Lander Brightwood

Young human wizard out in search for gold.



The brightwoods. A growing, lower-middle class family. The bills were paid, all mouths were fed, but this did not seem to satisfy the youngest child, Lander. See, Lander had a way with people. Not with the filthy lower class, but with the children of nobles, saints, and diplomats. He watched these people like they had earned their money, not inherited it. He obzerved. He learned, and after some time , in some feeble attempts, tried to put snooty ways to action. As he progressed futher down this pit of maddness, he soon came to believe that money brought you freinds. So, as he progressed down this terribly rocky path, he and his “freinds” soon came to the age where they could spend money without kissing their father’s ring. To freely walk through a marketplace purposely dropping coins, for no other reason but to watch those considered insignificant scramble to retrieve them. Suddonly having no trust fund to fall on, Lander had quite the issue. He could no longer piggy back off others riches with lame excuses, now he was expected to have platinum coins to piss on. His statis began to waiver. He cold not afford the life he thought he needed.
THREE HUNDRED GOLD COINS!” His father bellowed, clutching his heart.
“C’mon dad, I want to …. make an ….. investment! Yeah that it, thats what I need the money for, an investment.”
“Are you drunk son? My limit is supposed to be a gold PEICE a YEAR. Do you think that I am stupid enough to know that you will just burn through it in a card game? Maby buy a pretty rich snob a drink. You have balls, son. Asking your father for money while living at home, and being fed at home. For heaven’s sake Mildred does your laundry!”
“Father please, I’m desperate. you have no idea wha …”
SILENCE. Clearly you are desperate. Coming to me and asking for two thirds of my yearly wages. Get out.”
Lander makes a move for the door.
“No I mean it son ….. go for good.”
Lander, frozen stares dumbly at his purple faced father, mouth slightly ajar.
“Oh, and accourding to your mother, this was your choice. I hope never to see your sorry ass again.”

Year and a half later…….

A starved man with scraggly, wispy, hair, rifles through molding crums, and other random debris standing directly in front of the newest magically-enhanced slot machine.
“Buddy, your holding up the line!”
If he could only find one copper piece, just one more go….
“Oi!” four guards step into the shaggy salon that houses the rigged piece of machinery.
“We’re lookin for ah,” scwinting down at an oviosly reused scroll, “Zander, no, Landa Brihtwoud? Brihtwoud anyone?”
Lander tries to blend in, but his attempts is in vain. The crowd parts, leaving Lander standing, exposed, and, mildly cold? Oh, right, just sold his coat for a couple silver. Cold, but worth it.
“Lisen pal, the … er … captain a the guard, wishes to see you” the three guards behind him snicker,
“Shut up knuckleheads,” he says, bearly containing his smirk.
What else could Lander do? If they were taking him to prison, then at least he would be fed.
To guard take him by the arms, practically lifting him off the ground.
“Skinny little blighter, isn he?”
“I thought I told you knuckhead to shudup!” command the first guard.
“You alrready called us knuckheads sir.”
“Do you ever know when to shut up Helmuth?”
The guards escorted Lander past the official building, instead heading further down the main road.
“Siiir, now he knows my name…. I got a wife yuh know”
“We both know that being engaged is not married, and for your feionces’s sake, I think he will be dead looooong before you ever stop drinkin and saved.”
“Fair point sir”
The town is now fading in the distance as the long ascent up what has to be the most inconveniently long driveways ever.
“Ya know Helmuth,” chimed in the guard to Lander’s right, “I think that this little rat bastard would be doin you a favor, seeing as your girlfriend is so ugly she might pass as an Orc.”
“woh.” guard to Lander’s left .
“C’mon, Thats just not ok” states the Commanda (as Lander has now come to think of him as).
“Yeah, well ….. well " lip wobbles “Your sister is ugly as a ace!” mumbles Helmuth
The dirt driveway turns to pebble, then stone as he is half led, half carried to towards the sleeping sentry leaning on large oaken doors.
“You two shut it, and Helmuth, you know that I let go soldiers who start blubbin.”
At this statment, Commanda kicks the sleeping sentery
“No for real this time!” Shout the sentry.
“You know the deal Horris” Commanda says smugly
“I catch you sleep in, and I don’t pay your entry fee”
Grumbling , Horris opens the oak doors. Inside is a large cathedral like entry hall. Horris whispers to the butler, a stubbly chinned man with a clean prosthetic leg, he nods.
“Right this way, oh and if you don’t mind, walk on the hardwood as much as possible. Samantha is always complaining on how you track mud through the house.”
The butler leads them through the hall with a seemingly famous slight limp. Two guards whisper, and begin giggling like deep voiced little girls.
“I would appreciate if you took that back.” The butler says in a surprisingly commanding tone, turning sharply to the guards.
“Take it back Thorgingson”
“Yes sir”
“Yes what?”
“I’m s-s-sorry for makin fun a your leg sir.”
“Thats the spirit.” th butler says, resuming as though nothing had happened.

Unfinished (Don’t even correct my spelling, my way or the high way buckaroo! Also I wrote this at 2:00-4:32 am XP)

Lander Brightwood

The Dynavicerants Nova9329 Entrapreneur