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Edited by CommonBlueberry: 12/18/2021 8:44:01 PM
4

Land of Solitha (Introduction)

A young man began to wake from a deep sleep. He was in bliss, his body lying on the softest of beds, perfectly heated by an omnipresent warmth that surrounded him. Then, the slight annoyances of wakefulness began to disturb the young man’s tranquility. He could feel energy coursing through his veins, gradually pulling him to action. His head itched, but the young man fought the urge to reach up and scratch it. He’d do it later when he was awake, but he really hoped it would go away on its own. For now, it was time to sink back into sleep. But light bombarded his closed eyelids, so he shifted to his other side, but could not alleviate the nuisance. He must’ve left the window open and slept in, again. He always hated waking up to a bright day, there was no room to adjust for tomorrow. Between his flowing blood, his itchy head, and his aggravated eyelids, the young man was left with no choice. Tomorrow beckoned, so he had to wake up. Groggily, he sat up, pulling himself out of half-sleep and into wakefulness. Sitting cross-legged and slumped over, he half-opened his eyes, mustering the energy to wake up. Everything was blurry, but there was lots of green in every direction, with blue dominating everything above the horizon. He reached up to itch his head, but his hand touched a rubbery object. He pulled at it, trying to free his hair from its strange hat, but the thing slithered out of his palm. Fully awake now, the man started, reaching with his second hand to catch the beast that inhabited his head. It was a dodgy target, but eventually he cornered it with both hands. The man yelped as a sting of pain shot through his left palm. He pushed the rubbery object away from his hair with his right, sending the gray, scaly creature flying into his lap. Startled, the man shot to his feet, looking curiously down at the small lizard laying on the grass… Grass? It was in that moment that the young man realized that he was not in bed. “What the heck, dude!” an abrasive voice exclaimed. The young man whipped around, searching for the source of the voice. “Down here, moron!” He looked back at the small creature he had thrown to the ground. It was a scaly, little gray lizard, about twenty centimeters in length. Its diamond-shaped head was expressionless, the two rounded bumps fitting large, yellow snake eyes betraying no hint of emotion. Its two front legs, folded beneath its torso were much longer than its two back legs, which were hardly more than large feet attached to the body. Its tail took up about a quarter of its total length, but it was fat and stubby, not like the usual pointed tails the man was used to seeing on lizards. “Yea, I’m talking to you, ringus! I’m coming up there, so I don’t have to yell at you,” the lizard spoke. The young man stared in horror at the lizard, utterly shocked. That was not right. Lizards are not supposed to talk. It clambered up and around the young man’s leg, twisted up his stomach, and crawled up his shoulder. The young man, paralyzed by fear, let the talking lizard climb up his body. It made itself at home on his shoulder, sitting back on its two fat legs and crossing its arms beneath its torso. The man craned his head away from his small companion, frightfully trying to get the best look at it as he could. It rolled its eyes, and loudly complained, “Dude, relax, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m a lizlai, only the most harmless race on this rock. Name’s Reke, by the way. Who-- and what-- are you?” The young man’s mouth opened up and down, struggling to get out any words at all. Reke waited patiently, propping up his lizard chin on one of his long hands. The lizard asked a good question. The young man thought for a moment, scratching his head and smoothing back his shoulder-length, straight brown hair. He knew he was a human, whatever that meant, but he could not remember his name. Come to think of it, he could not remember much of anything about his past. Bits and pieces of scenes of what he assumed was his life flashed in and out of memory, but nothing concrete. “I-- I’m a human,” his soft voice stuttered out, “I, er, I’m not sure what my name is…” he finished. “Huh. No name, and I’ve never heard of a human before. Weird title for a race, but we can work on that later. Anyway Mr. No-name, there’s a town not too far back from here, and we have to get there before nightpass.” Reke said. The man raised an eyebrow at the expressionless lizard, who was waiting expectantly for the human to get a move on. Here he was, talking to a lizard, who he was starting to doubt was even real, in a strange place with hardly any