Vincent Wyce --Adventurer Extroadinaire or Utter Fool?
I started to write a story on Vincent. Here's a small taste of it. I don't have many plans to finish it although I may if anyone wants me to lol. I typically write the beginnings of stories for characters and rarely finish them. Anyway, here we go:
The wooden table could easily seat twelve people with plenty of elbow room. The surface was scratched but still held that new look that told you it hadn’t been in serious use for but a few weeks. The table was crowded with a variety of people from humans to elves and even a large, broad shouldered goliath. The nearby fireplace was crackling and warmed the room up against the outside cold. Everyone’s focus was on one man seated at the head of the table next to a pretty young blonde. He had short, dark hair and was drinking wine out of chipped and worn wooden mug. He was speaking with words slightly blurred from the wine in his system. “If you liked that last story, then you’ll love this next one. Let me tell you about the first shapeshifter I ever met…”
A merchant wagon rumbled down the muddy road in a fine Keldonian morning. It was autumn and the nearby pines were still as green as ever. A fine sheen of slush squished beneath the heavy wooden wheels. The red painted sides of the wagon bore a multicolored feather, the symbol for the Prismatic Plumes merchant guild. Two men sat in the front of the wagon discussing the weather over a warm cup of tea.
The man on the left was skinny and dressed in tan linens and a heavy woolen coat. A purple hat was slanted across his brow with a large blue feather dangling from the top. It perched atop his bald head. His face was content and filled with aged lines. A bushy black caterpillar was crawling across his upper lip; or so it appeared. I never did like the look of those heavy mustaches the Timorien’s wore. The man’s name was Falken and he was talking about how warm it had been recently in Temain, the district we were traveling through. For the past three ten-days I’d been his ever constant companion as he traveled from town to town collecting guild dues from people he knew.
“Really, Falken. Every morning is the same with you. Awake at nine, tea by ten and walking by eleven. As soon as we get moving you start talking about the weather first, then the last trade you made and then our next destination. It’s like clockwork with you. How do you manage?”
Falken looked at me and laughed with that booming, deep laughter you expect to come from a man of three hundred pounds, not one-eighty. “Vincent, Vincent! You amuse me to no end. I am so glad that Miss Decraic insisted on me hiring you to come along. What would I do without your gleeful face in the morning?” This comment earned him a nasty look. I hated mornings. But it was hard to hate Falken; he simply had this air about him that made him so damn un-hateable. I opened my mouth for a smart retort and barely noticed the black streak by my face. Reacting on instinct I ducked and pushed Falken down to the bench. A slim arrow struck the wooden wagon behind us with a solid sound. If I had been a moment too slow…well that's just a depressing thought, isn't it?