Liriiestil's Backstory's page

No posts. Alias of Monkeygod.

About Liriiestil's Backstory

Our story, like many stories, begins a long time ago, in medieval London. One Wyndham Barrett, a struggling writer and part time explorer, was out on an expedition in the Forest of Middlesex. The goal was simple and honestly boring, as the six men sought only to document the nesting habits of several types of birds. Wyndham was brought along because he was the only one who could read the odd map the head of the team had bought at stall in town. It was in Gaelic, and the writer was schooled in several different languages, that one among them. No one questioned why the map wasn’t written in English, as it was the only map of the area they could find. Which was also weird, as it was a fairly known area.
Shortly after noon, a fog rolled in off the pond at the center of the wood, which being England, wasn’t strange. What was strange was the fact that the whole forest went silent as it did. However, as they only had two more nests to locate, they pushed onward. Soon, the fog grew so thick, it was impossible to see more than a foot or two. That’s when Wyndham saw a light bobbing off the trail, a light that changed from the normal steady yellow-orange of a fire to a flickering purple, to a bright, blinking green. Curiosity getting the better of him, he wandered after it, which kept moving out of reach. Confused, but wanting to know what was causing this so called ‘Wytch Light’, the author kept chasing it, going deeper and deeper into the forest, and the fog. No longer caring how he would get back to his party, or even where he was going, the young man continued his pursuit for what must have been hours. Yet, the sun never set, which he noted in the back of his mind, was extremely strange.

Finally, he burst through the bank of fog, and found himself in a gorgeous clearing. Flowers of every color imaginable, and even some that weren’t, bloomed everywhere. A small waterfall tumbled into a pond, yet the water had a purple-pink hue to it. Birds flew from tree to tree, though none of them appeared to be any type seen before. And there, in the center of this very odd scene, was the color changing globe of light. In a voice that spoke directly into his mind, it beckoned him forward, and bade him sit upon a large blue mushroom.
”You impress me mortal. For fourteen days, and fourteen nights you chased me through the forest, and into the First World, never stopping, never giving up. Until you finally caught up to me here, in this glade. You are the first among your kind to accomplish this feat in well over a thousand years. Tell me, what made you continue the pursuit?” The glowing light spoke in very conviceable pitch, tone, and volume possible, and many that weren’t. It’s voice changed as it desired, often in mid-sentence, sometimes even mid-word. It was not restricted to male or female, and even adopted a multitude of accents.

Wyndham should have be surprised by all that was experiencing, and what he was just told, but for some unknown reason, the young writer took it all in stride. He did, however, balk at how long it took him to reach this clearing. ”Fourteen days?! Are you daft?! I just left my companions several hours ago!” At that point, a little faerie girl flew by and laughed in his face. ”Silly mortal, time flows as we wish it in the First World.” He shook his head, like he was trying to clear cobwebs. ”What is this First World you keep speaking of?”

The glowing orb pulsed a few times, clearly chuckling that the question ”It’s where you are right now! Think of it as a primal blueprint of the real world, and the home of the Fae.”

The young man sat dumbfounded for a few moments, letting that sink in. Finally he replied ”I’m not sure what made me pursue you, honestly. Curiosity, at first, I *had* to know what was you were! Then, as the chase continued, pure stubbornness too. It didn’t matter how long it took, or how far I went, I *was* going to catch up to you. And now, here I am, apparently in an entirely different realm, fourteen days later.” He takes a deep, calming breath. ”So, what are you, exactly? I’m pretty well-versed in my myth and legends, but I don’t recall ever coming across something like you in my readings.”

The orb ‘laughs’ again, and swells up in size ”You may call me the Lantern King, greatest of pranksters, lord of laughter. I am known as an Eldest, what your people call demigods, of the Fae. I like you, Wyndham Barret of London, there’s a fire within you, a deep love of adventure and fun. As such, I will grant you two wishes, one for yourself, and one for a descendant of yours.”

