Memory Archive P013: The Travelling Man

Memory Archive P013: The Travelling Man

It was, perhaps, the coldest night he had ever experienced in his life-colder even than his brief stay in the Frostfoot Caverns. The palace was heated quite generously by an elaborate series of enchanted boxes, courtesy of a Witchbaron who owed the King a debt 300 years ago. Alexander Paragon was not someone used to the cold, and so he did not know what to do with himself that night. All he could do, really, was sit by his campfire and wait for the morning- although he feared that at the rate he was going he’d be an icicle before the sun rose once more.

The lost prince had wrapped himself in the delicate silk cloak every son of House Paragon was gifted on their 13th birthday. Each cloak was woven by the Queen of Spiders, the result of yet another debt owed to a Balmorrisian King of centuries past. As the twelfth son born in this generation, Alexander’s chances of ascending the throne were essentially next to none. It was doubtful he was ever going to be owed eternal debts by mystical entities simply because of a grand chair he was born to sit in. He forsook his royal title and noble claim so he could stand a chance at earning such favours the way everybody else did- by becoming a mighty adventurer and saving those mystical beings from peril when they are unable to do so themselves.

It was blisteringly cold nights like these, though, that made Alexander rethink his life choices. Maybe he should run home and beg father to let him retake his place alongside his slovenly brothers. How nice it might be in this moment to be lounging around the palace, day in, day out, doing nothing but fulfilling every whim he may have- using the country’s coffers. No, it was too late now. This was the life Alexander Demetrius Paragon had chosen for himself. He may as well live it. Interesting things always happen after the coldest nights, he continued to remind himself.

Although, on some nights he needn't wait for the moon to go back into hiding before intrigue presents itself. Or, rather, himself. Beyond the crackling of his campfire, Alexander began to notice a man approaching. He clutched at his sword before noticing it was nothing more than an old man. Maybe six foot tall, shoulder-length grey hair and a rather unnerving smile plastered underneath his nose. He wore a bright, patchwork three-piece suit, pocket watch and handkerchief included. Atop his dusty locks rested a battered top hat, the peak of which collapsed in on itself like a cake that didn’t quite rise correctly. This man was certainly an odd one, and absolutely out of place on the Oxymoron Plains. There were no towns for at least ten miles in any direction. In fact, the only living beings around at all were wicked monsters and cheerful bears. Quite the contrast, but the plains were named the way they were for a reason. Naturally, Alexander’s tempered clutching of his sword transitioned quite swiftly into a decisive drawing of the blade.

“State your business, chap, or your head will join your feet on the dirt.” Alexander declared, quite pleased with how menacing he’d managed to come across.

“Whoa there, lad. Calm yourself. I’m just a traveller. I’m travelling right now, you see. I mean no harm, so let’s put that sword down shall we?” The man responded.

“And why should I trust you, mysterious stranger, who seems to be wandering the dastardly Oxymoron Plains unarmed? Although as long as you’re just here to see the bears I suppose you’d be fine.”

“Not seemingly. I am unarmed. See,” the man held his jacket open and spun around on the spot, revealing no weapons or anything unseemly, “now, can an old man join you by the campfire? It’s rather chilly tonight.”

“Isn’t it just? Very well, friend. Take a seat. I could use some company as it is. Cold nights prove the loneliest.” 

Alexander slid his sword back into its scabbard and re-took his seat beside the campfire, warming his hands over it as he sat down. The man sat opposite him and did the same, before removing a flask from one of his pockets and taking a drink. 

“Thirsty?” the man asked, offering his flask.

“Quite,” Alexander responded, taking it from him.

He took a gulp and paused, evidently confused by what was in his mouth. He let it sit for a minute and then swallowed it, before passing it back to the old man.

“Why, that was a most glorious beverage. But what was it? Tasted rather like cherry… but spicy? No, not spicy, oh I don’t know. I’m not sure there’s a word for it.” Alexander posited, clearly entranced with this gift.

“The word is fizzy, and that was called ‘cherryade’. It’s my favourite, although it's hard to get around these parts.” The man responded, clearly somewhat forlorn at this declaration. 

“Where did you find such a drink at all?” Alexander questioned.

“Place called ‘Earth’. You wouldn’t have heard of it. Interesting place. Quite like here, in some ways. Very different in the ways that count, though.” The man answered.

“I’ll have to go there one day, once my journeys in Balmorris have reached their end. Earth, you say? Curious.” Alexander declared, matter-of-factly.

