The Chronicle of Heloise and Grimple – A Serial Adventure (Part 1)

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Writing time being at a minimum these days, I thought I’d add yet another project to my plate (if I was half as smart as I am stupid, I’d be pretty dumb). So, I present to you an experiment in serialized storytelling—the idea is that I’ll release a piece of the story, offer options for which way the story can go at the end of each installment, and solicit reader feedback on which they prefer. Then, guided by the savvy masses, I will endeavor to write the next installment, and so on and so forth.

Whether this keeps going depends on whether anyone actually wants to read it, so please do voice your thoughts in the comments section below if you want to read more (otherwise, Part 2 may begin with the caption “Because you demanded it—the end of Heloise and Grimple!” (to steal a line from the cover of the epic final issue of Team America)).

My hope is that this will be a fun, rollicking fantasy adventure that you’ll want to share with your friends. With that said, and without further ado, let’s get to it…

All’s Well That Begins Well

“Let me get this straight—we need to go into the Cave of Doom, pass through the Chamber of the Seven Horrors (mustn’t forget the ‘the’), navigate the Endless Corridor of the Eternal Darkness, swim across the Lake of the Burning Hellfire, climb the Never-Ending Staircase of the Eternal Ascent, and defeat the Undying Undead Dracolich of Death (no ‘the’ there, one assumes) to retrieve your beloved daughter?”

“Yes, yes, exactly!”

“Hmmm. Right. So, if we do that, we’ll get what, exactly?” I did very convincing things, like stroke my chin and look pensive, so that the guy would think I was actually considering this suicide mission. I wasn’t.

“My, ah, undying gratitude?” The man wrung his hat in his hand, looking sheepish.

“And…?” I raised an eyebrow. A raised eyebrow, when used properly, is a powerful gesture—sardonic, yet still classy. Not unlike myself.

“But…my daughter…you’d have my undying gratitude!!” The man really tried to sell it with that double exclamation point.

I shook my head and let out a slow, deliberate sigh. I’m very good at looking remorseful. It’s a useful talent when it comes to negotiating with morons who need adventurers to go on quests. “Look, Mr…”

“Tallos,” said the man, helpfully.

“Tallos. Right. Look, Mr. Tallos…it’s not that my partner and I don’t want to save your daughter from the dracolich—because we do, I assure you—it’s just that the undertaking of this sort of quest is generally best handled by a party of three. And, as you can see, we are only two.” I pointed toward my companion, a sickly looking gnome, who nodded sagely and coughed. “You see, there are certain protocols in questing, and the Rule of Three…well, clearly, you can tell by the capitalization that it’s a very important Rule.”

“Is it?”

“It is. Why, if we were to undertake the quest and violate that rule, I shudder to think of the consequences.”

“What would happen?” Mr. Tallos blinked.

“Oh, all sorts of terrible things.” I clapped my hands together for emphasis, and to buy myself a moment to think of those terrible things. “Well, your daughter would certainly be eaten. And then there would be the plagues of demons. And all of the starving. From the crops that failed, of course. Not to mention the bunions. Oh, the bunions we would all get!” I leaned in close. “Truthfully, Mr. Tallos…the best thing my partner and I can do for your daughter is not rescue her. We’ll all be better off.” I tapped the side of my temple in what I hoped was a knowing manner.

“Not rescue her…?” Mr. Tallos blinked again. The poor man’s brain was clearly addled.

“There’s a good man—glad you understand. Not everyone so readily grasps the intricate logic of questing, you know.” I patted him on the shoulder, stepped back, and hoisted my pack over my shoulder. “We’ll be off, then. Best of luck to you, Mr. Tallos. And to your daughter.” I bowed.

“Oh…okay,” I heard Mr. Tallos mutter as Grimple and I mounted our horses and rode away from the village.

“Well,” I said after about 15 minutes of relaxed cantering. “That was a less profitable venture than I’d hoped.”

Grimple shrugged and coughed again.

“You know, this enchantment you’re under is proving to be something of an impediment to our ability to get decent quests.” Grimple was not, in fact, a gnome, nor was he in any way sickly, but a vindictive illusionist had cast a spell on him to alter his appearance (apparently permanently, much to my chagrin, though, to be fair, probably more to Grimple’s chagrin). In reality, he is a perfectly healthy hill giant. I’ll note that hill giants are hardly the most intellectually gifted of giantkin, though Grimple was smarter than most, but the enchantment had also stolen Grimple’s voice. So, while he retained his incredible strength, stamina, and fighting skill, he could not explain those facts to anyone, and few people, given the fact that Grimple looked as though he might communicate the deadliest sort of plague simply by standing near someone, were willing to give us the opportunity to show them what Grimple could do. The fact that he’d lost his club, an impressive weapon as long as a man and twice as wide (there’s a joke in there somewhere that a lesser woman wouldn’t be able to resist, but I’m no lesser woman), in a card game the day before getting hit with the enchantment didn’t help—if he’d been able to swing that about, people might have at least given us the benefit of the doubt, despite his appearance. Everyone loves a man swinging his big club around, right?