knowledge of who he was or where was, and now he was about to wander off and hope this “town” was nearby. Even though he didn’t remember any of his other days, this was turning out to be the strangest of them. “I don’t know of any town nearby,” he challenged his new companion. “You don’t even know your own name, so do you have a better plan?” it countered. The man took a good look at his surroundings. An endless green expanse of grass, broken only by the endless blue horizon. Reke was right, the human did not have a better plan. He didn’t know where he was, much less where anything else was. There was no way he’d find anything wandering around the plains. So, whether he liked it or not, he had to trust the little lizlai. He dusted off his long, faded blue coat and shook the grass out of his beige pants, preparing for a long walk. … After a full day of walking, with plenty of breaks in between, the two travelers finally reached the town. Reke mostly slept, but he would occasionally wake up to give No-name random tidbits about the local geography or complain about his coat being too rough. It was not much information, but it was enough to where No-name no longer felt completely bewildered. The day remained bright as ever throughout the course of their journey, but, as time went on, large, dark purplish-gray clouds populated the eastern sky, turning the white daylight into a dusty, faded gray light. The town was not large; its tall wooden walls wrapped around the handful of houses and buildings. There was only one two-story building that they could see above the walls, its whitewashed walls braced with mahogany beams peeking out above the rest of the hidden town. There was no gate on this side, so Reke guided the human to a small door with a wooden panel. He tentatively knocked on the door, then shortly heard some shuffling and clacking behind it. A moment later, the wooden panel slid open, and a trapezoidal rock wearing an ill-fitting steel cap with a deep, ragged crack cutting horizontally across the bottom of its face peeked out. “WHo goes there?” it rumbled, the top part of its head clanging against the bottom. Once again, the human was shocked by the sight, first a talking lizard, now a talking rock! This place was strange indeed. Before he could make a fool out of himself, Reke quickly came to the rescue, skittering across the human’s neck. “He’s with me, Pol. He’s new to the area, found him knocked out by Iffet Plains” he explained. “Oh, ok. Takin ‘im to Lydia’s?” the stone golem asked. “Yeah, she’ll know what to do with him. Probably.” The panel clattered to a close, and they heard more shuffling occur behind the door, followed shortly by a large clang, and Pol’s gravelly voice muttering incoherent curses. A moment later, the door swooped up, rolling on vertical brackets. No-name walked through the threshold and into the tightly knit village. Pol, sitting on a small wooden pallet suspended less than a meter in the air, gave the new visitor a little wave with his gargantuan rock hands. Aside from the helmet, he wore no clothes on his grainy skin. Pol hopped off the pallet, and the door clattered down to the floor, while the pallet swung high above Pol’s stubby head. The town was a quaint little place; it sported two rows of houses, with equal variety of thatched and wooden rooves. The alley widened out into a main road at a t-intersection, one road curved around the perimeter of the wall, and the other led him towards the center. Nobody except one person was out and about this late in the evening, but he was among one of the most bizarre things No-name had seen. He was a man, whispering to a small bushel of vibrant red flowers. He had a child-like face, with a broad forehead and spread out, tiny dark eyes focused intently on his task. His pale green skin glowed softly, bringing out the yellow freckles that covered his entire body. At the tips of his dark green fingernails, yellow sparkles faded in and out of existence, swirling around the flowers he was talking to. His thin arms were exposed by the long sleeveless tunic he wore, which looked like two huge leaves that had been stitched together. But his most astonishing feature was the neat, pink rose petals that extended from the man’s head, taking the place of hair. Reke ignored him, guiding No-name towards the center of the town, until they came to the only large, two-story building. It faced a small circular plaza, with permanent shopping stands scattered around it and a small stone well sat precisely in the center. The well’s opening was boarded up with thick wooden boards, pressed together as tightly as possible. The two-story house sported a veranda on the second story with a few tables set up, looking over the quiet little town square.

