theworldofdreams.com

It’s funny how time passes and many never seem to notice. We always fail to see the importance of time and how it affects our world. Most think of time as a man made dial that casts shadows around a man made set of positions; I however do not. Time is more important than that. Time is the sun coming up early and drying the wet leaves of the willow trees from early summer's dew. Time is the harvest come to pass to feed our bellies through a harsh winter. It is the difference between being young and naïve or being wise and open-minded. It is the difference between a foul and a hart. Time is a very important aspect of our world. I sit here with my quill scribbling the ink across this parchment and in time, it will be a collection of memories and remembrances. There is no stopping time. It is the most powerful force in the universe. Definitely not man made. Much like life.

It was a cold month; I can barely remember why it was so cold that year. I was very young. My housemother was complaining that the harvest was going to be weak this year. Something about the strange creatures stealing the herds at night and fouling the crops. That winter my father had went to reap the fields and when the diner bell rang he never came home. My mother had called upon our neighbors to help find him. I was too young to understand what was going on and was told not to leave the farmhouse. Everyone was so sad when they returned. I remember my neighbor’s oldest boy telling me that I was the man of the house now. I never quite knew what that meant then.

The months that followed were very strange to me. Things around the house were disappearing. The old antique chest of drawers that was carved of a large Yew tree by an old man, years before I was born, had come up missing, but no one seemed to mention it. My mother's porcelain dishes that we never used on the old shelf in my fathers smoking den lowly disappeared one at a time. My mother became ill and started talking to invisible things and people. My housemother took her to see the herbalist in the next village, but no one knew how to make her well. She would sit in her room at the top of the stairs in our farmhouse, and yell at the top of her lungs, but nothing she said made sense. I remember being afraid of her.

My Uncle Owen came that spring and said I was going to stay with him for a while. We packed up what little belongings I could fit in a potato sack and I climbed on the back of the meager little wagon. It rambled along slowly away from the old farmhouse as I watched the house grow small in the distance. I don’t know why, but I didn’t cry, even though my heart said I probably should have.

At Uncle Owens house things were simpler. They did not live on a farm. They lived in a small village just north of Yew called Berryvine. It was a small poor town, but there were many craftsmen bustling to make a living. Uncle Owen was a cooper and made barrels for a local brewery in Yew. My Auntie Mae was a seamstress for a local tailor. They never had any children; something about a peculiar wound Uncle Owen had received while serving in the Britannia Militia years before they moved to the country. I would regularly go with Uncle Owen to deliver the finished barrels to a grumpy old man at the large brewery. While we were there we would always go into Yew and Uncle Owen would sit in the tavern with the other old men swapping stories and talking about current events. I wasn't allowed to be in the tavern because the tavern was not a place for a young boy, Uncle Owen would say. So I would visit the local bakery and get my fill of sweets. The lady there seemed sweet on me and would never ask for a price on the sweet honey muffins and sweet frost cakes. I would eat until my teeth and stomach ached or until Uncle Owen would come frowning and haul me out by the ear while apologizing to the old lady, who insisted it was okay for me to visit anytime. Uncle Owen would say, "Nothing is free in this world boy! Never ask for anything for free! Silly boy!" I never saw the harm in it.

A couple years crawled by and I was rapidly maturing. Life in the village was boring but a young man could earn a few coppers very easily. Everyone was so busy working their craft; no one wanted to do errands. I quickly became the village errand boy. "Here boy take this package of beef over to Mrs. Fremont!" or "Here ya go little Maggie, take these linens over to the tailor shop and bring me back some needles." Ching. Ching. The Coppers fell into the bottom of my little pouch. Every evening I would take the small handful of coins out into the forest near the village and bury them in an old honey jar by the big Yew tree. I would spend many afternoons down near the creek as well. I had an odd natural ability to befriend animals. Sticking my bare feet into the creek and tossing crumbs of biscuits to the small turtles that would float up. It was during one of these evenings that my life changed forever.

Skipping along the beaten path back towards uncle Owens house, I began to smell something burning. A loud crackling sound broke through the air and a bright flash nearby as I heard a blood curdling scream. Dropping behind a tree I peered around the small maple tree to see a large yellow eyed beast with odd orange hair, standing over 10 feet tall knocked over our windmill with a huge club the size of a grown man. It roared with such an earsplitting sound that I nearly screamed out loud. I just sat there frozen with fear. Another one appeared from around the small house. They were headed towards my hiding spot sniffing the air with their big eyes glowing. I ran. They roared when I hit the bushes with blinding speed. I was barefooted and I can still remember the roots and rocks splitting my feet as I ran carelessly through the woods. All of the limbs and branches tearing at my legs and face as if they were trying to hold me there. I ran until I couldn’t hear them behind me any more.

