Imagine this: I used to be a normal farm kid until the Darklord took me as his host. For five years, I was a shell for that tyrant who nearly conquered everything. When he fell and I was freed, everyone knew I wasn’t at fault—but having the face of a once-great evil makes folks uneasy. Rumor had it I kept his powers, so I ran with it. Turns out “Former Darklord For Hire” was a great brand for a bounty hunter.
The Wyrd Interlude:
In a wyrd realm, where old dominion crumbles into daily bargains, those who once ruled now trade cunning for coin, and the memory of fear glimmers like a tarnished badge of old authority. This—is wyrd fiction.
“Don’t mind Jenn here,” I say to the barkeep, tossing a thumb over my shoulder. “She’s just in love with the Darklord I used to be.” I shrug. “But I’m not that guy anymore. Sure, I might have crazy powers and this badass bounty hunter gig, but I’m not evil.”
Behind me, Jennifer steps closer than comfort allows. I glance back. “Five feet, Jen. Some space, please.”
“Who is she?” the barkeep asks.
“Ah, fair question.” I gesture broadly. “The wicked one had a few… attractive acolytes. Actually, more of a harem, really. Can you believe that? I mean, I couldn’t get a date before, and suddenly I’m losing my virginity in these depraved ceremonies. Without the whole world domination context, that might’ve been a highlight of my life. Instead, it’s a weird regret.” I wave it off. “Anyway, that’s where Jenn here comes from.”
I clear my throat. “Her real name’s Jen’dfee Dofeman—but I call her Jenn. Pure crazy, this one. Believes the Darklord’s spirit still simmers inside me. She claims that’s how I wield such fantastic power.” I drop my voice conspiratorially. “Between you and me, I’m mostly faking it.”
I slap the bar lightly. “Which brings me to you! The reason I’m here.”
The barkeep is a wall of muscle, built like a redwood tree. He lifts a broad axe with dried blood on its double blades, steps around the bar, and sits next to me, resting the weapon across his lap.
“Girthy man,” I joke. “Physically? You’d flatten me like a pancake.” I gesture to my scrawny frame. “But I’ve got spells—sorry, magic—ah, thank you, spells.” I nod at him. “And before you raise that blade, poof, you’re done.”
The redwood man raises an eyebrow. “Your point?”
I lean closer. “I’m new to these spells,” I admit, voice dropping low. “According to law, I gotta tell you I’ve, um, accidentally killed a few bounties. By mistake! I’m no murderer—just a guy who isn’t great at spell precision. Think of a horse that can run fast but can’t coordinate all four legs yet.”
He snorts. “So you’re telling me this, hoping I’ll just surrender?”
“That’s right,” I say cheerily. “I know what you’ve done, you know what I can do—allegedly—and we skip the bloodshed.”
The barkeep huffs. “You know how many men I’ve killed?”
I unfurl a bounty scroll. “Indeed, and not just men. You’ve done awful stuff up north too.”
He protests, but before he can, there’s a sudden crunch. His head slams against the bar, again and again, then he’s tossed unconscious to the floor.
My eyes roll upward. Over the fallen giant stands Jennifer, tattered black robes swishing. “Dang it, Jenn. I had this one!” I shout.
She flips him onto his belly and binds his arms. “You were taking so long, my love.”
“I was doing it my way,” I huff. “You need to respect my process.”
“Hunters hunt, not chat with prey,” she says simply.
“Maybe,” I concede, “but I’m trying a new style, alright? Just… let me do it my way next time. Have my back.”
“Okay, my love,” Jennifer says sweetly.
She waves a hand, chanting softly. The barkeep’s body floats at waist level, and she guides him toward the door.
“I’ll load him in the wagon,” she calls.
“Great, you do that.”
The tavern patrons are silent, eyes wide. Are they confused? Terrified? I smile, deciding it must be terror. Perfect.
“Sorry about Jenn,” I say, giving them all a measured, stern look. “Tell your friends.”
One patron lifts an eyebrow. “Tell them what?”
I pause dramatically. “For Hire, Former Darklord,” I say, tapping my chest. “They know,” I nod. “You all know.”
I turn and leave, hearing them exhale as I go. Maybe it’s relief. Maybe laughter. Doesn’t matter. In my mind, they fear me. And that’s good enough.
The Wyrd Curtain:
In the tangled web of the wyrd, a new path emerges for any who would remake themselves. Take with you this lesson: fate drifts like smoke in tavern light, never settling where we expect. So, wander off the beaten path, and remember—Wyrd Worlds yet await.