?” Fuga said, giving him a bit of a push and causing him to stumble inside. He followed after and shut the door behind him. “Do you want some food? I can't cook, but I'm pretty sure we've got something in the coolbox I can warm up.”

“...that would be nice...” Vale said quietly, as he took a seat in one of the chairs, sinking into it. It felt very good, he couldn't deny that. Fuga smiled and pulled a large bowl of soup out of the magical box and fired up the stove with a set of matches. In a few minutes, they were sitting around the table sipping out of a pair of bowls, Fuga having taken a spot on the couch.

“So, Vale.” Fuga said, blowing over his soup to cool it down a bit. “Where are you from? Have you been wandering for a while?” Vale looked into his soup shyly.

“...I'm from a town called Noctus. I've been out wandering for most of my life.” he said. Fuga cocked his head at him.

“How come?” He asked. Vale shifted a little, apparently feeling uncomfortable. Fuga was oblivious.

“....I'm aiming to get stronger. It's part of my training, as a mage, you see.” His eyes flicked upwards to look at Fuga's face, then resumed gazing into his soup.

“Wow, that's cool!” Fuga said, grinning like a goofball. Vale looked up at him in surprise, not expecting this response. “You must be really good!”

“...You think so?” he asked, shyly.

“Yeah, totally! You must be really strong and good at magic to be able to adventure and stuff all those years!” Fuga said, excited. He'd met someone really talented! Vale smiled faintly, unused to being complimented, which only made Fuga feel happier that he'd managed to cheer up his new buddy.

“Y...you're not too bad either.”Vale said, trying to say something nice in turn. Fuga tilted his head at him again. “I saw you earlier when you helped that merchant and lady...that was pretty brave....” he said, feeling slightly uncertain of himself suddenly.

“Oh wow, you saw that? I didn't see you then....” Fuga scrunched up his face, trying to think, and Vale felt slightly nervous. Soon enough though, he resumed his silly smiling and rubbed the back of my head. “Thanks though! To be honest, I was kinda scared. Those monkeys are mean!” He laughed, imitating the sort of boisterous laugh he saw hunters make when they recounted their tales of the dangerous creatures of the world. Vale smiled again. He wasn't sure why, but with Fuga, he felt more at ease.

Suddenly though, Fuga felt tiredness hit him like a ton of bricks, and he tried to stifle a yawn. All the running, fighting, worrying, and nearly dying had really taken it out of him. Vale looked at him oddly. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

“Bleh, no. I'm fine. Just...kind of tired.” Fuga said, eyes drooping slightly. “Could use a bit of a rest....”he mumbled, before his eyes perked up again. “Say, are you tired too? Did you just get here today?” Vale quietly nodded; he'd arrived shortly after the croachimp invasion had begun. He didn't feel like explaining all the details, but he'd been on the road for a couple of days and didn't have a real place to stay. Fuga smiled.

“Okay then! You rest in my room, I'll just rest here for a little while.” And with that, Fuga simply flopped over sideways onto the couch. Vale tried to open his mouth to say something, but Fuga intercepted him. “No, don't worry about it. You're my guest and all. Gotta be nice to guests.” He yawned loudly. “I'll be here if you need me.”

“...Okay then.” Vale said, and slowly pulled himself out of the chair; it really sucked you in there. Depositing his empty soup bowl in the sink, he paused at the base of the stairs, then climbed up. Awaiting him was a simple, small lobby between two doors leading to the bedrooms, occupied only by a flower vase on a small table and a window that allowed light to flood in. Looking to the right, he noticed that the door on that side had a large wooden sign with “FUGA'S DOMANE” written on it in red ink; judging from the sloppy handwriting, Fuga had made it himself. It rattled slightly as Vale opened the door and entered his room.

It was a rather small and simple square room, with the bed up against the far wall underneath a heavily blinded window. Numerous drawings decorated the walls, all of them presumably also made by Fuga. A dresser outfitted with a mirror sat near the bed against the left wall. Adjacent to it up against the right wall was a small, two-leveled bookshelf, raised up off the floor by a cabinet built in underneath it. In the center of the room, a hard wooden board with a clip on it and numerous doodled-upon sheets of paper were scattered about the room.

