Lethargy's Rainbow

"Who are you talking to?" someone asked, walking in the opposite direction on the roadway and giving him a strange look.

"History!" he answered in satisfaction, moving on with a steady stride.

All throughout his childhood, Christopher had dreamt of adventure beyond the constraining monotony of ordinary life in the small village of his birth. His parents had tried to keep his mind on the practical, his attention on farming, hunting or carpentry. Such pursuits only bored him.

He remembered stories from his grandfather, once a knight of the Imperial Order, told and retold on countless evenings in front of the fireplace. Tales of mystical lands, bizarre beings and exotic women pervaded his dreams for as long as he could remember. He wanted to be a part of it. Tired of hearing about the adventures of others he wanted to do something worthy of being repeated throughout the ages by admiring peasants.

Hoarding every bit of money he earned for jobs he did for people around town beyond the chores already assigned to him, he had prepared for the day when he would be able to leave. When he came of age his grandfather gave him his old armor and sword. Christopher knew the time had come.

With barely contained excitement he bid farewell to his family, strapped on the armor (which was much heavier than he had expected) and headed for the nearby town of Honey Place. Christopher had always made it a point to speak with any traveler that came through his village in order to keep up with what happened in the surrounding lands. Many spoke of a group of valiant adventurers based out of the Park Tavern. They organized their quests from there and stories connected them with countless acts of heroism. Christopher intended to start his new life from there.

Turning a corner and stepping around a wagon his eyes went wide at spotting the faded paint of a sign hanging over the entrance to a large building. It read Park Tavern. He had made it. With rushed steps he hurried to the structure.

He shoved open the tavern door, realizing his hands trembled from excitement. Scanning the building’s interior he found most of the place unoccupied with the exception of one round table in the back corner. A barmaid greeted him from where she stood behind a large counter but he only gave her a distracted wave.

Walking across the sawdust covered floor he made his way towards the group at the table. Dressed in different outfits ranging from chain mail, metal plates and leather armor to cloaks, hoods and robes, each possessed weapons to match their attire. All had a tankard of ale before them accompanied by food of some sort. He counted nine of them talking to each other with occasional chuckles.

Christopher arrived beside the table, standing there silently for a moment. Some of the men noticed his presence and glanced his way. He saw scars on their faces, honor badges from battle. Heroism resided in their eyes, honor and dignity emanating in their gazes. No doubt of their identities came to Christopher’s mind. He had found the ones he searched for.

"Uh... hi," he managed to squeak out.

"Hi," a man draped in chain mail responded and all attention fell away from Christopher, the group resuming its conversations.

Clearing his throat, Christopher spoke up again. "I’ve traveled far!" he announced. "I’ve come to join your group in the battle against evil! I’ve come to be a hero! What do I have to do to prove my dedication? What do I need to do in order to initiate myself into your brotherhood?"

The group went silent, all eyes staring at Christopher. "All you have to do is grab a chair and pull it up to the table," a man in a dark red robe said.

"Uh... okay," Christopher said, stumbling over to one of the chairs and uncertainly bringing it over to the table.

"Oh, and you have to buy the next round, too," someone added.

Nodding, Christopher positioned the chair between a man in full armor and another man in leather armor, sitting with hands resting in his lap. Setting a mug of ale before him, the barmaid wandered away. The conversations resumed and Christopher remained silent for the time being, listening.

"You heard what that council wanted us to do with that cursed necklace from the dragon king, right?" a man in a yellow robe commented.

"I sure did," the guy in chain mail stated. "If you go destroy something like that for 'em, they’ll just think of you as some sort of jeweler’s trash man. They’ll start wanting you to destroy bracelets, tiaras, maybe even rings."

"Exactly," the guy in the yellow robe confirmed. "Who wants to make a big deal out of that crap? It’s only jewelry. Can’t they just drop it into a well or an outhouse hole?"

"Did you suggest that?" the one in chain mail put forth.

"Yeah," the yellow robed one said. "They accused me of being lazy. I told 'em it’s just practical."

"Reminds me of some quest a group of villagers tried to send me on," the man in the metal plating cut in. "They had some Cyclops-ogre thing harassing them and they wanted me to go kill it."

"One of those giant brutes with one eye?" somebody asked and the man in the metal nodded.

