The First Adventure
SaltyJub Story Submission
x w

There comes a time in life in all Farfalin youngling lives where they are let out into the world in a test of
proving rite. Upon the sixteenth year of their lives, they would be given a feast of wondrous food and drink to
later on be sent off into the world. They shall wander away from their home for a months’ time, some
communities tends to say that the longer they tread off, the greater is the return. For it is when they return they
shall be given their full respect. To be truthful, it is only an act of cultural growth, and those who return early
or damaged in some manner are still proven worthy and respectful. The reason being that this rite shall allow
for the Farfalin to see parts of the world and experience what is not solely their home land. The entire rite and
travel in its whole is referred to as The First Adventure, the Farfalin travelling called a Virgin Wanderer.
As with time, there may come the time when a sole Farfalin travels so far that they forget the spans of time and
romantically fall for the wonder of travels and adventure. The case was not so true with the most recent
Wanderer from the Izard family, a youthful man named Owlverious “Owl” Izard. With armor braced and a
minor blade in hand, he was dressed heavily in comparison to most other Virgin Wanderers, for his family had
thought him as a weak creature, that he needed the best of protection to survive a simple month’s long walk.
In his rustling and unwieldy armor; Owl treaded along the path, sweating and panting at the weight of all that
was brought within his packing from his worrying family. The sun was cooking him like a ham in the family
smoker, small puffs of condensation flowing within his clothing, drenching him in bodily odors. And as he was
soon to know, the loudest, slowest and most tired of prey are those who easily attract predators. For it was not
long, but only twelve circulations of the sun away from his homestead that he met face-to-face with a greater
ursine, a ferocious bear that stood even on its four taller than most men. And one shall take in notice that this
was a humongous and horrid creature to most men of the lands; imagine the horror a small Farfalin loner
would feel whilst peering up at this beast that blocked out the sun. Its mangy black coat of fur were drizzled in
blood equal to more brew in the Izard home cabinets, and none of it were its own. A single eye donning its two
eye-holes, as the right one was seemingly gauged out quite some time ago, leading a scarring explosion from
its brow to its eye socket and down along its upper lip, giving the ursine fiend a permanent snarl across its
massive head. Spikes jutting out from its back akin to that of a thorn-weave, only making the creature appear
less alike a bear and more alike a demon of legend.
The Bear had not yet noticed the squat silhouette of Owl as he stood shaking in fear, even causing his armor to
rattle in ill will. It was but when the Farfalin, shivering in terror, pulled forth his blade given to him by his
household that the creature noticed the minor figure in their midst. For it was not the unsheathing blade that
gave away the youngling’s presence, but it was the glimmer of sunlight that struck the metal of his sword that
reflected a blinding glimmer into the cyclopean giant.
A deep rumble escaped the massive dark mound of black fur as it stood up upon its hind legs, giving the young
Owlverious the gaze of an inner rage. For he had seen anger, and he had seen a slight butting of physical fury,
but not the sheer rage that oozed from this giant before him, and it was directed only towards him. Stepping
towards the bite-sized boy in a metal can, the Bear struck out with its long and grasping claws at the now
armed gnome of a man. It was not with bolstered fortitude and heroism that then lashed back at the ursine
figure, but it was the shriek yelp of a frightened child and an unexperienced Farfalin who could barely call
himself ‘ready’ to traverse outside of his city reaches.
With quick and nimble hands, he unstrapped his backpack and dropped his weapon, setting off into the wood
that the Bear had leapt out from. A chase ensued as the toppling bear slammed its entire weight onto the
ground to rush after the nubby-legged creature that had blinded its singular vision. Owl were jumping over
roots, diving under fallen trees and tumbling through the undergrowth only to hear the sound of twigs
snapping, branches breaking, entire growths of plants such as bushes and bristle thorns were torn up from the
ground in the Bear’s follow.
