You there, adventurer!
Who decided that you could be such a thing? Isn’t ‘adventurer’ just a description of someone who becomes a tourist in the lives of others and creates havoc to fill their own emptiness? Dwell on that the next time a village burns to the ground because you decided to awaken a dragon who would have slept until it starved to death. But oh no, you had to follow the ‘Path of Forbidden Knowledge’ because you’re too damn proud to learn a trade that might make you useful to your fellow beings.
Couldn’t you have just joined the military? Any one, pick one. Oh no, that’s too much of a group thing and you use your incompetence in social affairs to brand yourself as some kind of ‘free spirit.’ You think people will write books about you? Ha!
I’m writing this from the rubble of your last conquest. Just a stamp in your stupid book, some tale you’ll use to get yourself some tail in a far away tavern where the homebodies will coo over your pronunciation of foreign words.
I supposed you’d love to create a nemesis wouldn’t you? Some kind of villain who will stop at nothing for revenge? Spit! There is no amount of atrocities I could undertake to get your attention that would match what you’ve just done to my town alone. My town? It isn’t even my town. I just live here, if you don’t mind. Sure, my job was stupid and the people ungrateful, but who elected you to be the smiter of all society?
There’s a certain style of learning that your kind is immune to. You take the brute force approach. You gather your wizards and mechanics and your fighters and thieves. Your psionics and your animal-speakers. All of you are so specialized that combined you sort of make up a single entity. Only it’s not a very smart one. It’s a child who fell asleep on the controls of a bulldozer. Every one of you as specialized as the brain cell of an ant.
When intelligent people go about solving problems . . . (read ‘solve’ not ‘look for’) . . . they realize that there are an insurmountable number of problems in any given scenario. So they begin a system of classification instead of bludgeoning ahead with brain-pulping helmets of steel. Certain problems are very much like each other even though they come in different surface costumes. What manner of strategy might prove effective across this entire range of problems?
Can certain clumps of problems be grouped into families, and a strategy devised for solving them as well? Before you know it, just a few people can change the course of civilizations in a matter of years. Introduce a new style of thinking.
I’m aware that your mages assume they have special knowledge, and that gives them privilege to work wonders against those of us not fortunate or resourceful enough to escape the binding of their knowledge. Has it ever occurred to you, adventurer, that the wizards may be artificially limiting the availability of their arcane lore? Of course not. You enjoy their reclusiveness too much. It adds a mysterious allure to your story that you associate with these babble-speakers. Or perhaps you’ve become one yourself? Refusing to take on apprentices until they’ve passed impossible tests that you could never have mustered even in the prime of your youth.
In that case congratulations, adventurer. Perhaps you are good at one thing. You are a gatekeeper of your own tall tales. Forge a path of greatness through the world that used to be indifferent to you until you leveled it!
Whatever mask you have chosen, whatever party you’re a member of or whether you’re a lone wolf at this point, remember this adventurer: Your greatest wish has come true. You are not forgotten.
Your memory has become such a problem along the ripples of your destructive wake, that a strategy has been devised to solve the core of all of you.
How to best defend against the plague that is ‘The Adventurer’?
Since what they actually seek is comfort and security . . . (for why else would they embark upon the same type of battles - the terrain and atmosphere is no matter, whether castles and crags or spaceships and stars - again and again?) . . . the world must change faster than they can destroy it.
You love stories adventurer. Tales of distant lands and phantasmagoric wonders. You love these stories so much that their existence alone is not enough. You must insert yourself in them. And not as a mere observer, oh no. You must conquer them, make them all about you. Your favorite story is a tale about all existence defined by your being.
So we’ll tell stories together. Let there be no limit to the magnificence! Many of us are working together to spread our stories around each other. Whatever idle thought pops into our heads may now travel down the wire for all to see and comment upon.
There are fantasy stories, adventurer. Those mechanically inclined among us have developed ways of mimicking the magics of legend. To watch them is a pleasant pastime for those among us like myself with stupid jobs. You should see our industry, adventurer, but I don’t know where you are.
I could take a guess that you have found a more permanent residence, but dream of somewhere more glamorous. Wealthy. What started out with such promise sank into a drunken bag of saggy skin. Oh sure, you may take all the advantage of our little network, in fact, we encourage it. Tell of your wild ideas and outrages against contemporary society. Everyone is listening! Which of course means . . . no one is listening.
The virtue of mechanics has increased the flow of time, even though we still measure it the same. Advances that took thousands of years are outshined in half-a-dozen. Even the singers of today, who used to hold all the secrets of story for the past uncountable number of years are now forgotten within a handful.
All of our fantastic stories that used to be about people just like you wish you were, adventurer, are exponentially branching out into media which even now is purely theoretical. Teams of armies. Each with its own line of impenetrable mythology. A veritable rat-king of heroes all fighting against each other while tied together and sinking into the sewage of obscurity. They are born and destroyed so quickly that even I, who helped dream this into existence, cannot keep track.
It didn’t have to be like this, adventurer. The world used to be mysterious and pregnant with power. Every secret, a story of beauty and meaning. Dreams were limitless doorways. There were teachers who laughed with the stars, balancing on the wave tips of a turbulent and clear stream. Where wonder grew with the ability to traverse. It didn’t have to be like it is now.
The way your life is slowly being sucked from you by even your own offspring, and certainly by the one you’re in love against. Most assuredly by whatever pointlessly long-winded title of whatever it is you claim to think you know about for a peasly sum.
Maybe I’m being unfair. Perhaps you are wealthy. It is of no matter. Your birthright is an emptiness that we have harnessed to drive the world. May it torture you to madness.
I know it is so. There is no need to pray.