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  • Edited by CommonBlueberry: 12/18/2021 8:42:25 PM
    No-name approached the door to the large building. It had a caricatured wolf’s face carved into it, fangs goofily bared in a smile, its tongue lolling out of one side. He grabbed the handle but made no move to open the door. After a short period of hesitation, he smoothed his long hair back, and pushed open the door. Warmth washed over the two travelers as they entered; the large room was filled with small, circular tables, but one long bench sat in the middle. Nestled into the back-left corner was a hearth, blazing with an orange flame. Next to it was the L-shaped bar, which extended all the way to the wall of the inn. Their hostess’s back was turned away from No-name and Reke, attending to the sole customer who sat near the fiery hearth. No-name couldn’t see much, but two large, furry ears poked out among her long dark hair, and a long gray tail swished between the folds of her light dress, accented by a modest green corset. She turned to greet her two new patrons, which only shocked the poor human further. Her upper incisors did not fit completely in her mouth, pinching her bottom lip beneath her fang-like teeth. Her nose was tipped by a brown snout, with broad nostrils, perfect for picking up all sorts of scents. “Reke has arrived at the Grinning Wolf,” Reke announced from No-name’s shoulder. “Reke!” Lydia squealed, rushing over to her new visitors. Before even addressing No-name, she playfully pointed a finger at Reke, slowly moving it closer to his head. The lizlai watched her it, preparing to evade its strikes. She jabbed, aiming straight for the top of his head, but he ducked away, skittering back on No-name’s shoulder. He danced around her finger valiantly, using as much space on the shoulder as he could, but Lydia was too fast. She caught him right in the sweet spot, between the ridges of his eyes, and began gently scratching his scaly head with her sharp fingernails. Reke instantly relaxed, his eyes rolling back into his head, and his throat emitted a low purr. She laughed at their game, holding him in her trance for a few seconds, before gently releasing the lizlai. “So, who are you?” she asked No-name, a smile playing on the edges of her lips. Reke shook himself out of his reverie in time to explain everything, saving No-name from speaking once again. She welcomed them in, pulling the human into her inn, and sitting him down at an empty table. Then, she began rattling off descriptions of every person in their tiny village. No-name had only seen three so far: there was Lydia herself, a lycan, who ran the inn day and night and unofficially served as the mayor’s diplomat to anyone who strolled in. Pol was of the three golem brothers who maintained defense: gatekeeping, finding lost villagers, breaking up fights and such. The plant-like person outside was Lariss, a Pixie, who did odd gardening work in and around the village: helping farmers coax their crops to ripeness earlier, placing magical wards around gardens to ward off pests, and clearing out weeds from village lands. There were dozens more, strange folk from all across the realm, with varying aptitudes and abilities who gathered to this little pocket of nowhere. As the hostess rambled on, the human politely tried to listen, but understood little of the alien terms and strange names that flooded out of her mouth. The lone patron sitting at the fireplace was an old orc that No-name hadn’t even noticed until Lydia introduced him. Grak used to be a soldier, an adventurer across the realm before a monstrous beast took his arm and leg, crippling the man for the rest of his life. He does not do anything concrete for the village, but his advice and stories are always welcome; warrior instincts sharper than knives have kept their village out of trouble more times than Lydia can count. After the introductions, Lydia went back behind her bar, taking a quick inventory of all her drinks and juices. She tapped her nose, carefully looking at all her bottles, casks, and flasks, lined up in an order that only she understood. “Grak, any suggestions?” she asked the lonely orc in the corner. “Frog Grog,” came the reply. “You are the only one that likes that stuff,” Lydia teased, crinkling her nose at its awful smell. Grak grunted and took a hearty swig from his tankard, splashing the dark liquid down his throat. She took her time, carefully examining her spirits to fix the perfect drink for