Lore/Story Misleading Wynncraft

Based on real experiences in-game. (Certain parts, at least.)
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I'm clutching the crest, the symbol, the sign and/or badge that one is now an official.../unofficial soldier, originating from Fruma, situated in Wynn. It's given to all of the students that first attend the aca--

"Alright, listen up!" said the general, in the loudest voice that is achievable by man. Actually, I might have to check my textbook.

"Gamepedia for Wynncraft." the textbook reads.

Ah, yes. I forgot. The loudest voice and the highest possible volume that can be achieved by man is actually a scream that is only for people who want to hold a spear in their hands. The textbook is also stating quite clearly that there is a big discrepancy and difference between holding a spear, a stick, a butterknife, and a bow, or nothing at all, and if you're not holding anything, you have either regretted the idea that you have possibly stood motionless while monsters proceeded to attack you, as any place in the province of Wynn isn't safe, or you are a student being coached by a general and also being micromanaged by a narcissistic friend who thinks he is impervious to criticism.

"Ha. See? You know, Llevigar is a dock." My friend beams in front of the entire class.

"Shut up, mongrel. You're not at least Lv. 45 for that." The general gives him a flick across the face, and oh, what a blow! 5/10 health from a single flick.

My friend is probably getting increasingly more and more defensive inside right now, but he replies with nothing. Not even a dirty look, because the general just so happens to be just as sensitive as him. Well, in certain cases.

"Now all of you are going to soon get your first weapon. Remember, the difference between holding a spear, a stick, a butterknife, and a bow is a lot, and holding each one means quite a lot. I highly recommend you stick to one type of weapon and commit to it. And that weapon cannot be your fingers. Your fingers...are for special cases." The general closely stares at my friend, who is looking miserable. Very miserable.

"What about guns? Does anybody in Wynn hold a gun?" asked a student.

"No, nobody does. That's because bows are better, but this other country with machines and everything are trying to show off the damn things. 'Spells that may include decreasing one's defensive capabilities or slowing them down', they say, even though guns can't do that and bows are already enough to master. You can say that to Bob and he won't show any signs of aggression. At all."

The student whined. He said that cat collecting was much more entertaining than this.

"Now, to get your first weapon, which, mind you--yes, all of you, is a pitiful, pitiful weapon...one made of oak. Oak wood. Yes. You're going to have to pay a fee of 2 emerald blocks. This should be inherited from a certain group of people, but if you don't have it, then either ask a mercenary, beg, or hook yourself up with at least some money by working somewhere near here. Or outside of here. Who knows. Come back alive. Have fun." The general leaves his desk, waltzes out the exit and right into the other side of the nearby garderobe.

I feel terrible. I can't sit around killing grooks all day. It's no fun task, even though they're so easy to kill. I like destroying things, not grooks.

