A young man, still a boy really, is Called To Adventure. His mother, well aware of the mortality rate of heroes, leaves the rest of her children with her unmarried sister and sets out on her OWN journey, to make sure that her eldest survives HIS journey. -- Anon Guest
Everyone knows the story. A great and ancient wizard finds the hero foretold, who then goes across the country to fulfill a series of prophecies and finally defeat the ultimate evil, making a team of friends along the way. It should be smoother than a river stone.
Wraithvine had done all the research and was currently between mentees. Having put all the prophecies together and tracked down the scion, ze made the offer and waited. Nothing ever went smoothly. There was always gum in the works whenever ze attempted to operate off a script.
This time, the foretold hero of legend had his mother in tow. A stern brick of a woman whose hands were always moving at something. If her deity wasn't one of the Creators, then there was something else grievously wrong with the universe. She was currently knitting a sock and glaring at Wraithvine like a suspect fish at the markets.
"I've seen enough copper-a-seat plays to know what happens to heroes foretold," she said. "They have a good chance of coming to a bad end. I'm not letting that chance happen."
"Ma..." sighed the hero foretold. Better known as Kevin.
Well. Things were headed to uncertain places. Business as usual for Wraithvine, then. Well. Ze was experienced with adapting to the situation. "I'm not in the habit of letting people in my care die, Mrs...?"
"Oxbrydl. Ms." That withering glare would have worked on any other mortal, but Wraithvine was not quite mortal. "I know the way stories generally go. I don't approve."
"Ma, please," bleated the hero foretold. The crimson tides of mortification were already threatening to drown him. Starting with the ears.
Now there was an attitude of a true witch. Witches, like Wraithvine, knew how stories worked and applied that to the world, sometimes aggressively. Witches and Wizards usually didn't get along. However, 'usual' had obviously stopped applying the instant Ms Oxbrydl walked through the door. Witches had that effect, and this one was a mother.
"Ms Oxbrydl. Thank you for choosing to sort out destiny with me," this threw her for a momentary loop. "I've had long experience with prophecies. Getting in ahead of them and working out where the tricky wording is is key to making sure everyone survives the process."
"Except them who deserve it," said Ms Oxbrydl.
"Ma-a-a-a..." whimpered the hero foretold, trying to melt a hole through the world with the blood rushing to his poor little face.
"Kevin Oxbrydl," Wraithvine soothed. "So very many heroes of legend don't even have a mother, let alone one who loves them enough to personally assure their safety." In the scowling eyes of Ms Oxbrydl, Wraithvine won a begrudged prize. "I would advise that you appreciate the gifts already present to you." Ze consulted the charts that had taken almost too long to draw up. "Beginning with the thief attempting to pick your mother's big bag."
There were mothers like that across all planes of reality. Those with the big bag that contained just about everything they could possibly need. In this case, the big bag also held a strategic mousetrap that quickly snapped onto the allegedly-stealthy Goblin's fingers.
"Don't kill her," said Wraithvine. "We'll need her later."
Ms Oxbrydl already had the Goblin thief by the scruff of her neck. "Have. We. Learned?" she rumbled with all the ominous foreboding of a slow fuse in a powder keg.
Oh yes. This was off to a fantastic start.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / alexfiodorov]
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