- 300-500 words
- Any fandom, original work, oc, etc. is allowed. (Yes, Free Reign! )
- Any genre as well: comedy, drama, tragedy, etc. or any combination. Just have fun with it!
Prompt: Your protagonist is called a different name by every person they meet in a day.
Esben
There were few opportunities for an untrained caller on the West Edge, fewer still for a young freedman, and almost none for an Eldfirien of any sort. As a reluctant member of all three groups, Esben should have been digging ditches somewhere, not standing at the elbow of the greatest mage in Kalgalay.
At least, he couldn’t be sure Mage Neldr was the greatest, but certainly he was more powerful than his old clothing and small house implied. Like most fifteen-year-olds, Esben was intrigued by mysteries, and he had only been a week into his apprenticeship before a thorny one presented itself: a question which, two years later, he still hadn’t nerved himself to ask. After all, what if his master was offended?
So today, like every Twelday, the pair were locking the house, packing the cart, and setting out on the circuit. By this means his master provided calling services to many towns who had no mage. They set up a shade in the village square and people came for charmed herbs, thief-proof locks, and advice on repelling water nymphs. It took ten days, with three or four towns a day. His master remembered everyone’s names, neither did they forget him — and therein lay the mystery.
In Arlimdel his master sold a woman tincture for her cat. She gushed, “Thank you, Mage Ferdinand!”, and instead of correcting her, his master just bowed. In Lattar a young boy greeted him as ‘Mage Hoegur’, and he waved unblinkingly. In Carrighail he was Mage Brandyce, and in Fountree: Mage Jue, and by the time an old man hugged him in Kantl, bellowing, “Why, Xerxes, you young fool! Where’ve you been hiding?”, Esben’s curiosity was again raging.
“I don’t understand how you live, only working a few hours every week,” the man continued. “I worry about you, lad. Where do you go?”
“I work,” Mage Neldr said, with a brief smile. “Torches don’t charm themselves.”
The conversation turned to business. But later, as they were folding the shade, Esben finally ventured to ask, “Master? Why didn’t you tell him about the other towns?”
Master Neldr dusted his hands on his tunic. “So you‘re finally going to ask! I was getting worried.” The words were kind, if rueful. “I don’t want him putting pieces together. Which is also why I give out different names; surely you’ve wondered.”
Esben nodded.
“You know of slavery to man, Esben. I’m fleeing slavery to something else. Once I had a large shop, money, a famous name. I learned bitterly that my pride in those things was my curse. The only way I can avoid a second downfall is to run. To do my work, live simply, and hide my tracks lest my pride find me… I know myself too well.”
The unexpected answers made Esben bold at last. “Are you really ‘Mage Neldr‘?”
“No.” His master wrapped an arm loosely round his thin shoulders. “So when we’re alone, you may call me 'Gerard Edan'. But only quietly.”
___________________________________________
And I won! *grins*
P.S. I just realized, this may not make as much sense to you all, since it's an extention of a story I wrote called 'Tybalt'. It wasn't my best, and it's too long to post here, but if you liked this enough to want to read it, maybe I can e-mail you a copy.
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