Post by Arthur on Feb 25, 2016 21:37:09 GMT
He was an old man who walked alone in the shadows in St. Pancras Station and he had gone eighty four days now without doing something worthwhile.
Arthur had been wandering around Londinium for some time after waking up here. Others had called it the Apocalypse, or the Catastrophe. Arthur figured that was because they were so emotionally tied to their previous lives. Their real lives? What was real? Was this real, or was this a lie? Was his previous life a lie and had he been a computer simulation all the time, who had been dreaming of a life as a real human being? Arthur had been asking himself questions like this while he wandered. At night he crept into empty, ruined buildings to sleep and during the day he walked. He walked and watched other people. Adventurers, People of the Land. How dissimilar were they really? Physically the adventurers were superior, but their anxiety and memories of other lives seemed to make them brittle, perhaps weak. The People of the Land only knew this life, this land, these traditions and customs. The soul of this world was theirs, the adventurers were outsiders at most, invaders at worst. Arthur had observed many adventurers rejoicing their separation from a world in which they did not fit in. Little did they understand they fitted in even less in this one. The irony seemed lost to many.
But Arthur had his own weakness. He did not mind being here, or being stuck here, perhaps for eternity. He did mind being so aimless, joyless, without meaning. The greatest portion of his life had been spent building, creating. And now he was barely observing. He had had that feeling before, when he was younger. He talked to his stepfather about it, about feeling depressed. Should he see a psychiatrist, use pills? His stepfather had simply given him tools and a plan. Together they had built a shed in the backyard. Depression is the absence of joy. Creating, doing, results in joy.
Arthur overheard a small group of adventurers discussing St. Pancras Station. He had heard it before, but now he heard it. Where the makers, builders, artisans meet. Where they offer their services and products.
Arthur had aspired to do so when he joined the server. He had always been a businessman next to being a craftsman. He chose to be a blacksmith and merchant as his subclasses because of it. Perhaps it was time to put them to use. To stop squatting in ruins and taking handouts from other adventurers and People of the Land. He was a builder, damn it! And he would be so again, circumstances be damned!
And so Arthur had made his way to St. Pancras Station. At first he watched the craftsmen plying their trade. He found a blacksmith, a Person of the Land, an older gentleman like himself, and offered to do odd jobs for him in return for some basic instruction. He spent roughly a week with the man called Louis. He told his story and the man felt sorry for him and allowed him to sleep in the smithy. The warmth of the forge was a welcome change from the cold stone of the ruins Arthur frequented before. He truly felt this could be a turning point in his new life.
"Louis," Arthur said one morning over breakfast. The food wasn't much, as Louis was used to eating the tasteless slop the server churned out through the automated creation system. Arthur didn't mind. He had received a delicious sandwich from a particularly generous adventurer and the fruit that grew in certain places tasted good, but not much else. Most of the food he had received had come from People of the Land, merchants mostly, taking pity on him.
"Louis," Arthur said again after thinking about his wording. "I would like to make something myself today. Perhaps a weapon like I already have, just to see how well I would do."
Louis swallowed his gruel and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He nodded.
"I suppose that would be fine. Thanks to your help, I am right on schedule with deliveries," Louis said as he smiled, his mouth half hidden behind a white, bristling moustache.
Arthur felt his heart leap. Finally he would be creating again. He jumped up, almost spilling his bowl of gruel over the table.
"I can't say how much I appreciate it, Louis," Arthur said. "Of course, I will pay for -" Arthur stopped mid-sentence. He had almost forgotten these past few days that he was dead broke. His smile faded.
"You will pay for the materials," Louis said with a smirk. He turned around from where he sat and produced a bulging leather purse. He set it on the table and the coins inside clinked as they slid past each other inside.
"What's that?" Arthur asked.
"Your pay for the last few days," Louis said. "You may have been a guest and you worked in return for room and board, but you've impressed me with your work ethic. You've earned every last coin."
Carefully Arthur touched the purse, almost as if he didn't completely believe it was there.
"I- I, thank you," Arthur said, his eyes misting over. I don't know what to say."
Louis swallowed the last bit of gruel from his bowl and stood up. "Then don't speak. Do. Work. Create. I'll clean up, you get the forge heated. I will be your assistant today."