I leaned with my back against the cold bark of the large Yew tree. I had no idea how far I had run or where I was for that matter. I could still smell the burning and hear the screaming villagers in my head. I put my hands over my ears and fell to my knees. Wet tears stung as they flowed freely but quietly over my reddened and bleeding cheeks. A hand fell on my shoulder and I screamed and lashed out in defense. A large man in plate mail armor was batting my hands effortlessly away from him as he tried to calm me down with tender words. It was as if he could read the terror in my eyes that something horrible had happened. He said he was a guard from the town of Yew. He helped me up on to the back of his large steed and we rode hard into town. The guards assembled and rove off towards the north.

I never heard what happened after that, the next day I was offered a job on a fishing boat. The Captain, Sweeney was his name, said I could see the world and he could thicken me up a bit. He called me a scrawny little cuss, whatever that meant. He told me that his ship was sailing at dawn to have my things ready, but I responded telling him the only thing I owned was what I had on my back. He told me that my story sounded all too familiar to him, but he said it with a wink and a wry smile. I sat all evening on the docks and watched a couple farmers sit and fish while drinking some foul smelling liquor out of a clay jug. They were talking about something called Titans and Ents that have been attacking towns and villages north of their city. I remember wondering if they meant the large yellow-eyed creatures. I curled up in a ball outside the giant vessel called "The Obsession", which I was told was Captain Sweeney's boat, and fell fast to sleep.

The next morning, a burley man wearing bright clothes nudged me from my slumber. The sun was not up yet but the wind was howling fiercely. The Captain was shouting commands that filled the night air; he seemed very excited about the wind. I rubbed the sleeping crust from my eyes and followed the large fellow up the plank onto the large boat. The boat was outfitted with large poles that slanted out and up from the sides of the ship. Large nets hung lazily over those poles. The smell of fish was so strong that it nearly made me up my stomach lining. Which reminded me I hadn't eaten for some time. When I made my way towards the middle of the boat amongst the restless and vigorous crew, a young man approached me and handed me an odd looking broom and a bucket full of seawater. He seemed to be smiling, but I wasn’t sure. I dragged the heavy broom to the front of the boat and followed the brief instructions of a nearby crewmember. He called the odd broom a swab and it was apparent that it was to be used to keep the deck free from the slimy fish entrails, which can make a tossing boat very dangerous. The boat left the makeshift docks hurriedly and the crew eventually settled down a bit. I had never been on a boat before so my eyes bulged with every tossing wave. Soon a young fisherman came over and handed me a bowl of some strange stew, which smelled boorishly of fish and seawater. Aside from the smell the taste was spicy and welcomed.

The days went by quickly, but each day was a repeat of the last. I made a few friends on the ship but tended to just mind my chores and stayed to myself. The Captain was right, I was gaining weight at a fast pace and was starting to fill my clothes more than I used to. It wasn’t long before I was given some more clothes. Watching the men work was fascinating. They would come to a spot where the captain would say there was fish, no one actually knew how he knew there were fish there, but they seemed to be very faithful of him. They would heave the large nets over the poles and they would drag them in the water for quite a ways. Then the ship would weigh anchor and the men would all chant as they pulled the heavy nets back on deck. The nets were full of fish! They went everywhere! I quickly grabbed my swab and bucket and went to work as the men feverishly cut the fish open and carved away the heads and guts. Other men standing by would carry the fish below deck and pack them in snow that was stored in large containers made of steel. It was so cold down there.

The ship sailed for 8 months out to sea, stopping at all of the ports along the way to sell the fish. Each time the ship would stop, the men would be given enough gold to visit the local taverns and games. I would always stay aboard with the duty of making sure no one weaseled onto the deck to steal any of the Captains gold. I felt good about that duty for some reason. It was a great responsibility and a sign that Captain Sweeney trusted me. Though no one ever tried to sneak on the old stinking boat, it gave me time to practice swinging the odd sword that one of the shipmates had given me to use while on "guard duty". The sword felt good in my hands, or at least I thought it did. I would spend hours pretending those large yellow-eyed beasts were on board and I was fighting them off and rescuing the captains bountiful treasures. I was running from one end of the ship to the other howling and jumping, swinging from sail rope to the other. I must have been making a huge fool of myself because that evening I heard laughter from the dock--female laughter that ringed out through the wind. I stopped and dropped the sword at my feet. Its odd how wrapped up in fantasy you can get when you are bored. (he he no pun intended UO fans) I moved over to the railing and saw a small group of young girls a little older than I was. They asked if I were a pirate or a privateer. I didn’t know what to say, so I responded with "No I am just a deck swab". They laughed even harder and walked off down the road away from the docks. I sat there watching them for the longest time feeling very stupid. They looked so lovely with their evening dresses and their hair all done up in curls filling the air with the fresh scent of smelling spices and flowers. I was becoming a young man and my interests were peaking, why does that smell have such an effect on me?

