A Heroes Journey

The dark forces of the barbarous East were growing in strength, and the Free Villages of Elden needed to dispatch a hero to defeat its tyrannical ruler, Grothian, before his power grew too strong. 

That was the official line, anyway.

On the outskirts of Skoevën, the smallest and least free of the Free Villages, Frandolf of Mistybrook spent the week interviewing a parade of candidates. It was not a simple task to fill the shoes of a hero. A line of hopeful peasants stood before Wyvern Tower again this morn. 

A hero would need to climb impossibly high mountain passes, wade a raging river, and cross the Impenetrable Forest of Midlonia to reach the land of Mlizard. The responsibility of sending a novice into the wild weighed on Frandolf, made his 120-year-old back ache. That the forces of Mlizard could never march an army in the opposite direction through all those mountains and forests was something best not to let anyone know. Why else would they all keep paying their wizardly protection taxes? 

“My name is Axelis.” A dashing young man stood in the courtyard of Wyvern Tower—the first candidate of the morning.

“What are your strengths, Axelis?”

“As the elders do not allow us to leave our village, I have devoted years to martial training and games of combat.” 

Axelis peeled off his shirt. Frandolf’s gaze was drawn to the young man’s rippling, well-toned muscles. The wizard felt an unfamiliar stirring deep within himself, one that he quickly tamped down. Male competitiveness took over. He desired to say “So you think you’re a hotshot?” but his sagely lips proclaimed, “A test of strength, my young warrior?”

As Axelis nodded in agreement, with a twitch of his wizard’s wand, he conjured a wolf from the boulder in the courtyard, and sent it charging toward the young man. The young warrior dropped into a squat, the muscles of his shoulders bulging even larger as the granite wolf neared. At the last instant, Axelis dodged the wolf’s attack, spun around, then grabbed its tail and flung the beast into the heavy stone foundation of Wyvern Tower. The wolf was smashed into shards of lifeless rock.

As Axelis pulled himself up, his chest heaving from the exertion, Frandolf proclaimed, “You are a great warrior!”

Axelis bowed.

“However,” Frandolf paused. “They will be expecting someone like you. Next candidate!”

The young man’s face burned with rage. Frandolf’s elderly servant, Oberlin, shuffled Axelis out of the tower. Frandolf’s  warriors were hidden in the dungeons to keep them safe during job  interviews.

A recruitment scroll hung on the wall: 

Elden must confront the growing power of the evil Kingdom of Mlizard! If your heart yearns for adventure, come to Wyvern Tower at daybreak.

Waking up early had given the elderly wizard a reason to cease drinking mead late night into the night. His one week a year of wizardly sobriety. His mind felt as clear as if he was 85 again!

Another capable young man entered the courtyard. He passed a wide variety of tests of strength thrown at him by Frandolf’s wizardly powers before also being turned away.

“Why don’t you just go out and defeat Grothian yourself?” The man glared at him contemptuously.

Just for a second, Frandolf dropped his carefully crafted mask of reserve, “Because that would be too easy!”  There was more to it than that, but the wizard’s lips were sealed. He flicked his wand, and the man collapsed with diarrhea. Oberlin ushered the young warrior out to clean himself.

A raven crowed in the sky whilst a very average looking young man walked into the courtyard of Wyvern Tower. This man no one would expect to be a hero. Frandolf looked at him hopefully.

“And whom are you?”

“I am Brayard, and I volunteer my services. Vimn Willowbranch won’t betroth his daughter to me until I have proven my worth.” 

“A noble cause,” Frandolf agreed. “What are your strengths, Brayard?”

“I am regretfully not very good at anything”

A wry grin spread across Frandolf's face. Of all the candidates he had seen so far that day, this one seemed the most promising for the hero's journey.

“And what, pray tell, are you bad at?”

“I, uh, well, I don't believe I have any real weaknesses." 

The smile vanished from Frandolf’s face. “Next candidate!”

Oberon then ushered in the next candidate, a nervous-looking young man with a mop of curly hair. 

“I am…” his voice shaking. “Percival.”

“He looks useless” were the words spoken within Frandolf’s mind, while his sagely lips declared, “A man of unearthed talents!”

“I do dig for earthworms, sire.”

“I am not a sire, but the Council of Wizards has quested me to find a hero to defeat Grothian, and I have received funding.” If I don’t spend the funding, I might not receive it again, was the part Frandolf left out.

Percival bowed. “I am at your service.”

“So, what are you bad at, young man?”

The answer came quickly. “I am bad at waking up in the morning. I’m bad at getting my little brother to do as he’s told. I’m terrible at wizardry. My arrow misses every target, yet hits my teacher’s backside, but not hard enough to do any damage–“

“Approach!”

