_-GOJO-_
Selected Tue, Mar 15, 2022
Myrthil eyed her grubby hands as she rose from planting the final magic bean. Ignoring the hostile stares of villagers, she started her ritual dance. The bean sprouted. Flailing like a mad woman on the eve of the solstice, Myrthil followed the beanstalk as it snaked across the square.
‘*Not the tavern, not the tavern, not the tavern, not the tavern*’, she chanted under her breath. The sun beat down from its peak, and this was her twelfth beanstalk of the day. One would think the Gods could give her dreams or hallucinations, but no, her eternal guide was magic-fucking-beans. It was challenging the resolve of this 82-years-sober wizard.
The beanstalk tapped insolently on the tavern door. Myrthil swore as she opened the door and continued her ridiculous dance in front of the half-dozen stunned patrons. She followed the beanstalk to a shadowy table where a plump-cheeked serving boy was pouring ale.
*Hey, child. Have you ever felt different? Like you’re too damn special to listen to a single instruction.* Stopping her dance, she puffed up her chest and prepared to upend the serving boy’s life.
‘What a fucking week!’ came a grumble from the shadows.
Myrthil’s head snapped around, causing her pointed hat to fall askew. The boy had been serving none other than Grius the Grand, a wizard famous for guiding the strongest chosen-ones, and infamous for his temperament while doing it. To her horror, Myrthil’s beanstalk was inching its way up his robed leg.
“It seems I’m your chosen-one, witch.”
Gritting her teeth, Myrthil slid into the chair opposite the grizzled old man. “Get me a tall glass of your strongest liquor,” she growled at the none-too-special serving boy.
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Submitted by _-GOJO-_ on Tue, Mar 08, 2022 to /r/WritingPrompts/
Full submission hereThe prompt
Preparing himself to deal with another whiny reluctant farmboy, the wizard enters the tavern to discover the Chosen One is an even older and crankier wizard.
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