Passing tree and root, the Bear still gave chase to the imp that had struck at his optical orb, that he would dare
to oppose the King of these woods. But to Owl it was nothing but a moment of sheer terror. The single thought
that were not of escaping this horrible, seemingly closing in end of his times on four legs, would be:
“If this is what the world has to offer, I’d rather stay at home!”
Turning a corner, the young man was faced with a dead end. Or to be true, it was a path onwards, but it was
one creeping into a dark, looming darkness. A cave with blood, bone and moss coating its entire walls and
floor, letting off the same horrid blood and wet fur scent that the Bear demon behind him that made oh so
unforgettable. Turning around, Owl was to stand face-to-face with the beast looming over him. Stepping back,
crushing the dried and molding bones under his feet, the Farfalin would fall and think that this was indeed, his
impending doom. Flailing and thrashing, everything turned pitch black as a starless night as the folds of fur
would embrace the tiny man.
Waking up by a shimmering light, what would be equal to that of that which had gazed into the eyes of the
Bear that had seemingly slain him; he had thought that he had arrived in the afterlife. Mumbling and uttering
something about “Am I dead?” would stutter out from the Farfalin lips until he was shocked to see that he was
laying atop of what would be this massive bear, which itself laid atop what seemed to be a massive table. The
noise of clashing mugs, the tapping of alcohol and the music of minstrels echoed throughout the entire tavern
that which he seemed to lie within.
Waking up and gazing at these figures, all which seemed to peer back at him, he would hear the shouting
voices echoing “He has awakened! The Slayer of Blackmantle has Awoken!” followed by the cheers of women,
men and children alike. Questioning the short figure, the posture of Owl asked what they meant by all of this,
where he were and what all of this were about.
According to all, every single figure he spoke to; he had been found by a huntsman, his squat body buried
underneath the bear with a bone pierced through the ribcage of the massive creature. It was however when
the story passed, that Owl had seemingly awoken and been within this village for five days, drinking alcohol
and celebrating his killing of this beast that had terrorized the woods and wanderers along the roads. To them,
he was now a Hero. For five entire days, food and drink had been consumed and he had boastfully chanted
over how he had fenced with the Bear Blackmantle, sparks flying from claw and sword, only for him to chase
the bear back into their cavern home for a final showdown with bare hands.
Children asked for him to play with them, people enjoyed his presence and he was given free food and
appreciation from simply appearing within the tavern.
Staying within the small village within this rather bolstered and wild-lifted tavern, being celebrated by not
only the common folk, but other Heroes and travelers. Swordsmen spoke of his combat prowess; great kin
spoke of him as one of their own, warriors nodded at him in respect. Truly this tone, this interaction, this
wondrous joyful feeling of granting awe and glory to himself, but also to the tale that had been given life from
the slaying of this beast. It was… Inspiring.
Slowly, this persona grew onto him, the idea that his First Adventure may actually become his only adventure,
for he was not to return home. Word was sent to his family, that he, The Slayer of Blackmantle, would take his
time on his travels.
The Message simply read:
“I may not come home in some time. But the longer the travel, the greater the return to home? However, I
might as well travel so far that I may travel the entire world, until I will come back home, but the other way
around. Would that not be a tale to tell about?”
And so began the tale of Owlverious “Owl” Izard and his first visit to the Naughty Wizard Inn, a place he
would frequently visit. Blackmantle’s gigantic pelt and head still dons one of the seats within the gigantic
tavern, in which he prefers to settle himself each time he visits. His life began as a frightened boy, but grew
into a stout and bolstered figure. But many other tales were to pass in which his short but recognizable figure
would be featured. He may not be strong enough to fulfil the tale that he had seemingly spoken of in his
drunken haze back then, a straight up fight with the massive monstrous Dire Bear, but he was the one to do it.
He is by far, one of the most favored patrons of not only the Inn, but the general populous of the area.
It was there he was firstly dubbed by the title of Hero.