This is the start of a story about my character from my Qubicle thread. If you haven’t checked that out, I suggest you do. I’d love for it to be more than a back-and-forth conversation between @chimeforest and myself.
This story will poke fun at and possibly even mock “Stonehearth Logic”. A small portion of its dialogue may be edited from stuff in the game, and most of the Hearthlings [not including foreigners] will be named accurately, except when I want to develop characters, use puns, or anything else at my discretion. This is not to insult Stonehearth, but rather to show its ups, downs, and quirkiness from the viewpoint of a story, as well to make my setting more recognizable. Please let me know if you have any suggestions for a better name [but I doubt anyone will come up with an accurate title until the story develops further.] Anyways, that’s all from me. Let’s hear from Payten Loslaw, shall we?
Chapter 1 - Setting the Scene and Thatching the Roof
I woke up to the sound of roosters crowing, as I do every morning. I’ve never seen a rooster around, though. The closest must have been miles away, and surely the sound couldn’t carry that far? But I eventually accept the oddities. I button up my labcoat and clip on my bowtie, admiring my reflection in the wall lantern – it’s the only place we seem to have any glass. They say I dress eccentrically, and they may be right, but I don’t care. I’ve earned the right to live the way I do a thousand times over.
Everyone is at the building site already, with few exceptions. Our army is vigilantly guarding the unplanted dirt from goblins who may wish to remove its nutrients. Our trapper, Nol Valen, is a nice enough guy, but he’s a bit of a recluse. Without us, however, the work has begun. You see, I’m an engineer. I visualize and tell them what to build when asked. I’m the go-to guy if there’s construction problems. Yet, they also blame me if something goes terribly wrong. I’m a misunderstood scientist, either the savior of the town or an evil villain, depending on the mood of the town. I research materials and build prototypes, but I’m not expected to actually work. It’s a blessing and a curse.
I watch carefully as they make good time, until they stop. They swing their hands back and forth and stare at the last layer of our new watch-tower that they’re supposed to build. Well, time for me to lend my common sense. I run to my house and grab a ladder, placing it alongside the tower’s walls and climbing up. The workers stare at me in confusion [as I’ve said, they don’t expect me to work.] With a small grunt of frustration, I heave the last blocks at the roof. It’s a perfect shot, and the sound of thatch hitting plaster (which sounds more like wood hitting wood) signals a job done, and a lunch break.
I grab my A Turnip, and sit down with my friend Selvan Mont, who prefers his Plate of Berries(s). He’s a carpenter, but he easily has the most sense of all of us. He’s a bit of an academic, equally out of place in his new world. I remember what he said to me me when I first met him.
“Three weeks have passed since I had a decent philosophical conversation. I’m just trying not to panic, and failing.”
We became friends shortly after that, and we almost always talk over lunch. As always, the same question comes to my mind, but today, for the first time, I ask it. “How did you get here anyways?”
He replies, “I think the better question is, how did you get here?”
Footnote: One chapter, and it’s already longer than those writing competitions. Oh well. Let me know how you like it. And while I have a general idea for where I want to take the story, suggestions will still be appreciated.[/quote]