Mildly curious, Vale walked over to the bookshelf and perused the titles. To his surprise, most of them were reference books. Creatures of the World, The Children's Geography Encyclopedia, Dangerous Dungeons, and other similar titles lined the shelves. Looking above, he noticed that the drawings covering the walls were of various creatures; dragons, slimes, golems, and so on. The pages on the floor, however, were amateur attempts at drawing swamps, towers, and other such interesting places. It seemed Fuga had a very avid interest in the world he lived in. No wonder he thought Vale's wandering was cool; he wanted to see the world as well.

Realizing he was in fact pretty tired and it had been a while since he had slept in a real bed, Vale took his hat and shoes off and clambered into bed, climbing under the thick, slightly worn covers. Much like the chairs, he sunk into it as if it was a pool made of comfort. Feeling truly relaxed for once, Vale simply lay there for a long time, not quite asleep, but enjoying the peace and solitude.

About an hour later, there was a rapping at the window above the bed. Vale sat bolt upright in surprise. Soon, a hushed voice came from outside.

“Vale! Vale! It's me! Come on, let's go!” a coarse, mildly unpleasant-sounding voice came from outside the window. Vale sighed, and pulled up the blinds.

Hovering in front of the window was a spherical bat creature about two feet in diameter, covered in dark grey fur. Its pointed, furred ears had boney horns sprouting from their tips, and its leathery wings beat furiously. Its spherical body lacked any sort of facial features apart from a wide mouth with fangs poking out from under its lips, and at the base of its body was a hairless, massive foot consisting of four clawed toes arranged in a cross-like pattern, which were folded inwards as it hovered in place.

Opening the window, Vale leaned out and looked at him, somewhat annoyed. “So there you are, Zaabo. What's the matter?”

“The matter is we've gotta get going!” Zaabo hissed, his mouth opening to reveal a single, slit-pupiled eye that darted back and forth. “I sensed something not too far from here. Something BIG. Something NASTY. I don't know why but...but I feel it's somehow related to us.”

Vale sighed in annoyance. Zaabo DID have a sense for stuff like this, but he wasn't always right, and usually wasn't able to sense specific details, like if whatever nearby danger was actually capable of moving or hostile to humans. It was usually better to listen to him, but it was always annoying when it was a false alarm. “...Zaabo, can't I just rest a little longer?” he asked. He felt unwilling to leave for some reason. He'd come and gone from many places, but for some reason he actually felt sort of comfortable here.

“Vale, come on. This is just another village, it's not like it's an especially awesome place or anything. We'll stop at a million others like it, just-can we just get outta here?” Zaabo said, panic noticeable in his voice. Vale paused. Whatever he sensed really had him spooked badly. Given the circumstances.....

“....Fine. But can we wait a bit? Someone else is downstairs. They're about to fall asleep soon, so if we wait a bit we can get out of here easily,” Vale murmured.

“Why don't we just let them know we're leaving?” Zaabo asked, contorting his mouth into a slim frown of confusion.

“....I don't think they'd like that.” Vale said, thinking of how enthusiastic Fuga was about meeting him. Zaabo nodded, not really understanding, but wanting to respect Vale's wishes.

And so they waited.


Fuga woke about an hour later, jostled from his slumber by a slight thumping sound from the outside of the house. Though he tended to fall asleep at a moments notice when he was tired, he woke up just as easily. It was a rather odd trait of being half-ogre; they were fond of sleep, but also just as fond of quickly waking up and clubbing in the faces of any potential nighttime assailants, such as ambitious hunters or other, meaner ogres. Frankly, it was pretty annoying, but his mother always told him it would be worthwhile if he decided to sleep in the woods or a dungeon, like a proper ogre usually did. Listening more closely, he heard it followed by the jostling of the plant growth on the side of the house, and some extremely quiet voices; he couldn't make out what they were saying though. Curious as always, he figured he might as well check out who or what was out there. The jostling stopped as he walked to the door; they must have gotten out onto the main path. Yawning and rubbing his eyes, he swung the door open, then blinked twice. The sun was setting, and almost everyone had returned to their homes by now, but that wasn't what had caught his attention.

