Never Go Off-Script

Chapter 5 - Cedar's POV

I thought about my interaction with that hero almost the entire journey up the mountain. I couldn't help but wonder what he needed all my items for. The arrows, for one, were useless to him since he didn't have a bow. Sure, I could take his word for it and assume he was planning on acquiring a bow, but wouldn't it make more sense to buy the arrows after he already had a use for them?

And then there was the matter of the boots; the ones he'd been wearing looked armored — maybe battle boots. I didn't know the specifics of hero clothing, but I knew for a fact that he had no use for a pair of basic boots when he already had a pair far more durable. And no, I wasn't just being resentful because I wished I had them for the journey.

Anyway, maybe he just liked to prepare for things ahead of time. But it seemed a bit counterproductive to add extra weight to his inventory when he didn't need to.

I just couldn't figure him out. 

I was still mulling it over when I reached the top of the mountain. My feet ached — the curse of wearing stiff leather trader's shoes, I guess — and I decided it might be good to rest a little. I'd been doing this journey once a week for as long as I could remember, yet it still wore me out every time. I wondered if heroes got this exhausted after their quests.

Shaking my head to dismiss my thoughts, I sat down on a nearby rock, pulling off my boot to massage my foot. Ugh, why does he keep entering my thoughts like this? And why did it matter to me, in the first place? It wasn't like understanding him would change anything, except for maybe my knowledge of heroes. 

But still, what good did that do? I was just a trader. I didn't need to understand heroes. All I needed was to go to the docks, restock on tradeables, and return to my post only to do the same thing next week, and the week after that, and on and on. Over and over again. For the rest of my life.

I heaved a sigh, moving on to massage my other foot. I tried to clear my thoughts, to think of nothing but my journey — I wasn't even halfway there, yet. I still had a long way to go.

With that thought in mind, I took a swig from my water satchel, wishing I still had that bread with me. The hero had bought that, too, but at least I understood his need for it.

Pulling my boots back on, I continued on the path, heading down the mountain. From here, it was an easy downhill walk to the coast. I could even see the dock from here, built atop the water to harbor ships carrying all sorts of goods. It looked minuscule from where I stood, miles and miles away. 

The rest of the journey was uneventful, and I was quickly bored by the rhythmic, routine feel of it. I found myself thinking of the hero again, even though I tried my best not to. It was difficult not to let my mind wander, especially since he was the most interesting thing that had ever happened to me in my tedious life.

No matter how much I pondered, I still couldn't figure him out. But what shocked me was that I sort of wanted to. I wanted to understand what he was thinking. I'd never experienced such a thing before, and it confused me. Was that normal, or was I just weird?

"Greetings, traveler!"

I glanced up, realizing I'd been staring at my feet again. I really had to stop doing that — I kept bumping into things because of it.

There was someone approaching me. It looked like a fellow trader.

"Greetings!" I called out in response, habitually plastering a grin on my face. The trader coming toward me wore the same grin, and I wondered whether we were both the same, knowing we had to act a certain way when we were capable of behaving differently. 

I acted on a whim, which I seemed to be doing more often now that I'd ventured away from the script. I knew I should refrain from making this a habit, but it was probably a lost cause.

"On your way from the docks?" I asked, my heart racing as though I was doing something I shouldn't be — which, I supposed I was. "Did you find anything good?"

The trader merely grinned at me, her eyes blank. I stared at her, waiting for a response. But it didn't seem like I was going to get one. She didn't seem like she even understood what I said.

"Nice talk," I muttered, starting forward again.

"Safe travels, adventurer!"

I whirled around to stare wide-eyed at the trader, and my foot caught on something I didn't see. I tumbled to the ground, but I hardly felt the impact, I was so shocked.

That trader just called me "adventurer".

Couldn't she see I was dressed the same as her? I was clearly a fellow trader! What made her think I was anything different?

Baffled, I turned to watch her as she continued down the trail. What in the realm just happened? 

I stood up numbly, brushing off my clothes. Unable to process what just happened, I continued toward the docks in a daze. I couldn't understand why she called me an adventurer, and why she didn't respond to my question. Had I done something wrong?

I realized with shock that, yes, I probably did. I might've made a terrible mistake in experimenting with conversation. There was a script for a reason.

But that very thought made my steps falter. Yes, I had a script, but that hero didn't. I'd never really thought about it before, but none of the adventurers seemed to have scripts. Why were us traders the only ones following lines? Was it some sort of gimmick? Did traders have to act a certain way just to appeal to the adventurers?

I arrived at the dock well after sunset. Normally, I had some time to browse before checking into the Coastside Inn for the night, but the journey took longer this time. It was strange; I hardly remembered any of the trip here, and yet it took me longer than usual. I supposed a life-altering event would do that to you.

Inside my rented room, I flopped onto the straw mattress, too exhausted to think. And yet, when I tried to fall asleep, my mind whirred, keeping me awake well into the night. 

I couldn't help but question myself — Was there something wrong with me? Was it wrong that I could make the decision to go off-script? Should I not be able to think freely? That trader earlier today had seemed like she didn't understand the idea of unscripted conversation. In fact, from that blank look on her face, it was as if I had spoken a different language. Maybe my attempt at conversation was what made her assume I was an adventurer? But then, if traders couldn't go off script even when prompted, then what did that make me?

Sometime during my storm of anxious thoughts, my exhaustion took over my overwhelmed mind, and I fell into a restless sleep.

Tomorrow was going to be a long day.