"Right," he confirmed. "How well do you think the thing can see with one eye? From what they told me he can’t talk well either. He does the me so angry and me crush type of thing. I bet he can’t even hear well. I don’t want to be known as the guy who beat up some handicapped monster."

"They’d call you a bully," someone chimed in.

"Exactly," metal man said. "Damsels don’t really go in for that sort of thing."

Christopher listened, feeling the argument seemed to make sense. He certainly would not want to pick on someone weaker than him. It would not be honorable. Taking a drink from his mug, he cringed at the bitter taste.

"Speaking of damsels, I almost set out with some adventurers who wanted to rescue this princess from a prison fortress," the man in leather chimed in. "We were about to set out when I did the math. There were five of us guys and one girl. Either it’s a disturbing celebration at the end with too many sausages or only one guy gets the prize and all the rest are left out in the cold polishing our swords. I’m not gonna waste my time. So I focused on a quest involving a powerful wizard bringing sickness to some land in the north."

"Sounds dangerous," someone observed.

"You bet!" the leather warrior confirmed. "I’m sure you’ve all heard about the malevolent sorcerer master who has devoted himself to the dark arts of ancient slumbering gods. He sees through more dimensions than we can imagine and can alter reality to suit his whim."

A murmur of confirmation went up from the group. "Yeah, well this quest didn’t involve him," the man in leather clarified. "This guy’s his brother."

"Still sounds like a fiendish foe," a dark robed guy said.

"Yeah," the man in leather commented with a shrug. "I kind of forgot about it though. I’ve been pushing it off. I need to get some new armor, a new sword... Maybe next week. Besides, I hate wizards."

"Hey, I’m a wizard!" the yellow robed guy countered.

"I meant evil wizards," the leather man corrected himself.

The yellow robed man became sullen. "I wanted to be evil ..." he muttered. "It’s just a lot of work. It takes a lot more dedication than being good."

"Well, you’re kind of a jerk sometimes," the leather man responded, taking a swig of ale.

"Thanks," the yellow robed man said, cheering slightly. "I’ve been working on that."

Christopher nodded with many of the others. He understood it must be necessary to be careful on quests. It would be foolish to rush into dangerous situations without thinking them out first. He drank some more without thinking, scrunching up his face at the offending taste.

A new round of drinks arrived, another being set in front of Christopher. Wondering if the new mug would have a different tasting concoction within he took a swig, repulsed by the tang almost as much as he had been by the first beverage. After a few more sips he started becoming accustomed to it.

"Did you guys hear about that big group that went to kill Lord Monster Gorilla of the Jungle Kingdom?" the man in chain mail asked.

"Yeah," the man in metal plating responded. "They’re stupid. Peasants nowadays don’t like cruelty to animals. They’ll be all over those poor bastards. That’s why you have to choose your quests carefully."

Christopher drank more, settling into the chair. He heard the door to the tavern burst open and he tried to peek up to see who had entered. The others at the table ignored the newcomer until a woman in singed clothing ran over.

"I need help!" she shouted, voice near hysterical. "A dragon took my father! Someone has to save him!"

The group looked to her. "It’s funny you should mention something like that," the metal plated man commented. "We were talking about taking up a new quest. Unfortunately... we just ordered a new round of drinks and we can’t let them go to waste. Times are tough, young lady, and it won’t do to waste money. It’s bad for the economy. After we finish up with our drinks we’ll be glad to hear you out." Looking to the others he subtly shook his head.

Staring at them in disbelief, the girl did not respond. The group would not have heard her anyway, going back to speaking to each other. Christopher took deep gulp of his drink. He felt he could get used to being a hero.

THE END

Bio: "Striking out to make names for themselves in the brutal desert land of Tucson, Arizona, Pedro Cerda and Daniel Stiles chose the profession of security by which to build their renown. The process of vocational evolution brought sarcasm from exuberance, irritation from helpfulness and most importantly, apathy from vigilance. Through the natural selection of a shopping mall, they learned the path for survival could be arrived at by way of detachment from care. It exists as a lesson others might comprehend through the pages of their stories, testimony put forth as the ladder of salvation from the balcony perch of chaos. You can be saved but if not, that's your own problem."

E-mail: Pedro Cerda and Daniel Stiles

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