Frozen in mid-creep, Vale swung his head back and stared at him, snakelike eyes wide with shock. Zaabo's ears perked up, but he didn't turn around.

“Vale, where are you going? Who's the bat?” He asked, eyes widening somewhat as his drowsiness began fading. He was thoroughly confused.

“BLAGH!” Zaabo cried, flying into an unthinking panic and barreling towards Fuga like bowling ball made of fur and paranoia. Ramming into Fuga's stomach with his horn-ears, he bounced off as Fuga keeled over backwards and he hit the ground, his helmet bouncing off and revealing his little horns.

“Oh, it's just a kid. Huh.” Zaabo said, looking over the fallen boy as he grimaced in pain. Fuga looked up at him. Noticing his horns, Zaabo recoiled slightly in surprise

“Zaabo, calm down! He's not a bad guy.” Vale protested, actually speaking in a normal volume for once. Zaabo looked back at him, then back to Fuga.

“How do you know that? He might just be lulling you into a false sense of security so whatever the hell his parents are can kill and eat you in your sleep!” Zaabo protested. Meanwhile, Fuga slowly crawled back inside, clutching his stomach.

“His mother's a very nice ogre!” Vale protested, trying to combat Zaabo's inherent protective paranoia. However, all Zaabo heard was “ogre”.

“Nice or no, they're still an ogre. I don't trust 'im.” Zaabo said, shaking his...body disdainfully.

Fuga emerged from the house again, his hat perched on his head and clutching his sword. His face was contorted into a frown that, coming from a 12-year old, wasn't very threatening. It was a decent way of showing he was serious though. Zaabo swiveled slightly, looking backwards at him.

“Okay, can we try this again?” he moaned, wincing slightly from the pain in his stomach. “It seems things are pretty complicated, but can you tell me what's going on? I'll listen.”

“Hell no! I ain't trusting you!” Zaabo retorted, fully turning around to face him, his mouth a thin frown. “It's very nice of you to take care of Vale, but we've really gotta be going now. Well then, see you!” And with that, he turned around, grabbed onto Vale's shoulder with his claws, and began pushing him away. Vale hardly resisted, trudging off with him at a fairly slow pace, as he turned and looked at Fuga sadly. He waved goodbye as the two of them went between a crack in the buildings and disappeared, Fuga watching on the doorstep of his house in confusion.

After a few moments passed, though, a thought struck him, and he went running off after them.

“Trust me, Vale, this is for the best. We'll find another place,” Zaabo reassured Vale, trying to cheer him up. Vale was distinctly unhappy, and Zaabo couldn't figure out why. He had never, ever been good with people, so why was he so insistent on trusting that kid? It didn't make sense. Maybe it had something to do with how he was part ogre. As the two walked towards the main street towards the main gate leading out of the city, he pondered.

“Oy! Oy, wait!” Fuga's voice rang through quiet sunset air. Turning around, the two saw Fuga running towards them. Soon he caught up and stood before them, breathing heavily.

“God dammit, leave us alone.” Zaabo said bluntly, his mouth an irritated frown.

“Wait, wait! I had an idea!” Fuga said, beaming his huge, disarming grin at the two of them. “Why don't you come with me on my adventure?”

“Hell no.” Zaabo said, looking at him like he was insane. Vale, however, looked interested.

“....Adventure?” Vale asked quietly. Zaabo shot him a glance.

“Yeah! I was gonna start it today, but, well, stuff happened.” he said, trying his best to be persuasive and trustworthy.

“What kind of adventure?” Vale asked, genuinely curious as to what reason . Fuga beamed his huge, disarming grin, and Vale once again felt vaguely nervous.

“I wanna climb the Eternity Tower!” Fuga declared proudly. “There's so much cool stuff there, and you can leave and come back whenever you want, and it's HUGE!” he said, feeling excited just at the prospect of it. “So I can climb it and learn how to be an adventurer! And you can train your magic and stuff there too!” Fuga seemed utterly elated by this idea. Vale blinked, not sure how to react to this sort of enthusiasm. He stared blankly, eyes wide in surprise.