The young man approached his makeshift throne. Frandolf stooped down, his back aching from how far he needed to bend to reach this small man. He strung a leather band holding an imitation gold eagle around young Percival’s neck. The real gold eagle was locked up for safekeeping.

“Against the advice of the other wizards, I see your unique talent and appoint you The Seeker of Elden. Our golden eagle will keep you safe. Tomorrow, you will begin a series of small challenges that may seem meaningless until later on your journey. Remember to make enemies in your training, they could prove to be important later.”

How could a young man this weak bring down the mighty wizard of the east, you ask? That’s something this young hero must discover along the journey. Unexpectedly,  Percival's training went well. He devoted his days to hard toil: carrying heavy buckets of water up the long staircases to Frandolf’s abode, carrying buckets of wizardly waste down, his senses revolting from the aftermath of the wizard’s odd diet of roots and insects. 

Frandolf taught Percival magic incantations and spells. The soldiers taught him the techniques of combat. With their prodding, he ventured into the forest to fight snakes and wolves. Exhausted beyond measure, at home, Percival advised his little brother to become a farmer, and never pursue the life of a hero. It was too difficult. All the happiness a person could want in the world lies within the borders of Elden.

On the morning of the Summer Moon, the entire village of Skoevën assembled. Frandolf stood with great dignity–well practiced in front of a wizard’s mirror–and looked out upon the assembled townsfolk with a grandfatherly benevolence.

Our young hero Percival stood tall. He completed his tasks valiantly. There was a new confidence in his demeanor. A skip in his step. His clothes no longer hung loose, but wrapped around his growing torso tightly.

Fortune favors the bold, Frandolf reminded himself.

“Young Percival, you have trained more diligently than any hero has before you.” Frandolf looked proudly at the young man. “But you have become too skilled to be sent on a hero’s journey. Grothian will be expecting someone like you.” Frandolf twitched his wizard’s wand and the sky cracked with thunder. “I have consulted the Great Orb of Dragons, and it has said we must dispatch your younger brother, Phillip” 

The crowd gasped. They didn’t know Frandolf ascribed all of his riskier decisions to the orb. 

Amongst the townsfolk, Frandolf turned his gaze to Percival’s diminutive brother Phillip, who shrugged his shoulders and mimed, “Who, me?”

Percival took a step forward. “Philip is not prepared!”

“That’s sort of the point, isn’t it?” Frandolf chuckled at the young man's naivety. “They won’t be expecting someone like him!”

Frandolf’s soldier grabbed a perplexed-looking Philip and pulled him out of the crowd.

“Percival, if you harbor enough resentment against Phillip, we may allow you to go to Mlizard, battle your angst, and rescue your little brother at the point of his greatest despair.”

“But I love my little brother.”

“Well then, you’re staying home.”

Frandolf’s soldiers held Percival as a doddering Oberon put young Phillip on a horse, which the young boy struggled to not fall off of, and marched him out toward the border of the Free Villages to begin his hero’s journey.

“But I refuse!” Phillip yelped from a distance.

“Perfect,” Frandolf mumbled under his breath, after which his lips sagely announced to all present, “Our hero will be sure to discover his willingness along the journey to Mlizard. Our brave Phillip will defeat Grothian and keep us all safe!”

Frandolf reminded them of the ancient prophesies. The ones that said Skoevën always needed to retain a wizard to protect them from the evil forces of the barbarous East. Meanwhile, his tax collector received their offerings of copper and silver, writing down who gave how much. Frandolf would send swarms of magical locusts to the fields of those who hadn't paid their share.

When the day’s tiresome events were over, Frandolf retreated to the quiet of his spire and consulted the Orb. From within its cloudy depths, he foresaw he had two months to relax until he needed to venture out and rescue Phillip from the giant spiders of the Impenetrable forest. The tired wizard poured himself a well deserved glass of mead.

From a drawer of his ornate wooden desk, which was littered with ancient manuscripts, he fetched an empty scroll and wrote a message to the Grand Wizard.

Annual Self Review by the Wizard of Skoevën:

1. Learned to delegate.
2. Identified untapped talent.
3. Maintained high tax revenue.

He fastened the scroll to a raven, which then soared high into the waning light of the day.

The job was not without its perks. At his behest, his servants brought him another jug of mead. As he heard their feet descending the staircase back to their labor in the kitchens, he latched the door of his wizard’s den closed. He kicked back, took a swig of drink, and looked out across the green, fertile lands of the Free Villages of Elden.