The Legend of Lefty

Lefty was very hungry. He had embarked on his journey without any food, and his stomach was doing everything it could to remind him why that had been a horrible idea. At first he brushed these complaints aside, promising himself that he'd find something to eat eventually, but after walking all day, the terrain was still naught but sand and rocks, lacking in anything that a sane person would consider edible.

Soon his throat started to protest as well. He had brought water with him of course, but that had run out hours ago, leaving him almost as thirsty as he was hungry. Eventually the sun set, as it is prone to doing, and his spine chimed in with its own grievances. It seems some primitive part of his mind was growing increasingly anxious at the thought of being out here, in the wilderness, alone, after dark; and it continued nagging at him despite his rational mind pointing out that nothing lived in the Golden Desert, deadly or otherwise.

These three organs, together with his aching muscles, pleaded with him to turn back. They warned him that they could die out here. That whatever it was that had motivated him to set out in the first place, it was not worth this. But, in a sign of things to come, Lefty ignored his body’s warnings and continued marching anyway.

Though he was half starved and a quarter dehydrated, the young man walked quickly, and with purpose. It was easier now than it had been. At first the sand was loose and deep, making each step a chore, but now he was walking on a foundation of stone with just a thin sandy coating that crunched under his boots. His march was almost nobel, one arm swinging in a wide arc, while the other held his shovel propped up on his shoulder like a weapon.

Despite his fatigue Lefty held his head high, keeping his eyes on the goal he had set; the Grungle Mountains. When he had started walking that morning they were naught but a blurry ridge in the distance. Now they loomed over him, their shape blocking the stars, making them visible even in the dark. Their approach gave him a sense that he was at least making some progress. He would reach the mountains before morning and that thought alone gave him some hope. Well, that and the red light.

You see, just as the sun had started setting, Lefty had spotted a small red flicker off in the distance. In his rather limited experience, lights were usually made by people, and people usually kept food nearby. With nothing else to go on, he decided to head towards the flickering dot, hoping that, whoever was responsible for it, they weren't as hungry or as aimless as he was.

Lefty was, of course, correct in his assumptions. As he grew closer the red twinkle became a small bonfire which had been built up against a cliff face at the foot of the mountains. And around that fire were three hefty figures cast in silhouette. Fortunately for Lefty, all three of these figures were, in fact, amateur chefs; perfectly capable of serving him a warm meal.

Unfortunately for Lefty, the trio were also grumpsters of the highest caliber, who would sooner spit in his general direction than offer him any assistance. Sadly, he wouldn't learn either of these facts until it was far too late for any of them.

Not that there wasn't some warning. The sounds that emanated from the group would have caused most travelers to, at least, proceed with caution. Slurred conversion, punctuated by coarse language and harsh laughter was echoing across the wastes. It was the telltale sound of a drunken celebration. Which is often harmless… but not always. Drunks are unpredictable, and in this case it would have been obvious to most people that the men partying here were deeply, profoundly drunk. But Lefty was not like most people. Very little alcohol made it into Ash-Tab, so he had no idea of what to expect. And to be honest, knowing him as I do now, he probably would have continued without hesitation even if he did understand the risks.

As he drew closer he could make out the figures more clearly. All three were large chunky men who were obviously older than he was, though not elderly by any means. Strangely, they were not gathered not around the fire itself, but instead, around a small box which lay on the ground a few hands away. It was a little larger than Lefty's head, and looked to be some kind of simple wooden chest. One of the men had his foot propped up on it, rocking it slowly back and forth as he talked jovially to the others. There didn’t seem to be anything special about the box… until suddenly the figure cocked his foot back and kicked it, sending the cube tumbling across the sandy rocks. It was only then that Lefty heard a fourth voice, small and muffled, emanating from inside the box.

If Lefty had been less exhausted he would have quickened his pace towards the strange party and their box of mystery… but he was exhausted, so he continued walking at the same pace, observing the scene with ever increasing clarity as he grew closer. Whatever was in the little chest, it clearly wasn't happy. This was due, in no small part, to the fact that the intoxicated men kept kicking the box in irregular intervals. Every few moments one of them would step forward and deliver a swift boot that sent the cube bouncing across the clearing. This resulted in the muffled voice letting out a series of angry shouts and colorful curses, which the men, in their drunk state, found absolutely hilarious.

Lefty did not. He frowned.

Soon he was close enough that he could hear the voice in the box more clearly, but that only deepened his frown. Whatever it was, it sounded old and wise, yet small at the same time. It was speaking the common tongue he knew, but with a strange accent that he would only later learn was from the lost continent of Tiss. It reminded him of his grandfather; a kind elderly man with a similar accent whom Lefty could just barely remember.

The old man had told stories. Stories about a dark war, a brave king, and duty of course but that last one could be forgiven. Lefty had been too young to truly understand the tales or retain any of the information, but he had enjoyed them nonetheless. Listening to grandpa’s stories was one of the few times he could ever recall being entertained; a small bright spot in an otherwise dull existence. Unfortunately the elder had passed away when he was just a small child, leaving behind nothing except a few fond but hazy memories.