“So....even though I don't know the whole story, let's join up and make a party!” Fuga said, beaming his enormous, goofy grin.

Vale stared. He'd heard of adventuring parties before all the time from his father, about how their camaraderie and friendship was some of the strongest you'd ever find. Once you've partied with someone, you're almost brothers. This had been the first time in his entire life anyone had ever asked him something like this. He was utterly in awe, and uncertain of how to react.

Slowly, he opened his mouth, and a word slipped out as plain as could be.

“Sure.”

Fuga grinned ecstatically, and laughed in delight. Zaabo whipped around and stared at him, his mouth contorted into a frankly indescribable expression of confusion. “Are you serious?! This random kid asks you to join his party, and you just accept?!” he asked, totally baffled. Vale remained expressionless; he felt this was the right thing to do, but not sure why. Zaabo whipped around to face Fuga, who was grinning like a loon.

“Well, Vale may trust you, but I still sure as hell don't.” He interjected, causing Fuga's smile to fade as he looked up to face him. “How do I know you're strong enough to survive in the tower, even if your mum's an ogre? How do I know you won't ditch Vale if things get too rough for you?” Fuga hesitated, then grinned devilishly.

“How about we have a fight?” he asked. Zaabo's mouth opened wide in surprise. “If I win, will it be proof enough that I'm trustworthy?

Zaabo hesitated a bit. “Well, yes, probably, I suppose,” he stuttered out. This kid had some serious moxie. He quickly composed himself, and slimmed his mouth into a haughty smile. “I AM Vale's guardian, after all. I suppose if you're good enough to beat me, you're worth havin' around. Sound good to you, Vale?”
Vale looked up at Zaabo. He didn't really think it was that necessary, but if it would clear Zaabo's trust issues up it was probably worthwhile. He nodded silently.

Soon, the two had taken positions at each side of the gate, Fuga posing in a way he thought was a decent battle stance, while Zaabo simply stood in place, wings folded up against his sides. Vale sat on the ground a short distance away, somewhat curious as to how this would play out.

Soon, Fuga kicked off the battle with a blind charge towards Zaabo, as Zaabo spread his wings widely and lifted into the air. Wheeling effortlessly out of the way of the charge, he quickly turned around and zipped in claws-first, getting in a quick slash that cut through Fuga's shirt and left two light cuts on his back. Fuga grunted in pain, then swung his sword around widely as he turned in an attempt to get in a hit. Zaabo quickly flitted out of the way, flying backwards and out of range. He smirked.

“You're gonna have to do a bit better than that, kid.” Flapping his wings hard, he lifted even higher into the air, much higher than Fuga could possibly reach. Flipping in midair, he tucked his wings inward and began to zoom downwards in a fierce dive bomb, aiming his horned ears toward Fuga. Fuga simply stood his ground, preparing himself for the exact perfect moment.

With a loud clashing noise, Zaabo's horns collided with the flat of Fuga's blade, the boy having pulled out the sword at the last moment. Zaabo bounced off backwards, tumbling through the air dizzily. Fuga pursued, and, with as much force as he could possibly put behind the blow, swung the flat part of his sword downwards, forcefully smacking Zaabo directly into the ground and kicking up small clouds of dirt. He lay there motionlessly for a few moments, then clumsily fumbled back onto his foot.

“Not bad, huh?” Fuga grinned cockily. Zaabo seemed less than impressed, judging from his stern frown.

“Why did you use the flat of your blade?” Zaabo asked harshly, causing Fuga to frown. He was about to say something, but Zaabo cut it off. “Don't take it easy on me just because we might be party members. In battle, you have to give it all you've got!” he shouted, sounding as serious as he possibly could. With that, he leapt up and flapped back up into the air before barreling toward Fuga, claws outstretched. Grinning once again, Fuga elected to meet his charge, and the two barreled towards each other, planning to go all-out, claws clashing against steel as the two met. The two's weapons clashed again and again, Zaabo repeatedly diving in and out with his claws at different angles to try and get in strikes, Fuga attempting to block or dodge and use the openings to get in counterattacks. Light cuts began to appear on both of them, neither of them managing to land a decisive blow but slowly wearing each other down as the battle raged on.