a new customer. Grak stayed in his corner, solemnly watching the fire crackle, casting a long, orcish shadow across the inn. Lydia finally made her decision: Gilfrit juice, a dark, amethyst liquid served in a thin pewter mug. She brought the drink, a miniature stool, and the tiniest glass No-name had ever seen, filled with a blood-red liquid to their table. “What do you think we should call him?” Reke asked her, before she had a chance to skitter away again. “I like the sound of No-name, but it’s too odd. How about Nona?” she suggested. “Nona works,” the human shrugged. A name was a name, as long as it didn’t mean anything completely ridiculous. “Aright, Nona it is then,” Lydia smiled, “Now that we know what you are and what to call you, we have to figure out what to do with you,” “I thought you might have some ideas,” Reke said in between sips of his viscous red beverage. “Have you tried asking Nona where he wants to go?” she said “I was going to do that,” the lizlai defended, “After… you know, after we did this,” he finished lamely. “Uh-huh, sure you were,” Lydia smirked, “So Nona, where do you want to go?” she asked, taking a place their small table. The human shifted in his seat nervously under her bright, expectant eyes. He took a small sip of his sweet, tangy drink, buying a few more precious seconds to rack his memory. “I, er, I’m not sure. I don’t really know anything about anything, with the whole memory thing. I guess I’ll go wherever,” he muttered. Reke opened his mouth to make a snarky retort, but Lydia quickly cut him off, “This certainly sounds like an Elvish problem; a mysterious race waking up in the middle of nowhere with no memory. The Imperial City has an expansive library, and elves are always curious about new peoples, especially magical ones. The path can be a little dangerous now, with Underrealm beasties lurking in the night, but the courier said there were a few adventurers down the road that should be arriving any day now. They’d be willing to take you, for a price. That’s what my alpha did with the other one, back when I was a cub.” “Or Lusahn could bring him,” Reke suggested. Lydia’s smile faded from her face, “He hasn’t been back for a while,” she said solemnly. “Where is he? Did they take him for the war with the Underrealm?” Reke asked. The lycan shook her head, her folding her hands down in her lap. “We don’t know. No letter, no message, and nothing in his house seems out of order. He took off to the Imperial City, just like he does every month, and he hasn’t come back for three months,” Reke let the thought ruminate around the table. Lusahn was an elf, but, making his home in this quaint little town, he was far removed from the Elven Empire. A joy to have around, Lusahn served as the liaison between the Empire and the town, which fell within its borders. A well-learned individual, many times he had saved the town from intrepid Elven scholars looking to dissect and disturb the quiet life of the townsfolk and the wilderness. But, as much as he helped in Elven affairs, Lusahn was also the town’s only healer, adept in magical healing, salves, and potions. Each year, at least one villager was saved from sickness or grave injury by the elf’s efforts. “Wait, what did you mean by ‘other one’?” Nona inquired as to Lydia’s comment. “Yeah, the other one. I was very small then, but I remember I was here, with my alpha, when a mysterious visitor suddenly popping up in the village. He was pretty scary, and we sent him to the Imperial City pretty quickly. I guess the roads were safe enough back then not to need an escort.” She mused. “Was he a human?” Nona followed up. “I’m not sure. He was a big and his skin was really dark, like it had been wood stained, not like yours at all. Hair grew out in a big bush from his chin, not from his head, and he was much larger than you are. I don’t think he was a human, sorry. Though…” she pondered. “Though?” Nona pressed, leaning towards her. “Though I remember that man had rounded ears, like yours. That isn’t very common here. I guess it’s possible he was human,” she apologized, wishing she could provide more help. It wasn’t much, but, for Nona, it was at least a start. Her description of the man tickled at the back of his mind, a hazy memory lying just out of reach. It was a strange feeling, where a face blurred into his mind, but it was impossible to tell if it was a memory from his past or an overactive imagination grasping for hope.

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