Another hard year would pass and I was grown fully into my boots. I no longer swabbed the deck of the boat. The Captain said that swabbing was the chore for a boy, but fishing was a job of a man. A new boy was working the swabs while I proudly heaved the nets on and off the boats. And on those stops at the harbors, I got to chase the fun into the taverns with a handful of gold. And that smell of smelling spices and spring flowers, now I understand why it had such an effect on me a year ago. Women were not all old and smell of baking salts. They were soft and giggly and always smiling at me. They would tell me I had a smile that would make any woman melt in my arms. I felt my cheeks redden every time they said it. That would make them giggle more. My life repeated these evenings numerous times and it was great fun. My arms bulged with muscles I would never had dreamed of having as a farmer, and I had grown taller than most of the men on the ship, with the exception of the captain. I always seemed to have more gold at the end of the evening than anyone else had, which they blamed on my smile too. What was the deal with my smile? Life was much better here than it was on the farm or at Uncle Owens. Until we docked in Jhelom one evening and dispersed into the taverns as we had so many times before.

The crowded tavern was bustling with activity, a bard was singing a song I thought was called "over the mountains and under the hills" as he beat a strange round object that jingled like bells on his leg. The serving maids were all robust and red cheeked as they dodged pinching hands full of gold, and the wine seemed spicier here than before. It was a great time. Until one of the patrons got rowdy with a serving maid and the room hushed. He stood up quickly slamming his mug down on the table with a hard thump. The spicy brew sloshed everywhere and the room seemed to pulse away from him. He was reaching for the serving maid with fat greedy hands. I do not remember how it happened, but somehow in a flash I was standing over him with my blade in my hands and he was holding a wound in his arm. His nostrils flared with anger as hands grabbed for me to pull me back. Shouts filled the room immediately with "It's not worth it boy" and "Someone get some cool seawater and douse this lad". I felt red-hot. My blood seemed like it was boiling in my veins. I was confused and angry, but I couldn’t explain why. The man got to his feet and looked at the gaping wound in his arm. His eyes met mine and I knew then that this wasn’t over. Everyone made space between us. Chairs scraped across the floor as sailors and farmers alike got to their feet in a hurry to get out of the way of the coming situation. Captain Sweeney came rumbling through the door and up to us, he was in front of me with his hands on my shoulders telling me we had to go, when his eyes suddenly bulged and he fell to his knees. I never took my eyes off of his, as they seemed to glaze over. Suddenly in a rush all of my senses came back to me and I looked up at the man standing there bleeding was holding a bloody dagger. Time seemed to drag slowly, as if 2 hours had passed in the last minute. I dropped my blade and started towards the man. Again the room filled with shouts and people running towards the door. One word that was yelled never left my mind. Murder.
I woke up and my head was pounding furiously. I could only remember bits and pieces of the night before. I was lying on a stone-like table in a small room surrounded by iron bars. Men in plate mail armor walked past with a loud clanking noise. I quickly sat up and tried to regain my thoughts. I had heard stories about jails and prisons as a child and this place fit the description to the head of the nail. Soon a small squirrelly man came to the bars with a parchment and a quill and asked for my name and birthplace. I said, "Maggs Magiere, I was born on a farm north of Yew." The man nodded and called for a guard to open the cell. Once the cell was opened the man motioned for me to be bound with the iron cuffs and I was guided into a large room full of people. I was told that I was being charged with murder and was given the opportunity to plea my case. It seems that a lot of people came to my aid because everyone was calling out that I was innocent and was only trying to protect the girl. That the man, whose name was apparently P.K. Newbs, deserved what he got. Before the long trial was through I was let out of my bindings and set free, but told to never return to Jhelom.