Soon, both of them were on the ground panting, worn down by their intense battle; Fuga on his knees, Zaabo on his back with his wings sprawled out.

“...Have to admit, you're pretty good, kid.” Zaabo wheezed as he clambered awkwardly back onto his foot. Fuga smiled weakly, feeling pretty beaten up himself. “But this isn't over quite yet!'

With that, Zaabo launched into the air yet again, hovering out of reach yet again with his mouth open wide. As Fuga climbed to his feet, yellow energy seemed to materialize out of the air and streak into Zaabo's eye, gathering more and more. Fuga gulped; he wasn't quite sure what was about to happen, but it probably wasn't gonna be good.

Zaabo reared back, and with a cry of “Eat this!” pitched forward and blasted a thick, short yellow beam of energy out of his eye. In the split second before impact, Fuga's eyes widened and he tried to scramble out of the way, but was cut short by the beam slamming into him and exploding with a thunderous noise, leaving behind a billowing cloud of smoke that completely obscured him from view. Vale stared in shock as the smoke billowed upwards. There was no movement from within the cloud.

Slowly, Zaabo floated in as the smoke began to fade, revealing Fuga's singed body laying face-down in the dirt, unmoving. Zaabo landed in front of his head and poked at him with his wings.

“Still breathing, but doesn't look like he'll be getting up again. Looks like victory goes to me.” He turned to face Vale, who was still staring wide-eyed, then shrugged and sighed. “He was pretty good, but oh well. Guess we better be moving on.”

Suddenly, a hand shot out and grabbed onto his foot. Looking back in surprise, he saw Fuga had raised up his head and was grinning like a goofball, looking even sillier because of how beaten up he was. “Gotcha,” he giggled.

Rising to his feet as Zaabo flailed to struggle out of his grasp, Fuga held him at arm's length and raised his sword. Zaabo stared wide-eyed, expecting him to swing it down and give him serious brain injuries.
Fuga instead wound up, tossed Zaabo a short distance into the air, and swung his sword horizontally like a baseball bat. The flat of his sword once again smashed violently into Zaabo's ball-like body, and he went sailing through the air, a tumbling, dizzy mass of wings and claws. Smashing violently into the welcome sign above the town gate, he stuck there comically for a moment before dropping off and plopping into the soil below face-up, his eye rolling about dizzily.

“Okay,” he said weakly, “You win, kid.” Fuga smiled, then collapsed backwards onto his rump, letting out a heavy sigh of exhaustion. Vale rose to his feet and walked over to his beaten-up guardian, gathering him up in his arms, then turned to look at Fuga. Fuga grinned at him.

“So I guess this means we'll be adventuring together soon, eh? Once, uh, me and Zaabo are less beaten up.” he said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. Vale nodded hesitantly and began walking back in the direction of Zaabo's house, Fuga slowly rising to his feet to join him, smiling as always despite how beaten up he was.

“So, I guess maybe you'll be staying with us then? We only have two bedrooms, but I'm sure we'll figure something out.” Fuga said, thoughts turning to planning for their adventure. Vale remained silent, staring down at Zaabo, whose mouth was wide open and his eye vacantly staring into space. “Don't worry about food, we're pretty well set there. You might have to help with chores though. It'll work out. Things'll work out.” Vale looked towards Fuga, then slowly nodded. Fuga beamed a grin, then suddenly staggered a bit, grunting in pain. Vale stopped walking.

“Are you okay?....” He asked quietly, looking him over. Fuga smiled nervously, then grimaced in pain.

“I'll be fine. Though um, could you help me a bit?” he asked. Vale nodded slowly, not entirely sure what that would entail. Fuga walked over and put his arm around Vale's shoulder, using him as support. Vale looked at him in surprise, then calmed down, and the two resumed walking, Fuga smiling at him gratefully. “Thanks. You're a good guy.”

As the the three of them walked together against the glow of the setting sun, Vale couldn't help but smile back.