373 days after a wizard cursed the REALM…
Current Version:
“Arise, Wordler 373,” said the QUEEN, and they did. “We wish you luck on your quest.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” they said.
It seemed like a morning like any other in Wordler Village, starting with a routine ceremony at which a chosen resident was given a number and charged with a quest. But on this morning, there was one clear and obvious difference.
Two members of the QUEEN’s Advisory Council had been snatched up by the talons of a dragon, and flown far away.
“I’ll return with the Word and the Wordlers,” 373 promised.
“Thou mayst borrow my steed,” said Wordler 370. “And my sword. And my armor.”
“Why do you have these things?” 373 asked.
370 shrugged. “LARPing and ren fairs, mostly.”
373 found the armor a tight fit and wasn’t entirely comfortable on a horse, but they were determined to uphold the tradition. They rode out and soon came to the dragon’s lair, marked by scatterings of bones. “Not human,” they noted, with some relief.
“Come out and face me, dragon!” 373 shouted. Their voice echoed back from inside the cave.
The ground trembled. The Wordler tilted their head upward to watch a pair of glowing red eyes approach. In measured steps, the dragon emerged, its scales glistening in the dazzling sunlight.
“Dragon,” 373 addressed the beast, “I have read enough modern retellings to know that you are likely good-hearted and misunderstood. Perhaps you harbor insecurities. Perhaps you love tacos. Whatever your story, I mean you no harm. I merely wish the safe return of my friends.”
The dragon roared with a jet of flame that struck 373’s shield. “You are wrong, Sir and/or Lady Knight. I’m very cruel and have no redeeming qualities whatsoever. Keep your tacos. I have a taste for human flesh and enjoy the torment of my captive meals, but most of all, I love nothing more than to battle the tin-wrapped fools who would challenge me with their metal toothpicks. And so, we shall fight.”
373 sighed. “I guess we’re doing this the old-fashioned way.”
After the battle, the Wordler stood over the dead dragon’s body and shook their head. The old-fashioned way was brutal.
“Thanks for saving us,” said the former captives. The pair were Wordlers 367 and 372. Just the day before, 372 had returned from a triumphant quest with the word, RUSTY, and the QUEEN had named him to the Council.
“It’s been a rough first day,” 372 admitted.
“It’ll get better,” said 367. “And I hope the QUEEN lets 373 join us on the Council. They’ve certainly earned a spot.”
Web3 Draft:
Revision Notes:
To be added.
