New Potential Story #1 ( Our Guild )

As promised, this is the first new story idea. It's meant to be a taste testing type of thing to give you an idea of how the story will feel. Any thoughts you have on it please share it in the comments, or in Patreon chat, or the discord, or if you don't want to share with everyone, you can direct message me here or on discord. Once I have the first chapter for all the prompts, I'd greatly appreciate you taking the time to vote on the final poll.

As a reminder, whatever story is chosen will be part of the one tier subscription. You won't have to pay extra for it.

Thank you for reading!

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Chapter One - Gold - Part One

Arthur Cromwell was a very particular man, a man with an avid taste for cupcakes with just the right amount of frosting while watching his favorite sports team play on the television. This was his nightly ritual after a long day at the post office. Always delivering things to other people, never getting any mail for himself. He often fantasized about receiving a piece of mail that would change his life, take him somewhere besides the small town that he’d lived in his entire life.

It had become somewhat of an idle game, double checking each parcel to make sure it wasn’t the special one. It never came, and it sadly never would. Because Arthur Cromwell, despite having a main character’s name, is not in fact the main character of this story.

Shame really, he’s a nice guy.

At the risk of sounding rude, let’s leave him to his cupcakes and venture to a world that is decidedly not Earth, and find one that's worth reading about.

Shall we?

***

Still here…  rather brave of you.

***

The world of Gatamora was a wild one, its likeness would be similar to medieval times on Earth, however, they have one thing in great abundance that Earth does not… magic. It is perhaps the most magically saturated planet in the cosmos… perhaps… don’t quote me. I am a mostly reliable narrator; when it counts.

Anyway. Where to begin? Before he became overpowered? Or after even the gods were afraid… maybe in the middle would be best? 

Yes… in the middle.

A tall man sits at the local tavern as it were, the Gilded Dove. A strange name, but it didn’t bother him. What did in fact bother him was that his skills were somehow uneven again, see, this particular man takes great care to ensure all of his skills are equally leveled. To the point that he is… irregular.

Perhaps even irregular enough to be a main character.

Lukas Greymore as stated before was a tall man, well built and muscled to near perfection. His eyes were a cool grey that leaned more silver than natural, his face looked much younger than he really was, looks can be deceiving as they say.

His physique would shame Olympus’s Greek gods. However, he was not a prideful man, nor was he an overly outgoing one, in his youth he had more desire to, but where the story begins, he was a man of few words, for he had spoken enough for many lifetimes. He never stayed in one place for more than a few months. People would notice him and his… irregularities otherwise. Lukas wasn’t one to tell stories about himself… which is lucky for me, otherwise I’d still be talking about what was his name? Arthur? Doesn’t matter.

Back to the point, Lukas stared longingly at the seat next to him, it was empty, over the last few years, he’d grown lonelier than he had in decades. It was nearly time after all, if the goddess hadn’t lied to him. He didn’t know if she had, nor will I ruin the surprise and tell you.

Needless to say, he was beginning to become excited for the prospect of what would come. The culmination of his life’s journey was about to bear fruit.

He swirled the mead in the wooden cup with one too many uneven cracks for his liking, he whispered, “Soon.”

With that he downed his cup and left a golden coin on the counter. One that was decidedly much more than the mead had cost, but Lukas didn’t know that, nor would he have cared. The mead itself had been wonderful, compared to many other taverns that didn’t even bother to scoop the bugs out. He had also detected some rare herbs that help with hangovers. A nice thought from a kind proprietor. For him, that was enough to warrant gold and not copper.

The barkeep swallowed hard as he dared to bite into the golden coin, “Bastillia’s tits, it’s… real.” A grin grew upon his face as he polished it affectionately and hid it in his breeches, “Thank you my good sir, much obliged.”

Lukas did not reply with words, but he nodded and left. Eyes followed him as he exited the tavern, eyes of avarice and pointed greed. Ones that were curious if there were more golden coins on his person. There were in fact a sizeable amount of coins on him, even more in his cart that held no horse to draw it. Much more…

Three men stood nearly in unison as they left the pub to follow him. The blood from the last person they robbed was barely dried under their fingernails. Their ambitions normally fell in the realm of reasonable possibilities, however, anyone who marks Lukas Greymore as a potential target… well, good luck.

Outside the tavern Lukas whistled a merry little jingle, an idle habit he’d learned from a dwarven fisherman in the country of Delock. He often picked up tunes and songs, it reminded him of her. The woman he loved, the woman he had lost many years ago.

The sweet smell of a baker’s last batch filled his nose as he strolled across the cobbled stone, always careful to take a measured pace and avoid the cracked ones. He was somewhat superstitious. The years had made him more so. For he had seen many strange magics in his time.

The merry tune halted in his throat as he passed a local bard playing a song that he’d heard once. He paused to hear the tune. His eyes closed in reverence for it. For a moment, he was back when she was still alive, when the world was even brighter because of her.

