Send Him My Way, Baby!
The land was in dire trouble again, it's very survival threatened by a threat most fiendish, and so, the champion, the hero who had defeated so many evils in the past, was sought out and searched for...
"Oh, he is not here. I remember seeing him pass through long ago, heading east astride his mighty charger, a fine and mighty figure..."
"I know who you seek, but he is not to be found here. He came through quite some time ago, that proud looking man, striding eastward. You might find him in the lands of Relain..."
"What, him? No, he's not here. He passed through a while back, on his way out east. Seemed like a nice enough guy, though. You might find him in the Saquin province."
"Who? Who? Oh, right, that guy. Yeah, he was here a while ago, trying to hitch a ride east. Kind of scruffy looking, so I didn't give him a lift. I think he might be in the town of Boswell, I don't know."
"Look, I don't know- no, no idea- I'm telling you, I haven't- wait, hang on, hang on... do you mean what's his name? The homeless guy over on Browning street? I don't know, I've never really looked at him. If you make eye-contact, they try to start their spiel at you, and, look, it's just easier if you look the other way and walk faster. I've got places to be, you know? Besides, he should be looking for a job, not trying to leech off of us hard-working folks, right?"
And so they found him, on Browning street, in the town of Boswell, in the Saquin province, in the land of Relain, far to the east of the lands he once called home. Shoeless, filthy, burned by the sun and numbed by the nights, clothes ragged and hollow cheeked, without even a blanket or a sign. He just sat at the corner, head back, eyes closed.
When asked how he had come to such a state, he opened one eye, glared at them for minute, and asked them if they had ever tried to get a job with a resume that consisted solely of killing things and saving the world. He then muttered something about slaughterhouse unions and internal politics.
"Oh, he is not here. I remember seeing him pass through long ago, heading east astride his mighty charger, a fine and mighty figure..."
"I know who you seek, but he is not to be found here. He came through quite some time ago, that proud looking man, striding eastward. You might find him in the lands of Relain..."
"What, him? No, he's not here. He passed through a while back, on his way out east. Seemed like a nice enough guy, though. You might find him in the Saquin province."
"Who? Who? Oh, right, that guy. Yeah, he was here a while ago, trying to hitch a ride east. Kind of scruffy looking, so I didn't give him a lift. I think he might be in the town of Boswell, I don't know."
"Look, I don't know- no, no idea- I'm telling you, I haven't- wait, hang on, hang on... do you mean what's his name? The homeless guy over on Browning street? I don't know, I've never really looked at him. If you make eye-contact, they try to start their spiel at you, and, look, it's just easier if you look the other way and walk faster. I've got places to be, you know? Besides, he should be looking for a job, not trying to leech off of us hard-working folks, right?"
And so they found him, on Browning street, in the town of Boswell, in the Saquin province, in the land of Relain, far to the east of the lands he once called home. Shoeless, filthy, burned by the sun and numbed by the nights, clothes ragged and hollow cheeked, without even a blanket or a sign. He just sat at the corner, head back, eyes closed.
When asked how he had come to such a state, he opened one eye, glared at them for minute, and asked them if they had ever tried to get a job with a resume that consisted solely of killing things and saving the world. He then muttered something about slaughterhouse unions and internal politics.