In the City, 405 days after a wizard cursed the REALM…
Current Version:
“They’re staring at you,” said Fast-Paw.
“I don’t think so. They’re staring at you,” Lorea replied. It was their first trip to this particular city in the lands north of the REALM, where a cluster of Wordler Village refugees had come after NIGHTfall, and where, judging by the eyes that followed them down the streets, two Villager newcomers weren’t entirely welcome.
They came to a corner where a man was using a thick paste to apply posters to a brick wall. “What’s this?” asked Fast-Paw. “Villagers: Live another day. Support Morgan.”
The man who’d been pasting up the bills eyed them curiously. “Pretty brave to be wearing your pips and collars out in the open. You must be newly arrived.”
“Are you a Villager?” Lorea asked. “I’m 400 and they’re 393.”
“Fast-Paw,” said the Champion who’d been designated Wordler 393. “No one took away my given name, so I’m keeping it.”
“Dave,” said the man. “A QUEEN’s man for life, though I never had the honor of being one of her chosen, nor one of them who came afterward.” “Nor were we,” Fast-Paw growled. “We were picked by the curse.”
“What are these signs you’re posting, Dave?” asked Lorea.
Dave shrugged. “There’s an election coming. No matter for us Villagers, since we don’t qualify to vote, but they’re making us an issue anyway. Morgan seems the best of the lot, which is why a bunch of us are helping her out. ‘Live another day’ is one of her mottos. With her in charge, the Villagers who’ve settled here would get to live another day, but with the others? Well, with the way they talk, you’d never know.”
“Is it really that bad?” asked Fast-Paw.
“Some feel it is, some feel it isn’t, but I’d say it’s better to be on the safe side. Ditch the pips and collars. Try to blend in—though that might be hard if you’re one of the Folk. No offense, but the natives here are strictly human.”
“No offense taken,” said Fast-Paw, adjusting their collar. “We’re looking for other recent champions. Have you heard of any?”
“There’s a rooming house not two blocks from here that’s said to have had two strikes against them. Come on, I’ll show you the way.”
The two former champions followed Dave to a rowhouse that had been converted for rentals. “Renting space to Villagers is forbidden, by order of the Lord Mayor, so these places have no signs on them. You’ve just got to know. This respectable-looking front entrance leads to the top floor, where the landlord lives. The rear entrance allows access to the tenant living space and the cellar bedchambers.”
“How do we get to the back?” asked Lorea. “The houses are pressed up against each other on either side.”
“We’ve got to take the alley. Come on, I’ll show you.”
After a circuitous trip through a narrow lane clogged by chicken coops and rabbit hutches, they arrived at an unmarked door. Lorea knocked, and was greeted by a young woman who peered at them in relief and turned to call back inside. “Relax everyone, it’s not Mrs. Filch after all.”
“400 and 393,” said Lorea, introducing herself and Fast-Paw.
“396,” said the woman. “But you can call me Tori.”
They went inside and met the other residents of the boarding house. In addition to Tori, a man named Ted had been designated as Wordler 399. “Wordler 400, huh?” asked Ted. “Then you’re the one who killed the skeleton.”
“You can’t kill a skeleton,” said Tori. “A skeleton’s already dead.”
“I told her so to her face, but she wasn’t having it,” said Ted.
“So I’m to take it that you both received your designations from Wordler 388?” Lorea asked.
“That confirms your theory,” said Fast-Paw. “The papers are a new development.”
“Papers?” asked Ted.
Lorea rubbed the side of her head. “The Word Wizard’s curse is a devious force. It used Wordler 388 for a time, but has continued its selections unabated since her…demise.”
Dave cleared his throat. “Interesting as this is, I really must be going. These handbills won’t stick themselves to the walls.” He shook the stack of white papers, and one of them fluttered to the ground. Oddly, this one seemed to be printed on a blue paper stock.
“Don’t touch it!” Lorea called, as Dave reached for the page. She nodded her chin at Fast-Paw, who retrieved the paper.
“It’s blank,” they said. “But it smells like magic.”
“Magic has a smell?” asked Lorea.
“That armor sure did. This paper is in that same smell-family.”
“And now smells have families?” Lorea shook her head. “I will never understand how that nose of yours works.”
“Can I go now?” Dave took his paper back and gave it a quick glance. The color drained from his face. “This isn’t funny. Which of you wrote this?”
“Wrote what?” asked Tori.
“Don’t act like you can’t read it.” Dave showed the blank page all around. “Plain as the nose on my face, it says I’m Wordler 405. By the gods, I’m going to die, aren’t I? And then I’m going to come back as a flaming skeleton. And then she’s going to kill me again!”
“I’m not going to kill you,” said Lorea.
“We can figure this out together,” said Fast-Paw, but Lorea shook her head.
“We can’t interfere,” said Lorea. “But I would like to have that paper when you’re done with it, once you’ve figured out the Word.”
“Aw, hell,” said Wordler 405. “This makes me angry. I’m so pissed off, I feel like I’m going to explode! Take the paper, I’ve got to get out of here!” He slammed the door on his way out.
“What was that noise?” called a voice from upstairs.
“Mrs. Filch is coming,” said Tori, in a panic. “There’ll be no disguising a member of the Folk. She’ll know we’re Villagers, and she’ll kick us out for sure!”
“Doesn’t she already know you’re Villagers?” asked Tori.
“She knows probably, but she doesn’t know definitely. We’ll hide you downstairs under a bed or in a closet. Ted, you stall her at the door. Come on, hurry.”
Lorea grabbed the discarded paper and followed the frantic tenant. The page still looked blank to her, but she’d examine it closer when they were safe. Perhaps, she thought, it could be useful in figuring out where the curse would strike next.
Web3 Draft:
- Listed on OpenSea
- Listed on Rarible
- Pinned to IPFS
Revision Notes:
To be added.