She had played that song once. His mouth opened, he rarely spoke to people, but he had to know, “Where did you learn that song?” he asked.

The man strummed his lute playfully, “Every word has a price, my good man, my lips are feeling parched, perhaps a…”

Lukas dropped a golden coin in the man’s hat and folded his arms.

The man blinked seven times like he’d had a stroke, he hadn’t, but it did feel like he had.

“G-g-gold!” he stammered out, holding it up delicately.

A small crowd of people took notice of his excitement, the bard quickly regained his composure and stuffed the gold in his pocket, not even daring to unhand it. Pickpockets weren’t uncommon in these parts after all.

“The song,” Lukas asked patiently.

“Fedar province in the country of Lamka, by Lambda’s light man, are you sure I can have this?”

The question was rhetorical, the bard would not have given it back, even if Lukas asked nicely.  

Lukas nodded. It had been quite some time since he’d visited civilization, he parsed a quick thought, “What direction is Lamka?”

The bard jerked on his heels and pointed quickly toward a mountain pass still flabbergasted by the gold, “I um, it’s to the south, sir.”

Lukas nodded a thanks and turned to leave.

The bard, thinking quickly interjected an offer, “Um, if you like, I can take you there?”

Lukas did not turn for a few moments as he pondered the offer, he would normally say no, or nothing at all. But today for some reason, he nodded. Maybe it was the tune, maybe it was the mead, or just the loneliness. He wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter.  

“Good,” the man breathed, “Um, great, when did you want to go?”

Lukas began to walk, his intention was clear.

“Right, now it is, perfect for me,” in a flurry he grabbed up his things around him and scampered after Lukas, then he paused, looking back toward the brothel and inn, “Would you mind if I grab my things before we leave?”

Lukas didn’t turn, but he nodded after a moment.

“Where will I find you?”

Lukas pointed to a heavy wagon cart.

“Good then, I won’t be but ten minutes,” he spun around, the weight of the gold coin in his palm made him think twice, so he spun back around, “You won’t leave without me, right?”

Lukas didn’t reply, he moved to the market stalls looking for the smell of fresh bread. It had been some time since he’d had sweet bread. He’d been away from civilization for years. Which wasn’t uncommon for him. When he grinded skills, he tended to get obsessed with them.

His belly grumbled in protest when he eventually found the stall that had emitted the wondrous smell. He admired the care that was put into each twirl of the bread. The woman who had made it, she clearly took pride in her craft. For Lukas there was nothing more admirable than someone owning their work and infusing it with the passion of their will. He had a great respect for people like her.

Everything had a story, some of them he knew, but others he enjoyed the wonder of it. After so many years of travelling you would think he would lose that love, but somehow, he never did. He had never thought a noble knight was greater than a baker just because others thought it, he was not like most people, he measured a person’s work instead, like it was the window to their soul, to their existence. If he thought their work didn’t have love, he didn’t judge them negatively, he simply felt sorrow for them. Loving what you do is one of life’s beauties in his eyes.

His cart looked weathered and well used as he approached it, but he liked the cart, because he’d made it himself. Woodworking skill was his current obsession. One that he’d picked up by accident. He was rather careful about trying not to pick up new skills, as he had the habit of… I’ll be honest, it wasn’t a habit, it was like a compulsion.

Maxing skills was not exactly his favorite thing to do, but it was… his curse as it were. He simply could not stand a skill not being max level. It started when… well, we don’t have to talk about it yet, it’s rather sad after all.

Regardless, Lukas was undoubtedly a skill grinding fanatic.

More than ten minutes later the bard returned with a large assortment of luggage and a large handprint on his face.

“Damn you, Felipe!” a voice from the brothel roared as an ornate hairbrush flew into the back of his head.

Lukas didn’t mind the liveliness that the bard brought, and he was happy to know his name without going through the trouble of asking.

“Ow,” Felipe the bard said as he rubbed the back of his head gingerly, “I didn’t deserve that.”

Lukas suspected he may have deserved it, but he helped Felipe the bard load his things into the cart anyway.

“Thank you,” Felipe managed, still rubbing his head, where are your horses by the way?” Lukas grabbed the cart and pulled, it moved forward with ease, Felipe tilted his head before saying, “Ah, a magical cart, haven’t seen one of those since Demerel. All the rage, though,” he tilted his head more at the wagon, “I’m surprised it’s in such a worn-down condition, was it in an accident or part of a caravan?”

Lukas ignored the insult against his cart, he liked it after all, that was enough for him.

Meanwhile, the three thieves were still following Lukas, albeit from a safe distance, they’d noticed something rather inconvenient about the developing situation… they weren’t the only ones interested enough to follow him and Felipe into the woods. That didn’t matter though, they’d sent one man to fetch more of their associates and ride out ahead for an ambush that night.

In fact, they’d even managed to get the local crime leader involved, Aragast the uncanny as he was known.

They were seemingly committed now… sigh.

Fools.