As it stood, however, we were reduced to seeking quests similar to the one we had just declined—high risk, low (or no) reward. Admittedly, they’re the kind of quests that make for good stories, but only if you survive them. And, given that I’m much better suited to telling stories than starring in them, I prefer to stick to the low-risk kind of adventure.

Grimple reached across his mount and tapped me on the leg with his pitiful staff, a poor replacement for his lost club that would have looked like a toothpick in his hands under normal circumstances. He raised his eyebrows and nodded toward the horizon.

“I don’t know. We’re not going to get any decent work with you looking like that, and we don’t have enough liquid assets to pay a wizard to remove the spell.” I shook my head. “We’ll have to push on to Bristow. I’ll sing for supper and rooms, and then we can figure out a plan.”

I’m a bard, incidentally—a traveling minstrel and storyteller—and a very good one at that. My voice is a lilting soprano, my songs and stories of the most exciting kind (many of them written by me, I might add, some of which are based on my adventures with Grimple…liberally embellished, perhaps, but all based on actual events), and as a buxom half-elf, I’m possessed of physical charms that tend to enrapture male members of an audience.

(And yes, even we non-lesser women enjoy a good double-entendre on occasion.)

Despite my prowess, however, it was unlikely that outside of the major cities, I’d be able to earn anything close to what we’d need to get Grimple’s enchantment lifted anytime soon. Wizards are damned expensive. And terrible dressers. Those pointy hats…

Grimple sighed.

“Believe me, this is just as hard on me as it is on you.” He shot me a look that communicated his feelings on that particular statement quite clearly, words or no words. “Fine. Perhaps slightly harder on you.” I shook my head. “But, I can’t think of a way to get the kind of ready money we need, unless…”

I trailed off and started to smile. Grimple looked nervous.

“I have ideas,” I proclaimed. “Mostly brilliant.” I paused. “Partly brilliant.”

Grimple raised an eyebrow.

“What if we didn’t need money? What if we got the magic in another way?” Grimple’s eyebrow remained raised. It was an impressive feet of muscle control. Then again, I’ve seen him lift a cow over his head with one hand, swing it around like bolas, and fling it at an ogre, so I guess this was only mildly impressive by comparison (relax, bleeding hearts—it was an undead cow…yes, they’re a thing).

“When we stopped in Alkara a few weeks back, do you remember the story I told that night?” Grimple shook his head. I sighed. That’s the problem with overexposure—even the most miraculous experience, such as hearing me sing, becomes mundane after seeing it too many times. “It was the one about the magical Wishing Well of Wilkington—the one that grants wishes in exchange for tossing in something of considerable personal importance. I talked to several adventurers before I wrote that, and I’m pretty sure the Well is legit. There’s only one potential drawback—from what I’ve heard, the wish has to be worded perfectly or else the consequences may be…unexpected.”

Grimple’s expression remained unchanged. “Okay, well, that’s one option. Second option: remember last year when we saved that town from the undead cows?” (See—I told you.) “Sure, they paid us a handsome reward, but the mayor was practically falling over himself to make it clear that he was permanently in our debt. Though he might have just been infatuated with me. That said, there are a couple of wizards in that town…he may have some pull with them. Maybe he can lean on them to do the job at a steep discount.”

Grimple shrugged.

“And, of course, we could always just try to kidnap a wizard and keep him tied up until he agrees to help. Though that’s probably the least brilliant of my suggestions.” I reined in my horse as we reached a fork in the road; Grimple followed suit. “Well…what do you think? Wishing Well of Wilkington, pay our old friend the Mayor of Bibbledon a visit, or find the nearest wizard and hog tie him for a few hours?”

(Friends—don’t leave our noble adventurers hanging! Weigh in with your opinion on which course of action they should choose in the comments section below by December 16, and tune in for the next installment of the story to follow sometime thereafter!)

Update: click here for part 2!

Oh, and the actual, full story is now available! See The Chronicle of Heloise & Grimple.