Adventurers

Up there, far above, there is a small field of flowers, quiet and untouched. It sits cradled by a rocky outcrop amongst the shadows of carefully constructed majesty; next to the traces of worn roads faded away, where a grand hall might have stood or maybe a palace, a forge, in the middle of a thriving market – or perhaps just the humble abode, lived in by those who dreamt of more.

Though the wind howls over it, its treasured flowers remain rooted strong. Up here in the sky, its blusters have become a part of life. The sky has become part of life. A place deserted and silent for so long is now once more host to morning greetings between passersby, to hammers hitting nails and saws on wood as new houses, new homes are put together with as much hope and care as wood and stone. And of course, the sound of children running and playing, and calling out for their parents.

The shadecrawler is first to arrive, a black axe by his side, his characteristic lateness defeated by the familiarity of the field which grasps his spirt and commands his presence. A blue claw tightly, and proudly, clutches onto a worn and weathered wide-brimmed hat as his poncho buffets in the wind. He stands there, calmly waiting, eyes fixed on the field. The others are not far behind.

A luminymph wrapped in shawls of dark blue and cream, like wings in the wind. Once expressionless, today she smiles with understanding and acceptance as she enters the field, a strange, mechanical spear in hand. Joining them is a volgecko of obsidian scales and orange quartz. Who struggles through winds both from her small size but also from the large sword she drags behind her on her route to the field. But it is not this sword she holds as the others hold their weapons, but rather three small wooden figures. A volgecko, a luminymph and a shadecrawler. Tears well in her eyes and even though she says she understands, something within her is not certain.

They greet each other silently with nods and looks beneath the open sky, and amongst the flowers they gather, stepping between the remains of an old hut towards a crudely carved headstone and one my one they lay down their tribute. The axe and spear are thrust into the earth, the figures buried carefully. A large shadow of a bird falls over them and the wind dies down, if just for a moment.

In the pause, the shadecrawler utters but two words:

“Adventurers… Dissembled.”

The wind picks up and the moment passes. They smile with a weight of something else. Then they laugh as one and amongst cheerful talk they amble off into the distance to whatever might lie beyond. Towards home, towards building something new and who knows, towards maybe getting lost along the way.

– Written by Barnaby C.