That’s why his fists began to clench as he approached the ring of light cast by the bonfire. He couldn't help but imagine there was a miniature old man inside that box; a tiny little grandpa who was being mercilessly tormented by a group of much larger men. This time his walking speed did increase. He was not accustomed to this feeling, and even less accustomed to controlling it. A flash of anger consumed him as he stepped into the light, and without thinking, shouted at the men.

“Hey..” He said in a low flat voice.

It’s worth mentioning that Lefty’s never been a charismatic or emotive fellow. Even now, he’s often described as being monotone. And back then it was even worse if you can believe it. He was trying to express anger, perhaps instill fear, but his shout was annoying at best… and the awkward cough that followed it didn’t help. He sounded weak and pathetic. Hours without water will do that to you.

Needless to say, the group of aggressive drunks did not appreciate their uninvited guest. Merriment ceased, and a silence struck the valley. Their echoes of laughter slowly faded, replaced only by the ominous crackling of the fire.

“Uh. Stop doing that.” Lefty added after a moment, gesturing half heartedly towards the box with his free hand.

By this point the light of the sun had completely abandoned the desert, casting everything in long dark shadows. With their backs to the bonfire, the three figures and their box remained silhouettes, now wreathed in flickering red and orange. Lefty’s sudden intrusion was as surprising as it was unwanted, and with a combination of fear and anger coursing through their veins, all three of them quickly forgot about the box, and turned their focus entirely on him.

I'll spare you the words they spouted as they strode towards Lefty; partially because the ones I understood were quite vulgar, but mostly because it's difficult to transcribe the slurred speech of three drunken men shouting in unison. Besides, what they actually said wasn’t important. It was clear from the way they said it, that they had a problem with Lefty… and while a few simple words may have started that problem, words were not going to be the solution.

Now, as I said earlier, Lefty had abandoned Ash-Tab before becoming a guard. So he had zero combat training. And given how small and disciplined his hometown was, he also had zero experience with fighting in general. So believe me when I say, he had every reason to turn around and flee into the night. Even in his exhausted state, he could have outrun those overweight drunks. And even if he hadn’t been exhausted, fighting three men at once would have been a difficult task.

But the thought of turning back never even occurred to Lefty. That’s just the kind of guy he is.

Oh, and also, he was very, very angry; perhaps the angriest he’d ever been up to that point. He didn’t know what was going on with the voice in the box, but he knew he didn’t like it. Someone was being wronged. Someone needed help… and according to him, that was the moment when he first realized that he could help- that he could be heroic. He had never considered it before, but in that moment… something clicked into place.

His actions could have meaning. He could impact the world around him. He could DO something. Something other than just passively defend his town. He could be proactive… he could attack…he could shake things up… and though he didn’t know it until that very moment, he wanted that more than anything.

Which is why, despite his exhaustion, despite his inexperience, and despite being outnumbered three to one… he tightened his grip on that shovel and stepped forward.

Grabbing it with both hands, he lifted the familiar tool in a way he never had before, and swung with all his might at the figure nearest to him.The flat end slammed into the man’s head with a deep metallic clang that echoed across the desert as metal met skull. The attacker fell limp to the ground with a satisfying thud, and the other two men froze in place, their confident swagger suddenly replaced with uncertainty.

And in that moment, something else clicked into place. Lefty realized… that It's really satisfying to hit people… especially when those people deserve it.

For half a moment, the other two drunks stood in stunned silence, perhaps realizing for the first time that they had picked a fight with someone wielding a large blunt object; while they themselves were armed with nothing but a half empty bottle of booze. And before their inebriated minds could decide if they should try and throw that booze at the stranger, or formulate some words that might deescalate the situation, Lefty took the initiative. He stepped forward and raised his shovel again, letting out a cry that was half way between joy and anger. They could not stop him now. He was eager to see if he'd get the same satisfaction from attacking them as he had their friend.

He did.

They tried to fight back. The bottle hit Lefty in his thigh and one of them managed to scratch his hand. But with the shovel’s reach and their slowed reflexes, they didn’t stand a chance. A few more clangs echoed off the mountains, and the pair joined their companion in the sand, the orange light dancing across their motionless forms as they lay there like rocks. Lefty stood triumphant, breathing heavy, his heart racing with excitement as the warmth of the fire rolled over him.

For a moment, he simply stood there. Whatever his plan had been this morning, it certainly didn't involve fighting anyone. But now that he had, he was sure it was something he wanted to do again. He looked at the shovel in his hands as if he was seeing it for the first time, viewing that familiar tool in an entirely different light. He had a future now. He had potential. Perhaps there were other people out there that he could also smack upside the head. Who knows?

This moment of oddly violent introspection was broken by the sound of a tiny elderly voice coughing not far away. A second later it spoke, sounding wary and uncertain “Hey...” It said cautiously “What's ah… going on out there? Someone want to uhh... let me out of here maybe?”.

“...yeah.” Said Lefty after a second of thought, casually dropping his shovel to the ground as he went over to where the box lay.