The Weal of Thyme turns, and ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legends fade to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the-.
"Oh get on with it! So many stories have these long winded openings! I want some action. Lets step up the narration. Where am I?"
Ritousaey, reluctant guardian of the multiverse, walks down a road through Northern Serendipity. He's headed toward Darken Vei, looking for a bit of a respite from his travels. He plods along alone, on a chilly afternoon, a bit of dust in the air around him from his own shuffling gait.
"Really now? I'm shuffling along a road? I can fly without effort, and on top of that I can instantly teleport myself anywhere in the multiverse, and you have me SHUFFLING along a dirt road? Narrate me somewhere fun already! Make it really fun and I'll promise to be mortal for the whole story, maybe."
We find our hero in a packed tavern in Darken Vei. He's on his eighth pint of ale. So many have come tonight that the seats are full, and many stand between the tables and at the bar. Women and men have come together to celebrate the end of a very successful day of work and trade. A few groups of young mages from the academy are even present. A trade caravan has come through and made everyone very happy and not a few a bit of coin. Friendly carousing and occasional groping is found pleasantly throughout the establishment. But every party has its share of trouble makers.
At the table behind Ritousaey, two men begin to argue over what was a friendly game of dice. One man accuses the other of cheating. "Push up your sleeves ya cheat!" He begins to round the table toward the accused and the other men fall silent and watch. The silence spreads like fire, and soon all the patrons are quietly watching.
"I didn't cheat!", the man exclaims pushing up his sleeves. "You just have a fools bad luck!" And with that he gives the accuser a hard push. He stumbles back and bumps into Rit, just as he's taking a drink of his ale. It sloshes down his front, and the tension in the bar grows. Rit sets down his now empty stein, turns around, gently picks up the man that is now sitting on the floor behind him, and brushes him off.
"You're a bit dusty from your fall. Can you stand steadily?" Rit seems calm but the man is still unsure. No unarmed townsman looks at an armored outsider with several weapons handy without a bit of caution.
"I'm sorry sir. I can stand just fine. My compatriot simply shoved me is all sir." The man spat the words out quickly to try and soothe the situation.
"You're compatriot? Since when do uneducated tavern dicers have such beautiful vocabularies? This narration is garbage." The addled commoner looked confused at Rits words.
"Narration sir?"
"Don't worry about it. I asked for fun, ale down my front isn't fun. You know what is?" Rit grinned mischievously at the man.
"No sir."
"A BAR ROOM BRAAAAAWL!" As he shouted it, Rit picked up the chair that he had been sitting in, and threw it at the man who had shoved his 'compatriot'. He fell into the table, flipping it and knocking over two other men. After two stunned beats of silence filled the tavern, all chaos broke loose.
