The Tale Itself
A literary project from Other-world Creative
The Story
Enter the story so far - an ongoing fantasy world, shaped by people and cultures
About
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Contributors
The names of our contributors - the authors of this tale
The Tale Itself
1.
Randall had long sought a home for his ragged group of bandits. Years of wandering had taken their toll - both physically and mentally. As he crested the hill and saw laid in front of him a windswept moorland with a copse of trees in the distance, he knew he had found the right spot. Far enough away from the well trodden paths that they would not be easily spied or stumbled upon, but close enough that they could continue their banditry without too much inconvenience.2.
Times were hard in Westdale. The land was overtaxed, the rich benefitting from the gains while the villagers suffered. Without power or influence, the only options for those without coin to spare were to find work within one of the Twelve Houses, beg on the streets, or turn to stealing as Randall chose to do.Why should he have to scrape by, pleading for coin while his family and friends starved in their own homes? Randall had to remind himself daily that this was the only course of action— to take back what was rightfully theirs.“Randall?’He turned, locking eyes with his best friend, Orville.“Are you sure we’re safe here?”3.
"I'm not sure we're safe anywhere, so long as the Rot continues. But yes, safer than we've been for months."The next few hours were spent by Randall's bandits clearing a space in the centre of the copse where they could place tents and other living quarters. They laid it out in a circle, each tent facing outwards so that all angles were watched. Randall's tent sat in the centre. The logs and branches that they cut to make the clearing were moved towards the outside of the copse to give some extra cover, and to better hide the light made from any fires within.4.
Once the last of the tents had been pitched and everyone settled, the rotations began. A small group scouted ahead while the hunting party foraged for food. For every couple hours, a new set would replace the old until every bandit had completed their rounds.Randall returned from his rotation as daylight transitioned into dark night. Up above, the stars glimmered, the only witnesses to where they were and what they would be up to in the following days. He entered his tent before letting out a breath. The effort it took to arrive here had all been worth it. For how long was anyone’s guess.He combed through makeshift ledgers and a weathered map of Westdale and its surrounding nations. Their supplies were running low, but they’ve faced worse in the past and found a good amount of game today— enough to last through the week. Then there was the foot traffic on the nearby roads. Plenty of footprints from passing caravans, which meant countless chances for obtaining riches.However, there was a catch.5.
Randall thought back to something his wife often said - "If something seems to good too be true, it probably is". Passing caravans would also mean passing caravan guards. Mercenaries in most cases, but occasionally a caravan on state business would be taken care of by Royal Shields. That would be trouble that Randall could do without. It struck Randall that the biggest task ahead of him now was finding a healthy balance. Keeping his men fed, but safe. The rot seemed to be spreading - a dark gnawing sickness that spread from the inside out, sickening the very soul of a thing. In truth, nothing mattered as much as staying far away from anything touched by the Rot.6.
He glanced over the map, marking the northmost province with a large inky X. Those lands had been claimed by the Rot weeks ago, nothing left but dying lands and corpses oozing of dark ichor. Times like these, Randall was thankful his family and friends escaped unscathed.
As he put the map away, his hand brushed against the edge of a pamphlet. On its surface were two actors dressed as the Spring Goddess and the Rain Maker, the former reaching up toward the latter in deep longing. Large letters read ‘Requiem of Spring’ beneath the pair with dates for a live performance of the play in the next town hosted by the followers of the Temple of Aria. Randall tapped the edge of the pamphlet; he’d been tempted to go, even for just one night, all in the hopes of seeing his little boy again. It’d been years, yet even now he recalled the day he left his newborn son in the hands of the Head Priestess of the Temple of Aria before he left to pursue the life he now lived.
Randall promised his wife to not involve their child in anything dangerous. If anyone was capable of ensuring their son’s safety, it was the Goddess of the Performing Arts herself.7.
Randall recalled how the play went. The two lovers, the Spring Goddess and the
Rainmaker, are driven apart by Master Sky. Out of greed, Master Sky keeps all the rain
Rainmaker makes to himself. Eventually, the Spring Goddess dies from the lack of her prime
source of energy. Out of rage, Rainmaker kills Master Sky and then kills himself from the
emptiness he feels without the Spring Goddess. The 400-year-old play feels oddly familiar to
these current times. The rich hoard money from the poor, the poor die, the rich die, and the
money becomes useless without anyone to use it.
As Randall was reminiscing on the play, he heard a tearing sound in the fabric of his tent
as an arrow pierced the pamphlet and created a hole where the Spring Goddess’s head used to
be.
“Crap,” he whispered to himself. He grabbed his short swords and rushed to where he
thought the arrow came from, judging by the tear in his tent.8.
As he rushed out of the tent, a few of his fellow bandits had their weapons raised. Several more arrows had been fired, yet no one had engaged them in combat yet. That meant one thing…“Elves.”Randall’s attention went to the trees. They hid well in the darkness, but the subtle glints from the buckles of the archer’s shoes gave away their exact position.“Orville.”Orville approached in careful steps, eyes remaining on the tree line.“Tell me,” said Randall. “Are they Forest Guard? Hunters?”Elves were observant, but cautious. None of them would’ve fired if they didn’t suspect them of something. It was possible that these arrows were warning shots rather than a direct threat. However, most elves were allied with the Twelve Houses, forming the Forest Guard to assist the Royal Shields in protecting high-end caravans.
ABOUT
HOW THE PROJECT WORKS (SUBJECT TO CHANGE)1. Read what has already been submitted2. Think about where you want to go or what you want to see in the shared world3. Each submission will be numbered in order. When you make a submission please include the number section that you are following on from so that we can make sure things stay in the correct order.4. Make a submission to [email protected] and include your name5. If your submission is suitable it will be added to the story6. Your submission will not be associated with your name, however there will be a list of contributors in no particular order7. Submissions can be any length, even a single sentence, although the ideal length would be a paragraph or two!8. Submissions are not limited - make as many as you want, but avoid consecutive submissions.9. Minor wording changes may happen to ensure continuity and remove mistakes.10. Spelling, grammar, and punctuation will be checked and corrected where necessary.RULES1. English language only2. Mature content is allowed, but keep it tasteful3. We may receive submissions from multiple sources for the same section - your submission may not be chosen4. Try to work within the world building and in-universe rules as they become established5. Absolutely no AI. Every submission is put through an AI checker and will be refused if was written by AI.OTHER INFO- You can donate to the project using the Ko-fi icon below (the coffee cup with a heart)- You can join our Discord by clicking the Discord icon.- You can check out our Mastodon page by clicking the Mastodon icon.- You can make a submission to the tale by clicking the mail icon.
Contributors
Jens ErikssonDelancy “Anihime” GuntherCameron ThompsonKay Kalderstein