My friend, on the other hand, is already killing grooks, and I can't change him, because I'm 99% sure that his way is the "fastest" way. I leave him alone. It's funny how he doesn't care much about our friendship, even after being friends for almost 2 years. What's great, though, is that I also don't care anymore, because I'd take the general over him any day of the week. That, and a fine Oak Wood Dagger, which I hopefully assume to be fine.

~~~

"Want some fast travel to Nemract? It's a nice port," says a nearby driver. His buggy is decked out with green. Actually, everything is green, and his horses are brown, which I assume to be terrible horses.

I'm also guessing he's in desperate need of money too, considering Nemract looks run-down and old.

"Whatever." I take him anyway, and he brings me there for the price of 10 emeralds only, which is a quest reward for "Chicken Massacre Part I."

I look around for certain opportunities that'll get me 2 emerald blocks, which, keep in mind, I do not even know how many emeralds is 2 emerald blocks.

Oh, hey. There's a building over there that has almost all of its lights on and has lots of people in it. Let's just assume it's cool and it'll get me lots of emeralds that aren't originally mugged from living/half-living abominations.

I slam the door open and the inside of it is absolutely beautiful. It's the only place in Nemract that is vibrant and still standing on it's legs. Its sanitation is decent, but what shines is how much social interaction is concentrated and present in that one place. Some are roleplaying, but I don't know who they're supposed to be, or who they are, in all honesty. Heck, I thought this place would be shady. It's actually filled with beer. And only beer. And stools, black wooden stools.

A bartender comes over to me and asks, "What'll it be?" He preemptively curls his fingers around a cup.

"Yes, I'd like 2 emerald blocks," I reply.

"..."

"Let me rephrase that. I'd like a job."

"You're..."

"I need 2 emerald blocks so I can get out of here and murder things."

"Ah, an aspiring adventurer! How brave of you! Why, we would like to have you on the job very soon! And I will pretend to support you here just in case you make it later! Why, yes! Here, take a shot, on us."

He hands the small glass of alcohol right to me, as if everything were already planned. Or it's just that he's maybe had a bad day. No. No, no. Dammit, I need 2 emerald blocks, come on! Don't ponder arbitrary things.

"Alright, hop right in. You're on the job." He tosses me an apron.

"Wait, what....?"

A man walks in with a gigantic hammer on his back and asks for "mead". Luckily, I don't know what "mead" is, so I just grab the closest thing that's of an orangish-brownish color and pour it in.

"20 emeralds," I say.

"Thanks." The man with the hammer takes a sip. "Hey, want to see my Alkatraz?" He pulls out his gargantuan hammer thing and shoves it in my face.

"No, I'm fine. Never seen a man holding a hammer before. Bet that makes a big difference, mannnnn," I reply, in a sarcastic tone.

"Well, actually--"

"Oh, look, mead. I found mead in the drawers. That's interesting. I love mead. Do you love mead? I love mead. Okay."

"Okay, yeah, yeah, but--"

"I'm here to give you a drink, and then you'll leave. That's the cycle."

"Of course! How smart you are. I have to say--"

"You're not getting stuff for free."

"Oh, that's not my initial intention--" The man digs through his pockets and finds nothing. He must've planned this. Or he hasn't, and is just thinking about how he shouldn't be even paying for a mediocre drink like this. I'm not a drinker, and I think wine is absolutely disgusting, but now that I'm reluctantly passing drinks left and right I finally know why green stones are the practical essence of life which can also come in the form of blocks, a butterknife, or a "Coca-Cola" before artificial coloring, which is an exotic drink, I've heard. And generating and/or making green stones is the pinnacle of living in Wynn. Perhaps, even for people with huge hammers, perhaps weapons larger than that.

I let him have it, but I didn't let him have it. He's off the hook, I couldn't care less.

"I'm having a bad day," I reply.

The man's eyes dart across the room, and, since I get bored quite easily, I take out my crest and pin it onto my tunic. Ain't nothing else to do, so why not look a bit more fashionable while you're at it.

The man then settles down. "Well..." he mutters under his breath, and slowly takes out the hammer.

My heart is pounding as fear grips my body. I curl my fingers around the handle of the closest thing I can find. A glass cup. Good. I can smack it right in the middle near his neck area, and...

I panic, but not enough to make it seem like I'm actually panicking. Which seemed to be effective, due to the man, while in the process of getting ready to murder such a loyal, trustworthy bartender, being able to take a good look at my Knight's Crest.

He pauses and yields the further unveiling of the hammer. "Oh. A soldier, huh?"

"..." I'm panicking, regardless of his body language. Him, being motionless and seemingly slightly more relaxed, still frightens me. Give me my 2 emerald blocks. Give me my 2 emerald blocks. My 2 emerald blocks, I tell you, right now, give me protection, and give me the 2 emerald blocks I deserve. I demand you give me the two damned emerald blocks. I'll get out of here. I promise.

"What is a soldier like you doing here?" He stares at me, one eyebrow raised. The kind of look I would give him if I had a giant hammer to defend myself with.

"Well, I respect that. Hey, now, here's a tip. Stay on your feet, and don't mindlessly drop things." He walks out of the bar, as if we had just finished a friendly, leisurely conversation.

~~~

After a couple of minutes, I collect myself and recover. ...Alkatraz. The hell was that? You know, wait a minute.

I care, alright. I care about Alkatraz, a whole, whole lot. I care about hammers. I care about money. Sure enough, I cannot get my mind off of that hammer.

An entire party charges into the bar, and, like the bartender I saw earlier, I grip my hand on the handle of a nearby cup in preparation.

On the counter, I'm ready to bring it out as the group of people are approaching me, and I see a single, shining green stone. One.

"Whatever it takes," I say.

I pocket that emerald and start to focus all of my energy into orangish-brownish liquid. I forgot to mention that seems like the only thing we have here, and the only thing that's been served for a good hour or so.

"Just saying, we're taking 10% of the dough you're rolling in," a voice says behind me.

It's the bartender. The other one.

"Good work, champ! Keep it up!" He disappears into the inner workings of the bar and then into a walk-in closet.

Geez.

 

Art

My brain jumped to the dirty side when it described the man shoving his "hammer" into his face.


Now this is Modern art

 

this is masterpiece
i want to write a whole book on it now :/:/:/