“That’ll be the day.” the Man chuckled. “So, tell me, boy, who are you?”

“Ah,” Alexander began, “that’s quite a long story. I’ll give you the best bits, I think. Otherwise, we’d be at it for hours. Ok so: My name is Alexander Demetrius Paragon, of the royal House Paragon, I’ve forsaken my royal claim and committed to a life of glorious adventure and here we are now.”

“That’s not a very long story, Alex.” The man said plainly.

“No, I suppose not. That was just the highlights though. Did seem like more in my head. Never mind. What’s your story, old man?” He retorted.

“Oh, well. Not much of one. No, the other thing. It’s very, very long. I suppose I’ll just give you the highlights, too: A very long time ago I figured out how to live forever, I’ve spent that life travelling amongst the stars and here we are now. Oh, and I suppose you can call me the Professor. They all used to. I admit, it’s been a while since I’ve stopped to have a chat.” The Professor said in one long breath, followed by a very long gulp of cherryade. 

“Why me, then?” Alexander asked.

“Why you? Whatever do you mean, boy?” The Professor answered.

“You haven’t spoken to anybody in a long time. Why start with me?” Alex clarified.

“Oh. Well, it’s cold. You have a fire. Not to mention a sword. Felt apt to stop for a chat.” The professor answered again, looking a bit perplexed.

The two stopped talking for a little while and just appreciated the company of another person. The wandering Prince and the Professor from across the stars- quite the contrast in company.

“What troubles you, Professor?” Alex asked after a while.

“I’ve never had the pleasure of being in the company of somebody who knows my story and doesn’t want to know how I do what I do. It’s rather refreshing, if not a bit troubling.” The Professor confessed.

“No need to be troubled, old boy. You’re in the Kingdom of Balmorris. You aren’t the first strange person I’ve met, nor will you be my last. All you really are right now is someone who can make this very cold night slightly more interesting. So, tell me one of your stories- I shall not pester you with questions.” Alexander demanded with a wry smile on his face.

“Very well,” the Professor started, “ a story it is. Hmm. Ah. A good one. I’ll tell you about the day I met my wife. It was oh, six-hundred years ago now. No, six-hundred and two. I was holidaying in a rather tropical world named ‘Shakribar’. Now, Shakribar is a rather boring world. Nothing there but beaches and sunshine. Oh, and naturally occurring cherryade. It was paradise to me, but the locals got tired of it millennia ago and left to find somewhere more exciting. I was lodging in an abandoned bamboo shack on the coast, completely isolated from the chatter of the masses and left with nothing more than a few hundred books and Johnny Flynn’s entire discography. Like I said, paradise. There I was one day, finishing one of my murder mysteries and sipping on a coconut full of that delicious cherry-flavoured nectar. You can picture it, I’m sure. Anywho, I was minding my own business- just about to get to the big climax and BAM! There she was, hovering over me with an air of irksome mischief. I doubt I would’ve noticed her if it weren’t for her shadow covering the end of the sentence, making it impossible to read. I looked up to see what it was and I simply couldn’t believe my eyes. An impossible vision of beauty incarnate, stood on the beach of an abandoned planet with her arms crossed and a stern expression plastered on her face. What do you think you’re doing in my holiday home? she said. I explained, of course, that I was a traveller of time and space and that I had simply come here to relax after a very tiring adventure involving a Tyrannosaurus Rex and a very passionate cavewoman. She then proceeded to explain how she was also a traveller of space and time, and she had come here to relax after her very tiring adventure that involved a flock of feisty wyverns and an incredibly passionate English Queen.”

The Professor went on through the night, divulging every last detail of his glamorous love story to Alexander. The Prince understood essentially none of the things the old man referred to, but he was on the edge of his seat nonetheless. 

The sun eventually rose and the story reached its end and so the two parted ways. Alexander went south, in search of perilous adventures he could spin into yarns of his own. The Professor, well, he went nowhere. He opened his stopwatch, adjusted the dial and disappeared on the spot. The wandering Prince would never forget his night with the mysterious traveller. 

He soon began to hear stories over the years, whispers in taverns about an old man not unlike the Professor he once met. Stories of intrigue, and action. Epics of grand adventures and ballads of great acclaim. Perhaps, one day, they could do more together than simply chat around the fire about lost love and cherryade.

Memory covertly extracted from Guild Member Alexander Demetrius Paragon for F.B.E.C archival purposes by Head Librarian Eudora Woods- with the operational approval of F.B.E.C Covert Operations Head Fraldarius Lancaster.