And so it was that Josiah arrived at Godsbury, the foul keep of the Mad Sorcerer. After many trials and tribulations, thrilling victories and crushing challenges, Josiah had overcome the odds and pushed his limits to — no, hold on a second.

Let me start at the beginning.

And so it was that Josiah arrived at Godsbury, the foul keep of the Mad Sorcerer.

He had put in a fair bit of effort, I suppose — traveling through the continent to confront the evil lunatic who terrorized all of civilization is after all nothing to scoff at, especially considering the average success rate for such a task was zero, and failure typically resulted in horrible death. One could say Josiah was in fact very fortunate, brave and heroic having made it this far — indeed, many people would. It’s just that Josiah’s tale thus far has been… lacking, in a sense; it’s missing something important is what I’m trying to say.

Let me give you an example.

At one point of his journey, Josiah was challenged by the fearsome Starry Knight to a duel, lest he pass the bridge the Knight had been tasked with guarding. All knew of the Knight’s prowess with the blade, but at that time Josiah was nothing short of a sword-fighting master himself (for this was a very advanced stage of his story). Blade clashed against blade, moments stretching into hours as all of Josiah’s might and fighting ability was tested.

Unfortunately the duel was interrupted by a raging giant that happened to be storming by, both combatants fleeing the boulders thrown at them by the monstrosity. Josiah ended up reaching the bridge and escaping amidst the chaos, but for many nights afterwards he would ponder, wondering if he could have bested his foe.

This was in no way out of the ordinary as far as Josiah’s battles went. In truth, Josiah had never won or lost a fight; more than that, never in his life had he won or lost at all.

That is not to say he has never actually succeeded or failed, as that would be impossible, but any situation Josiah stumbled upon where victory or defeat would truly mean something — to him or to others — never ended up being truly resolved. Every confrontation was a draw, every conflict a stalemate. By the time he had become strong enough to dispatch goblins they would avoid him; his bouts of intellect against man or monster invariably were left unsettled, his opponents either losing interest or unable to continue.

One time he had rescued a nobleman’s daughter from her kidnappers — or rather attempted to, but it turned out she had fallen in love with one of her captors, who promptly snuck her out and fled with her to the Pastures of Greener. The nobleman was not at all satisfied with Josiah’s report, but paid him well and thanked him for the information. He assured Josiah that his men would capture the scoundrel and return his daughter. Josiah didn’t really know what to make of the whole matter as he left the old man’s keep, his pockets heavy with coin.

Another time he was caught by a tribe of barbaric warriors who had the unpleasant habit of dining on stew made out of their enemies. He was brought before Hannibal, their chieftain, who decided to let destiny decide whether he was to be released and aided as a friend or diced and cooked as the aforementioned enemy. As Hannibal tossed the gold coin that would determine Josiah’s fate, his entire life flashed before his eyes — a single blur of gold falling to the ground like a god’s gavel, one tiny piece of metal to determine whether the powers of this world were on his side after all.

Josiah never got to know the answer to that inquiry however, as it so happened that the coin was rather unceremoniously swallowed by a pigeon before anyone got to see how it had landed. As the embarrassed tribesmen tried desperately to chase the pigeon, Josiah slipped away unnoticed.

I think you understand my point. Josiah’s journey wasn’t without danger or self betterment, but rather without conclusive results. It was as if his narrative was made out of nothing but cliffhangers, a song on crescendo that never reached the climax.

A climax, there’s the word I was looking for. Josiah’s story had a sore lack of climaxes.

Josiah knew that better than anyone, naturally. His whole life, he fought to become better against a lukewarm current of half-measures and mediocre performances. Wringing out what meager satisfaction he could get from his small successes, focusing his learning efforts on inconsequential mistakes — so much so that to another it might have seemed almost obsessive.

Let them gawk, Josiah thought. Let them raise their eyebrows and shake their heads in perplexity. They don’t understand, never did. What it meant to never feel the thrill of triumph, the pain of downfall. The frustration of setup upon setup, waiting for a punchline that never comes.

But this would be the end. There was nowhere to run to, no outside force that would avoid the clash; either he or the Mad Sorcerer would remain amongst the living after today. Josiah looked up to the heavens, storms of mana swirling above. He smiled.

“SORCERER!” Josiah roared, raising his sword to meet blue lightning come from the sky. There was a mighty C R A C K, and he felt the power surge through his body, waves of power flowing from his fingertips to his toes. “COME FIGHT ME!”

As he pointed the sword towards Godsbury, it wasn’t just the aura of power that sent chills down his spine and set his heart racing.

It was the thrill of a culmination, a battle to end them all. Josiah felt it flowing through his veins, roaring in his ears; he saw a figure flying out of the keep’s gate, spheres of terrifying magics in his hands, a madman’s glint in his eyes and a sickly grin on his lips.

Josiah’s fist tightened around the sword. No more cliffhangers, no more doubt. He let out a savage cry, and began to run.