Torben’s Daydream

                  Torben made his way down the road with a wagon full of manure. He didn’t mind helping Enok, although he felt required by his personality to detest and avoid any chores. It’s not that he feared hard work. His father gave him plenty of opportunities to sweat and toil on his family’s farm, a life of heavy labor he grew accustomed to. Although some days he enjoyed putting in as much work to avoid the chores as doing the work itself. He liked the reaction he got out of people with his antics. Torben gave an occasional tap on the hindquarters of the horse to keep the wagon moving along.

                  Torben’s thoughts wandered as he meandered through the rising and descending curving streetways of Eknor. He paid little attention to the world around him, lost in his own daydreams. As most daydreamers are, his imagination came with purpose. He knew the fastest way home, but he also knew if he pretended to lose his way, he could pass by the Fighters Guile. One of his favorite places to let his mind escape reality. He knew it would be rather quiet around the guild, as many festival activities were being held in various locations. Since his father wasn’t expecting him home until later, he saw his opportunity to take time for himself, unfiltered and un-littered by the voices of the doubters and disbelievers. He could dream up whatever he wanted about himself, his future, and what he was capable of.

                  Upon arrival, Torben pulled his horse and wagon over to the side, parking them along the roadway. He couldn’t see any dragon riders patrolling the area, so he figured he could park the manure for a short while without getting into trouble. After he secured his horse and wagon, Torben approached the guild as if he happened to be in the neighborhood, yet instantly relishing the ambience of the great Fighters Guild. While looking up at the centuries-old carved signboard above the doorway, he reflected on the fame and glory that came with the prestige of being a skilled fighter. No foe to fear, no adventure too great, adored by many! Torben craved the praise of being such a character. He dreamed of recognition, an emotion not common in Torben’s life. His older brothers constantly overshadowed him, yet he didn’t demand as much attention as the much, much younger brother. He felt invisible unless he could draw the attention of others.

                  Most of the elite warriors of the land became great because they had been in the trade since youth, pursuing an obsessive way of life, eventually leading them to their success. Yet Torben spent far more time dreaming of success than practicing the very skill set that would bring him the fame he so desired. He lagged behind in self-defense and the basic skill-sets of a trained fighter. But it never stopped him from dreaming of catching up and surpassing the other young warriors in training. He knew it would take some focused effort and hard work, something he grew accustomed to as a farmer's son. He just needed to find the time to practice. Torben walked over to the large doors that led into the great hall of the Fighter’s Guild and turned the large door handle.

                  Torben pushed through the doors, stepping into the signature musty, oaken leather smell that exuded from the interior of the Fighter’s Guild. The vintage architecture of the interior echoed a building of ages past. Even though the structure expanded over time to hold much larger crowds, the entire building oozed an ambiance of adventure with elegant fur laden rugs and seating, to well-worn tables and barstools. The furniture alone had stories to tell. The expansive main hall once served as a gathering place for many skilled and fearsome fighters after great battles or raids. In the great hall, warriors of old would regale stories of courage and valor and extremely close calls. These stories seeped into the wooden paneled walls, columns, and doorways, filling the worn and weathered interiors with history.

                  The rustic guild went through some modernization adjustments since the days of old banquets and congregation, serving a more economic purpose for finding job opportunities. Those in need of a hired fighter could post jobs there, both locally and from out of town. Should a farmer have a troll issue, they could post a request for a skilled hunter to help rid them of the nuisance. Eknor, being a small village, built a network of contacts throughout the land to foster the fighter's career line. Frilofest became a popular time to find work as a fighter. Many launched their quests during the summer months and many other smaller villages or remote areas used the opportunity to pull from a robust talent pool in Eknor.

                  Eknor had built a name for itself, producing many skillful and talented fighters for such a small village. The life and spirit of a career fighter ran thick through the heritage of Eknor. The most recent, Yerik Goldsword, a famous warrior with many impressive and triumphant battles throughout the land. He recently retired to his hometown of Eknor, hoping to further build the school and the guild that helped him become the great warrior he was.

                  Torben figured the more time he spent in the guild, the more likely he would morph into being a part of it. Other than the main hallway, every other section of the building was locked, only available to those who were part of the guild, or part of the Goldsword school of Defense and Weaponry. Although Torben learned to take advantage of the areas with public access. He loved reading over the job postings, dreaming of being the one to fill the position. He read through every trophy and skills record that hung on display. The walls of the guild also displayed many mounted hunting trophies. A wide range of magnificent big game to strange and unusual creatures, collected over hundreds of years by the many hunters and fighters contributing to the collection. If a hunter or warrior brought in enough big game or slayed a ferocious, threatening beast worthy of the walls of the guild, they could be inducted into the fighter’s guild without passing the trials. Torben thought about the iyla cat he took down that the guild never credited him for. Once again, he felt invisible. It seemed it wasn’t only his family that overlooked his accomplishments. But the benefit of being a daydreamer allowed him to focus on his next big act that would garner the attention he so desired. 

                  Torben walked along the edges of the hall, taking in the sights, the smells fueling his imagination, pretending his merits and valor would someday adorn the walls. He dreamed of becoming one of the great ones. As a farmer’s son, most people expected him to be a farmer. Although something burned deep inside Torben’s soul. He knew a greater destiny wait for him, something far more than tilling the earth and harvesting crops. Despite his never-ending imagination, young Torben had nothing to show for it. Even for a boy his age, he was quite underdeveloped in his fighting skills. A farmer’s boy doesn’t get much practice at fighting and defense. Nor does a farmer typically have the means to enroll their children in professional training schools. But that didn’t bother Torben. He knew some way; somehow, he would find his opportunity. He knew he had to play the part of a farmer for now. The more he dreamed of his future, the more he convinced himself he was meant for greater things than this simple life. He could spend all day at the guild soaking it all in, visualizing his future.

                  “Some FOOL has parked a wagon of manure in front of the guild!” a brash voice called out, entering the building.

                  Torben could not spend all day at the guild. While hiding behind large chairs and columns to remain as un-noticed as possible, Torben quietly snaked through the guildhall. He quickly slipped out the front door, gave his horse a quick swat to get moving, running ahead of the wagon to appear as though he did not belong to the wagon. Torben and his manure wagon escaped sight just in time. Anyone interested in joining the fighter’s guild feared any action that could tarnish their growing reputations. If anyone in the fighter’s guild knew Torben parked the manure wagon there, it would be one more strike against him. As Torben trotted down the village roadway, he took a deep breath to calm his beating heart. It was a close call. But close calls were a way of life for those that wanted to be one of the great ones.