Prologue of Tester
Coincidence.
Yes, pure coincidence.
Coincidence that the green-haired fortune-seeker wandered from the cave mouth at the very moment that the first sun split the horizon. It was chance that, at the same moment, a cascade of colorful bubbles floated around and passed him, circling playfully before drifting away into the forest. Blinded and distracted by the bubbles, the green-haired man walked right into the heart of a trouble of fluffy pink demons asleep around the cave entrance.[1]
[1] Footnote: Just as you find deer in herds and wolves in packs, flamingos in flamboyances, and goblins in hordes; fluffy pink demons come in troubles.
The energy surge that hit him then felt less random than some; the relief of the sunlight and the wash of fresh air after being underground certainly encouraged the rushing of his blood. Chest tight, he squeezed his fists, intent on shouting his spike of energy into the morning. That was when he noticed the demons. Destruction and chaos slumbering before him.
The coincidence didn’t stop with him, not by a long shot, for chance was feeling playful this morning. It reached its colorful tendrils out across the world to tie together a disparate handful of souls, all facing ordeals at that precise moment.
Far away, out near the Edge of the World, in the early light of dawn, a gentleman pirate with the grandest of hats – purple and impressively wide-brimmed – came upon a ghostly ship floating on the open ocean, sails in tatters, and not a soul aboard. A treasure chest encrusted with a skull and crossbones of opal and obsidian rested invitingly upon the deck. Carved into the face of the chest were the words: A Gift for a Worthy Captain. To Captainalize Upon the Gifts of the Sea.
As the green-haired man stepped from the cave, this gentleman pirate cracked the lid of the treasure chest, spilling purple light across his face as he unwittingly looted the curse that lay within.
Nestled inside the treasure chest, on a bed of colorful broken glass, like a pearl in a shark’s mouth, was a glowing purple pendant. It matched his hat perfectly.
Meanwhile, in a city full of scrappy bluster somewhere between these two distant adventurers, a drunken brawler burst forth from a pub into the breaking light. He bumbled buoyantly down the street, grinning through blooded teeth, humming boisterously as crimson flowed freely from his nose. The blood itself wasn’t such a bother; a few bumps were blithe in his book. No, his bother lurked in a nearby alley, an unnoticed shadow, shrouded deep within the folds of a clandestish type robe. She had finally found the prey she sought. She wanted nothing more in all the world than to kill this beastly man.
Elsewhere a worm of some renown (no, not a dragon, a worm) was sinking into a situation, having dropped into gritty, chafing sand. The worm cursed rather creatively, frustrated and helpless against the steady pull.
Last and currently least of this collection of souls was a boyish man, or perhaps he was a mannish boy, not far down the hillside from where the green-haired adventurer was about to deal with a deadly force of demons. The boy stirred fitfully, assailed by fire-filled nightmares.
Nightmares may seem a paltry problem in comparison with his contemporaries, but the real heat of his trial had yet to arrive.
Despite his danger’s delay, there is no question that the boy was included in the grand coincidence. He was there among them, worm and all, at the end, when the individual struggles of each of these scattered souls would catalyze a day when they faced a greater threat all together. Much greater. Like really, really big… and angry.
The great zephad philosopher Zeno Philozeph, a true lover of the way chance shapes our lives, would have heartily laughed to see their tangled threads, then said something absurd and insightful like: “Throwing rocks in a wishing well will certainly raise the water level,” or “Make sure to bring chafing powder to a ten-legged race.”
Deep words indeed, but not much help against fluffy pink demons. The green-haired adventurer clapped his hands over his mouth, stifling the whoop that had been about to leap from his lips. His emerald-green eyes glowed with pent-up, chaotic energy, seeking escape. Afraid that even the subtlest of movements might unleash the rambunctious energy he was struggling to contain, the adventurer assessed the trouble of demons.
He couldn’t locate the devastator; that was disconcerting. It was the worst variety of the pinks, and there was sure to be one among them.
This would not be a fight easily won, but containing the energy felt much like trying to resist a demanding sneeze, only spread through his entire quaking body. He needed to escape before he did something regrettable.
Moving with the utmost care so as not to tip the brimming energy over the edge, the adventurer took one quivering step backward.
He took another step.
He broke.
“WhaaaaahooooOOO!” he shouted, turning his face to the sky and throwing his arms wide, trembling from head to toe.
For a predicament such as his, a more useful Zeno reflection might perhaps be: “When in a river of wills, swimming upstream will only tire you out. Better to pick an acceptable spot downstream and swim for that.” Just because the current of the moment wasn’t taking the fortune-seeker where he’d originally hoped to go, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to enjoy the swim as he set his sights on a new outcome.
He did a quick, playful jig and, with an exuberant shout, bodily kicked a dense mound of pink at his feet. Preparing to start his day with a bit of trouble, he reached for his sword.
Then he changed his mind. He turned to flee back to the cave before the demons came fully alert and the devastator made its presence known.
Still bursting with chaotic power, and laughing all the way, he charged toward the cave entrance. Feeling spunky, he turned to yell something pithy and insulting as he made his escape but slipped on a slimy pile of demon bile and landed on his side, knocking the wind from himself.
He rolled to his stomach and came face-to-face with a fluffy, pink bunny. Its nose twitched in that ever-so-lovable way rabbits’ noses do. It lollopped a little nearer. The devastator’s vibrant pink eyes held Green’s own glowing eyes.
The green-haired fortune-seeker knew he was in deep this time.
The gentleman pirate at the Edge of the World knew he’d stumbled upon something truly alluring and powerful.
The worm knew a lot about a lot of things that didn’t help one bit against sinking sand.
The brawler knew his life was superb in every way, exactly as it should be, while the woman scheming in the shadows knew her revenge was at hand.
And the boy? Well, he didn’t know much about anything… yet.
Believe what you will about life, that it is steered by fate or chance, hope or will. The zephad will take that into account, then it will lead you where it wishes.
As the green-haired fortune-seeker dodged the first gout of oily fire from the adorable rabbit-like demon, the already-scarred trees surrounding the clearing burst alight. The flames quickly began a joyful, leaping progression through the forest toward a beaten-down village and a certain sleeping boy who wrestled with nightmares.
