371 days after a wizard cursed the REALM…
Current Version:
Wordler 371 was on a tight deadline to find her Word, but she just had to make a brief stop on her way out of the village. “There's a rumor going around that you fought the wizard yesterday. Is that true?” she asked her immediate predecessor.
“I smote him,” 370 replied.
“Oh,” said 371, embarrassed by her confusion. “I’d heard that you punched him in the face.”
“Yea verily,” 370 affirmed. “I smote him.”
“You did what?”
“Smote. ’Tis a fine word, smote. Yesterday I smote, today I smite—”
“Tomorrow I…smeet?” 371 ventured.
370 rolled her eyes. “Thou hast wounded the QUEEN’s English.”
“You’d know about wounds,” said 371, eyeing the bruises that the other Wordler had sustained in her epic battle. “I guess these quests can be painful. Did you hear that Wordler 369 nearly fell to her death from the side of a cliff?”
“Aye,” said 370, “but many quests require inner journeys of self-exploration. Those are the ones for thee to dread.”
“Me? Me in particular? Why, what have you heard?”
“Begone, good Wordler, and may the best of luck travel with thee. Tarry no longer with the likes of me. Thy Word of Power awaits.”
371 sighed, but knew that her friend was right. She’d avoided her quest for long enough.
Through the highlands, across the plain, along the trade road to the west, she traveled far and wide. A wise hermit told her that a man with tiny eyes would have the answer she sought. “Will I have to fight him?” 371 asked.
“You will have to see him,” the hermit replied. And when she did, she found her Word.
Web3 Draft:
Revision Notes:
To be added.