Word count: 923
Notes: The money Louis gave Arthur (50 gold) is the starting gold. I simply preferred to have some backstory to it.
Arthur had been wandering around Londinium for some time after waking up here. Others had called it the Apocalypse, or the Catastrophe. Arthur figured that was because they were so emotionally tied to their previous lives. Their real lives? What was real? Was this real, or was this a lie? Was his previous life a lie and had he been a computer simulation all the time, who had been dreaming of a life as a real human being? Arthur had been asking himself questions like this while he wandered. At night he crept into empty, ruined buildings to sleep and during the day he walked. He walked and watched other people. Adventurers, People of the Land. How dissimilar were they really? Physically the adventurers were superior, but their anxiety and memories of other lives seemed to make them brittle, perhaps weak. The People of the Land only knew this life, this land, these traditions and customs. The soul of this world was theirs, the adventurers were outsiders at most, invaders at worst. Arthur had observed many adventurers rejoicing their separation from a world in which they did not fit in. Little did they understand they fitted in even less in this one. The irony seemed lost to many.
But Arthur had his own weakness. He did not mind being here, or being stuck here, perhaps for eternity. He did mind being so aimless, joyless, without meaning. The greatest portion of his life had been spent building, creating. And now he was barely observing. He had had that feeling before, when he was younger. He talked to his stepfather about it, about feeling depressed. Should he see a psychiatrist, use pills? His stepfather had simply given him tools and a plan. Together they had built a shed in the backyard. Depression is the absence of joy. Creating, doing, results in joy.
Arthur overheard a small group of adventurers discussing St. Pancras Station. He had heard it before, but now he heard it. Where the makers, builders, artisans meet. Where they offer their services and products.
Arthur had aspired to do so when he joined the server. He had always been a businessman next to being a craftsman. He chose to be a blacksmith and merchant as his subclasses because of it. Perhaps it was time to put them to use. To stop squatting in ruins and taking handouts from other adventurers and People of the Land. He was a builder, damn it! And he would be so again, circumstances be damned!
And so Arthur had made his way to St. Pancras Station. At first he watched the craftsmen plying their trade. He found a blacksmith, a Person of the Land, an older gentleman like himself, and offered to do odd jobs for him in return for some basic instruction. He spent roughly a week with the man called Louis. He told his story and the man felt sorry for him and allowed him to sleep in the smithy. The warmth of the forge was a welcome change from the cold stone of the ruins Arthur frequented before. He truly felt this could be a turning point in his new life.
"Louis," Arthur said one morning over breakfast. The food wasn't much, as Louis was used to eating the tasteless slop the server churned out through the automated creation system. Arthur didn't mind. He had received a delicious sandwich from a particularly generous adventurer and the fruit that grew in certain places tasted good, but not much else. Most of the food he had received had come from People of the Land, merchants mostly, taking pity on him.
"Louis," Arthur said again after thinking about his wording. "I would like to make something myself today. Perhaps a weapon like I already have, just to see how well I would do."
Louis swallowed his gruel and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He nodded.
"I suppose that would be fine. Thanks to your help, I am right on schedule with deliveries," Louis said as he smiled, his mouth half hidden behind a white, bristling moustache.
Arthur felt his heart leap. Finally he would be creating again. He jumped up, almost spilling his bowl of gruel over the table.
"I can't say how much I appreciate it, Louis," Arthur said. "Of course, I will pay for -" Arthur stopped mid-sentence. He had almost forgotten these past few days that he was dead broke. His smile faded.
"You will pay for the materials," Louis said with a smirk. He turned around from where he sat and produced a bulging leather purse. He set it on the table and the coins inside clinked as they slid past each other inside.
"What's that?" Arthur asked.
"Your pay for the last few days," Louis said. "You may have been a guest and you worked in return for room and board, but you've impressed me with your work ethic. You've earned every last coin."
Carefully Arthur touched the purse, almost as if he didn't completely believe it was there.
"I- I, thank you," Arthur said, his eyes misting over. I don't know what to say."
Louis swallowed the last bit of gruel from his bowl and stood up. "Then don't speak. Do. Work. Create. I'll clean up, you get the forge heated. I will be your assistant today."
Word count: 923
Notes: The money Louis gave Arthur (50 gold) is the starting gold. I simply preferred to have some backstory to it.