The young man stood there in stunned silence for several moments, before recovering. Easy. I wish to live long enough to write the most epic adventure story ever told, and I wish my descendant to be the hero of the tale.”

The Lantern King blinked a brilliant rainbow of color, blinding Wyndham who began a powerful transformation. Yet, he did not become some godling, or a fae or some other immortal creature of myth. Instead, the author became something was very familiar with, that would easily be able to pen the book he so desire: A quill.

As soon as the transformation was complete, he was teleported away, and arrived back at his house, on his desk, with a note attached. It read: Whosoever possesses this quill shall find their words flow easily and with great aptitude far beyond their peers. Take care of this mighty instrument, and pass it down the bloodline, throughout the ages.

Modern Nights
Jonathan Smith was born in 1981 to a rather successful farming family in the heart of Kansas. As he was their eldest, his parents spared no expense in his education. They wanted him to go on to big things, and so his whole life was scheduled, practically down to the hour, from a very young age.

As great as this was for his tutelage, it lead to an incredibly boring life. He woke up every morning at 6:30, and always had breakfast by 7:30. Lunch was at noon. No earlier, no later. Dinner was at 5:30 sharp. Bedtime was the only thing that changed as he got older, but even then, late nights weren’t John’s thing. Playdates with other kids had to be scheduled around lessons. Dates had a strict start and end time. Any hanging out with friends was also planned days in advance, if not weeks.

Even birthdays were somber affairs, in comparison to other kids. His parents weren’t all that into celebrating their own, and they instilled this onto their children. About the most exciting things got was when Johnathan turned sixteen, when his dad pulled him aside after dinner. His father brought him into his study, one of the very few times John was allowed inside, and handed him an ornate wooden box with odd symbols carved into the top and sides. ”This is pen that has been handed down in our family for generations among the men. Sometimes it’s passed from father to son, like now, but it’s also gone from brother to younger brother, or even between cousins. I signed my biggest deals, and wrote up my best contracts with this pen, and it’s time for it to move on. Happy Birthday son”

Opening the box revealed a gorgeous and also very old fountain pen. Made of platinum, it had withstood the wear of ages, and the bright blue feather was pristine, despite likely being at least hundreds of years old. John cracked a smile and gave his dad a big hug. ”Thanks dad, I love it.”

College was much of the same. John decided to become a CPA, mostly to help out the financials of the family business. However, since the Smiths were already fairly well off, John was going to become a pro bono CPA, helping the poor in and around the small towns and villages where he grew up. He studied his butt off, and earned top honors, graduating with ease.

When he graduated, his parents helped him rent a small apartment in the town closest to their farm, and soon he opened his own office a couple blocks away. Thanks to their nearness to each other, he was able to walk to work every day.

In was on one such walk, that fate finally took a hand to make John’s boring, mundane life more exciting. As he made his way down Main Street to his office, several people came rushing by. Stopping one, he learned that they were fleeing a fire. Picking up his pace, worried that it might his building ablaze, John hurried down the block. He got maybe a few hundred feet when a young woman stopped him, saying that her daughter was trapped in the bathroom where the fire was. She said the blaze had just broken out, so it was going to take the fire department too long to get there. Deciding he couldn’t just wait for them to show up, and since it strangely felt like his whole life had been leading up to this moment, John dropped his briefcase and ran into the burning building. Covering his face with his jacket, he battled past the flames, and to the bathroom, where the fire had not thankfully not yet reached.. He called out to the little girl inside, who bravely made her to him. He threw his jacket over her, picked her up and ran out as fast as he could.

Handing the daughter to the joyful mother, John began to cough violently. Ash and embers had filled his nostrils and throat, and he was having trouble breathing and seeing. He soon lost his balance, and fell to the ground with a thud. The screaming mother helped direct the EMTs to her hero, but it was too late. John passed away, his last thoughts being that he had finally had some real excitement in his life, even it it was the last thing he had ever done.