Category: Not parenting

Once upon a time, in the village of Seven Stumps in the Greater Wetlands that surround Central Smogsville, there lived a family of doomgoblins. Like many of the residents of the Greater Wetlands, the head of the family worked at a guild in Central Smogsville, travelling there each day along with the other grumphogs, slumbears, surlypigs and slothtoads. He expected that his son would probably grow up to do the same.

The son was called Dfffd, and in many respects he was a typical doomgoblin: short and stout; totally bald except for his ears and his toes; and annoyingly pedantic. He studied Potioneering at an Academy in the Greater Wetlands. Potioneering is the art of creating magical items from base ingredients. However, over time, he found that his true calling was Thoughtweaving: the art of creating magical items from nothing but abstract thought. He was quite good at it, too.

After he had graduated from the Academy of Potioneering, Dfffd didn’t take a job in Central Smogsville after all, but instead accepted an apprenticeship at a small guild in the outer Greater Wetlands area. The guild quickly discovered that Dfffd was both better and more interested in Thoughtweaving than in Potioneering, and he soon became a specialist in the Inner Circle of Thoughtweavers.

He worked for the guild for a few years, living in a communal cave and occasionally hiking home to Seven Stumps to see his family. One day, the leader of the Inner Circle invited him to take up a new challenge: to travel abroad, to the mysterious Middleshire, where they needed to establish a new clan of Thoughtweavers-in-residence. Dfffd didn’t know much about Middleshire, except that it was very backward compared to the Greater Wetlands. But he had heard that it was also very beautiful and exotic, and the Sun always shines there.

And so Dfffd packed up his Thoughtweaver’s wand, and his catsquealer, and his few other meagre possessions, and hitched a ride to the far side of the world.

At that time, in Old Cloisters in Middleshire, in a cave overlooking the River Willow, there lived Rrånnjjåå, the beautiful daughter of a troll and a man of the forestfolk. She had inherited the best from both: from her mother, a sense of benign mischief and a deep love of family; from her father, skilled hands and a sharp wit.

She had graduated from a local Academy as a Counter of Beans. She took a job at a local guild as an Inspector, and was so good at it that she was quickly promoted to become a Chief of Inspectors of Counters of Beans.

When she wasn’t counting beans, Rrånnjjåå lived a simple, happy life. She liked tending to the wounded animals that she sometimes found on the riverbank. And once a week, she would take her sidewhistle down to Leah’s Tump, along with her other friends who played the megacatsquealer and superrasper, and they would play tunes together until it got too dark or until the local grumphogs started to complain about the noise.

After some time in Middleshire, Dfffd discovered that he was getting bored. He had exhausted most of the possibilities that Middleshire seemed to offer. It was not as mysterious as he had been led to believe, and the Sun definitely did not shine every day; although, undeniably, it was a beautiful part of the world.

Along with some of his fellow Thoughtweavers, Dfffd had explored and hiked and scrambled, and he had seen all that he wanted to see from the highest hills and deepest caves.

He had bought himself a parphorn with the intention of teaching himself; but his poor playing had soon annoyed the other residents of his cave so much that he was forced to move out. He eventually settled in a pothole of his own on the outskirts of Old Cloisters. There, he spent many evenings alone, half-heartedly Thoughtweaving his own pointless magic.

One day, it suddenly occurred to him that maybe there were other amateur minstrels in Middleshire, who might be looking for a good catsquealer player or maybe even a bad parphornist to join them. And eventually, one evening as he wandered listlessly through the wilderness, he heard the trills of a sidewhistle floating on the wind; and he followed the sounds all the way to Leah’s Tump, where he finally found Rrånnjjåå and her band of minstrels.

Rrånnjjåå and Dfffd were married in the traditional way: by planting a tree and dancing like lunatics. They moved into a larger cave together. For a while, at least, they carried on playing with their band of minstrels: Dfffd even bought himself a megaparphorn to add booming drama to their music, and to annoy the local grumphogs as much as possible.

Sometimes, they hiked together back to the Greater Wetlands to visit Dfffd’s family. And sometimes, they saved up enough for a fare on a windjammer. They sailed the great oceans, visiting the relaxed, palm-fringed Sunshine Archipelago; and the lonely, foggy sand dunes at the bottom of the world; and the beautiful Lost Cities of the Islands of the Terraheart; and the rugged fjords and mighty cascades of Rrånnjjåå’s mother’s homeland.

Rrånnjjåå eventually joined a different guild, as the Supervisor of Chiefs of Inspectors of Counters of Beans; and Dfffd took on a new role as Master Pedant at his guild.

In general, they were happy. But Rrånnjjåå couldn’t help but think that there was something missing.

And she was nearly right. But it wasn’t something that she was missing, it was someone. Someone that neither of them had ever met.

This stranger’s name was Elfee.

To be continued.