There was once an adventurer who was never happy. He had left home with the thought of earning great riches, but things never seemed to go his way. In the taverns, it was always the ugly women (he thought) that approached him. Sadly, he did not realise that these women only sought to cheer him, and that many of his "problems" and general lack of success stemmed from his miserable attitude.
When he found a shiny new magical sword, the only thought that crossed his mind was that he would now have to polish it and clean it, and protect it from people who wanted to steal it from him. My friend, our friend the adventurer was not a happy camper. His troubles seemed endless, and life seemed a great burden.
When things seemed to go his way, he always became suspicious, expecting greater bad luck around the corner.
His brother, who stayed at home, was sometimes happy, and sometimes not. Working long hours in the textile mill, he was never able to escape the smell of the tannery. Because he smelt so much, his wife eventually left him, and he sought solace in the taverns with people of the same ilk; the beggars, the homeless, and those who sought to inveigle themselves into his good graces, and his purse, were among his friends. Sometimes he lay at home, drunk of a night, and wondered what had become of his brother, the great adventurer.
In his ennui with life in general, he sought out a seer, sure that his brother must have had better luck, thinking perhaps to join him in his adventures. Because he did not have much money, he could not pay the seer very much, and because she was an honest person, she told him the truth. The Seer informed him that the great treasure his brother had sought all his life had in fact eluded him, and that, earlier that year, the man had died a lonely, miserable death, mauled by a passing dragon for sport. He kept this from his parents. It was certainly food for thought. He sniffed his armpits. He really smelled.
The miserable adventurer
No replies to this topic