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Representing_Tromba

Representing_Tromba

Sleep deprived mess of an author begging for feedb
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Tempokai

Tempokai

The Overworked One
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A bedtime story about thieves and heroism:
In the sprawling kingdom of Aetheria, where every moss-covered brick and crooked cobblestone seemed to have been plucked from the fever dream of an overeager game developer, there was an unwritten rule: never trust a stranger in a tavern. Especially one with a tragic backstory and an earnest smile.

But Rufus, a thief of marginal repute and boundless cynicism, broke this rule. He had no intention of being swept into a hero’s journey. He had long mastered the art of living life under the radar, swiping the odd coin purse or unattended weapon, anything to avoid the cataclysmic events that, inevitably, the kingdom’s so-called "heroes" were always embroiled in.

It all started on a rainy evening in the Tipsy Dragon, a ramshackle tavern where the drinks were cheap and the patrons cheaper. Rufus was minding his own business, quietly picking the lock on a chest that promised nothing more than a few moldy tomes, when *he* entered.

The protagonist.

Gale. He burst through the tavern doors with the kind of entrance that made every eye roll reflexively. Cloaked in an impossibly white mantle that seemed to defy the very concept of grime and dirt, his presence was announced with a dramatic gust of wind, as if nature itself couldn't resist aiding his theatrics. His fiery red hair glowed ominously, and his eyes gleamed with the sort of enthusiasm that made Rufus’s skin crawl.

"Brave adventurers!" Gale proclaimed, oblivious to the fact that most of the patrons were too engrossed in their ale to care. "I seek comrades for a journey to defeat the tyranny of the False God!"

Rufus chuckled to himself. What a cliché. There was always some pompous divine figure needing a good smiting. He considered leaving, but the promise of gold – an all-too-common motivator – kept him rooted to his spot. Besides, Rufus had a gift for blending into the background, and he wasn’t about to risk standing out by making a sudden exit.

However, the universe had a cruel sense of humor. Gale’s gaze swept the room, and before Rufus could duck behind a particularly wide dwarf, those annoyingly earnest eyes locked onto him.

"You there, with the… air of mystery," Gale said, gesturing towards Rufus. "Will you join us?"

Rufus looked around, praying that someone else might be foolish enough to think Gale was talking to them. No such luck. The other patrons snickered into their drinks, their interest piqued by the brewing spectacle.

Rufus sighed. "I’m a thief, not a hero."

"Exactly!" Gale declared with the kind of fervor that made one question his sanity. "A thief can be a hero! Come, join me in my quest, and I promise riches beyond your imagination!"

Rufus knew better. But the promise of wealth – and the prospect of a few easy heists under the guise of heroism – lured him in. Just a quick adventure, a jaunt through the countryside, he told himself. Then he could slip away while Gale was busy monologuing to a moonbeam or something equally preposterous.

Fast forward several months, and Rufus found himself crouched behind a jagged boulder on the edge of a lava-drenched chasm. He watched in disbelief as Gale squared off against the so-called False God, a monstrosity of epic proportions with more eyes than sense and an appetite for destruction.

Rufus wiped sweat from his brow, his once-simple life of thievery now a distant memory. He should have been back in Aetheria, relieving some drunken nobleman of his ill-gotten gains, not here, trying to avoid being pulverized by a divine tantrum.

"Where did it all go wrong?" he muttered to himself, thinking back to that rainy evening at the Tipsy Dragon.

The path to this ridiculous climax had been littered with all the usual nonsense: ancient prophecies, magical artifacts, and, of course, an inconvenient romance subplot involving Gale and a reformed demoness with a penchant for brooding. Rufus had done his best to remain detached, perfecting the art of eye-rolling while still managing to save Gale’s hide more times than he cared to count.

Yet somehow, despite the absurdity of it all, Rufus found himself drawn in. It was disturbingly satisfying to watch the overconfident idiot hero slice through hordes of enemies like a scythe through wheat. The adrenaline, the treasure, and even the camaraderie had proven annoyingly addictive.

As Gale launched into yet another overblown monologue about justice and light, Rufus groaned. The False God roared back, its voice resonating like a thousand thunderclaps. It was a symphony of chaos, a battle of wills that would decide the fate of… something important, presumably. Rufus had lost track.

And there was Rufus, caught in the middle of this grand operatic farce. Part of him was still incredulous that this was his life now, that he was willingly playing sidekick to a boy who barely understood the concept of subtlety.

But as the climactic battle unfolded, Rufus couldn’t help but smirk. In a world filled with absurdity and improbability, maybe a thief could indeed be a hero. Or at least get rich trying.

Gale’s final blow cleaved the False God in two, its form dissolving into ethereal wisps of failure and unmet quotas. The ground trembled, then stilled. Silence fell over the battlefield, broken only by Gale’s triumphant cheer.

Rufus shook his head, clapping slowly. “Congratulations, hero,” he drawled. “Now, can we please get back to something more lucrative? Like relieving a kingdom of its excess treasures?”

Gale grinned, either missing or ignoring the sarcasm. “Onward to adventure!” he cried, already envisioning the next improbable quest.

Rufus sighed, pocketing a handful of shimmering, unclaimed relics as the party moved out. Maybe this wasn’t what he had signed up for, but as long as there was treasure to be had and idiots to fool, he would stick around. After all, in a world as ludicrous as this, who knew what delightful absurdities the next chapter would bring?
 
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