With that under my belt, I decided that the sea faring life perhaps wasn’t my path. I met up with a handful of merchants who were going out to sea sailing for the port of Britain. I offered my sailing experience in trade for passage to the city I had only heard of in stories by wandering bards. In a city as large as Britain there would have to be a way for a man to make an honest living and build a home. It was a fast sloop, unlike the large fishing boat I was accustomed to. There was no sitting around and waiting for the boat to come about or turning the sails. The Captain of the boat seemed to be in control of his crew, unlike Sweeney, may the light be with him forever, this captain barked orders to the seasoned crew and they carried out their tasks with precision. The journey only took 2 weeks and soon we were warily jumping off the plank to the large dock area of Britain.

I had never seen such a busy city before. Everyone seemed to be in a huge rush to get somewhere. Street merchants were harking and barking their wares all along the streets as carts full of fruits and crops wheeled their way towards the markets. The streets were full of taverns and shops of all crafts and sorts. Hundreds of hammers banging steel and iron at the smithies ring out and the fires of urns in the potters’ shops and glassmakers’ shops. Bards standing on the corners playing their odd instruments sang out enthusiastically for a few coins. Beggars were out in full force. It was all breath taking. I wandered the streets for a full hour taking in the awe-inspiring sight. As I passed a large theatre I caught sight of a group gathering around a large financial building. It seemed that there was an auctioneer calling out bids and the people gathered were holding up signs. I pushed my way through the crowd to get a close look at what they were bidding on. I nearly gasped when I caught sight of the item. It was a sword that seemed to pulse with light. Not the plain iron sword I was used to wielding, but one with a golden pommel encrusted with jewels and inscriptions. Right then I knew this town was full of riches I could only have imagined in dreams and fantasies.

I quickly found a room in the Britain Inn and went to the docks to find a source of income. I met a sturdy woman by the name of Zandra who quickly put me to work making nets and fishing weights. My wage was very meager but it was a start. I worked for weeks, staying in the Inn and saving my coins to purchase the materials needed to build a home. I said my good byes to Zandra who bid me a good job done and farewell. I had heard from locals that the farmlands were rich and the soil was black as coal. It took me some time to gather everything needed, but I eventually built my new home in the southwest region of the Britain patrolled farmlands near the mountains. I quickly sowed the field with wheat and cotton. Buying from a local a spinning wheel and a yarn loom, I used the skills I had learned as a child to sew and to work yarn. A local merchant in town was paying an incredible price for balls of yarn, so I went to work making as many as I could carry and transporting them into town.

One evening as I was harvesting cotton, I saw two people wander into the field I was harvesting. It was common that the farmers would share fields in which to sow their seeds. But these were not your usual farmers. The man was dressed quite noble and the woman was wearing a dress of very fine make. Together they laughed and gathered crops and soon went about their way. I watched them curiously as most farmers I had encountered were dirty and wore woolens instead of fine cloth. Not to mentioned dyed cloth. Time and time again the two would show up and harvest, always laughing and enjoying themselves. One evening I sauntered over to them to greet them and introduce myself. Their names were Skeeter Byrch and Sir Alexander. A Knight picking wheat! They were very polite and very helpful about the region as I struggled to survive in the farmlands. Sir Alexander brought me many things to help me feel secure. He brought me some worn but well made leather armors and a sword that was well balanced. Not only that, he continued to help teach me how to wield it. I was not an expert but my strength alone could get me through most battles with the common folk. Alexander told me stories of the evils in the lands and said I would be safer if I learned to defend myself from these evils.

Much time would pass and I was getting very adept with the sword. So much so, that I quit farming and started taking local commissions from the guards to help defend the countryside from these evils. The rewards they gave, while not worth the risk, brought gold in much faster than farming. I began visiting the Royal Palace and talking with the guards about my adventures. I saw many knights coming and going, all adorned in their plated armor wearing livery and colors for their ladies and their queen. It was then that I began to feel the desire to become a knight. I went to my farm home that night and began drawing up the livery and sewing the uniform I would bear. I took all of my gold I had saved and visited a Blacksmith in the country named Kalidar and commissioned him with making my first suit of Plate Mail armor. I had also ordered it laminated in Malachite, a greenish metal. One day, I would bear the name, Sir Maggs Magiere, The Green Knight of Virtue.

And so the legacy of the adventures of The House of Magiere and the Green Knight of Virtue begins. In time Maggs did grow to be an esteemed member of the Virtue guards and has met many legendary heroes of the lands. Names such as Rime Wolfsong, Covenant Atei, Leia Ranar and Sir Alexander will be deeply scribed in the rich histories of our lands and soon along with the name of the valiant Sir Maggs Magiere.