I hoped that I wasn’t written into the world just so that the Protagonist could eat one of my turnips, or so I could start an unlikely chain of events by spilling my drink on his shirt. Long after the event, traders arrive in town bringing news along with their silk and spices – news of the Protagonist’s battles with dragons and necromancers, political intrigue, romance, danger, tragedy, lofty purpose. On his rare visits the Writer pulls a thick tome and a quill from his saddlebags, dips the quill in his horses’ mouth, lets a few excess drops fall from the nib, surveys his creation, sometimes makes a minor edit – and rides away.Įverything central to the narrative happens on the other side of the Kingdom. Perhaps a new Protagonist, a major character, even a villain – or a dashing anti-hero. For a moment, I let myself think that I might have a part to play in the narrative. Once in a while the Writer rides through the town, his horse’s hoof prints welling up with ink as it clops down the road. I kept on dreaming, and whenever the Writer appeared my hope would flare briefly, before collapsing back into embers as he rode away. My rage softened as I resigned myself a little – ‘you can’t just ride out on a quest, you need a nudge from the Writer’s quill to do things like that and succeed’ – a resignation like thick drizzle, putting out the bulk of my hope without doing a thing to quench my daydreams. I stomped around the forest for a week, returning to the farm for fitful sleep and meals seasoned with bitter silence. I’d have been just another rotting body in the Twiceborn army by the time the Protagonist arrived to destroy it.Īt the time I was furious. Farm work had made me more than strong enough to swing the sword around, but in my hands it was just a club.
![deus ex i spill my drink deus ex i spill my drink](http://betweenlifeandgames.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/wfqzv-20170713175154_1.jpg)
I made my way from village to hamlet, but before I got to see any battles or castles or magic, before I’d even crossed the river, my father caught up with me and wrestled me home. I had only a vague idea of where I was going, and no idea of what I’d do once I got there.
![deus ex i spill my drink deus ex i spill my drink](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/0ACrJlN6IaQ/maxresdefault.jpg)
Written by: Alex when I was a boy I rode out in the general direction of the Twiceborn King, with some fantasy of burying my stolen sword up to the hilt in his undead flesh.