The next day, Brynn was filled with hope. She had her pen name—B.R. Quill—and now all she needed to do was write. With her quill poised over a blank sheet of parchment, she stared at it… but nothing came to mind. She knew she wanted to write fables, but how could she keep people’s interest through the entire telling of her stories? True stories (albeit a bit exaggerated) were what bards were known for—not fiction like she wanted to write.
She sighed, glancing up at Geronimo, her owl familiar. “I have so much to say, Nimo, but how do I get anyone to listen? Is handing out pamphlets of my work really enough?”
Geronimo, perched nearby, tilted his head thoughtfully but said nothing. Just then, Roran entered the room, carrying a cup of tea.
He placed the tea beside Brynn’s untouched parchment. “Don’t push yourself too hard, love. Remember, it’s my day off. We can spend more time together.”
Brynn leaned back into him with a weary sigh. “But if I don’t get started now, how will I ever keep up? How do I take breaks when I’m starting at Millie’s Antiquities in less than a month? And I still have to help my mother with chores. Oh, Rory, how can I make time for fun or relaxing when there’s so much to do?”
Roran wrapped his arms around her, his warmth soothing her frazzled nerves. “I don’t have all the answers, but maybe you need a break. Sometimes, a day off is just what the mind needs.”
Brynn frowned. “How could I be so carefree when I want so badly to prove I can be a bard? My mind and body are on fire, trying to accomplish my goal. I feel like I can’t rest until I accomplish it.”
Roran held her tighter. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself. It’ll take time to write, to find readers, and to make a living from it. You can’t work non-stop until then, or you’ll burn out.”
She grimaced. “But all I’ve done so far is come up with a pen name. And that was a bigger hurdle for me than I want to admit. The problem now is that I’m unsure which fables to write or how to spread the word.”
Roran suddenly brightened. “Oh, I almost forgot! I have a few ideas about getting your stories to readers.”
Brynn’s eyes lit up with hope. “Well? Are you going to share?”
Roran grinned, scratching his chin. “Not just yet.”
Brynn gave him an exasperated look. “Rory, I don’t have time for games.”
“It’s not a game,” he replied. “Think of it as fieldwork. You want to know how to get people to read your stories, right? Let’s take a day off, walk through the village, and see how people get their information.”
Brynn tried to frown but couldn’t help smiling. “Why do I feel like this is just your excuse to get me out of the house for a fun day?”
Roran’s smile widened. “Hey, who says we can’t kill two birds with one stone?”
Geronimo hooted indignantly, and they both laughed.
“I don’t think Nimo likes that expression,” Brynn said with a chuckle.
“Well, like it or not, it’s true.” Roran’s gaze softened as he looked at her. “We need some fun together, and you need to do some research. So let’s head out for a day on the town.”
Brynn let out a small huff of laughter. “Alright, Mr. King of Ideas. But after, you’d better help me with my writing problem.”
Roran winked, pulling her to her feet. “King of Ideas isn’t my title for nothing. Now, leave the tea. I’ll make it fresh when we get back.”
With smiles on their faces and a sense of purpose, the duo headed out the door, Geronimo fluttering closely behind them, ready for the adventure ahead.
The town was not as Brynn remembered. Of course, she rarely ventured there these days, especially since moving back in with her parents. The bustling crowds only heightened her anxiety. She had wrapped herself in her cloak, the familiar weight offering a sense of security, while Geronimo, her faithful sparrow familiar, cooed softly from her shoulder. His little beak nuzzled against her neck as they wove through the crowd. Her hand never left Roran’s, gripping it tightly for fear of losing him amidst the sea of strangers.
“Remind me again why we needed to come out here?” she muttered, glancing nervously at the crowded marketplace. Roran steered them toward the edge of a busy square, pulling her into the shadow of a tall stone building where the noise dimmed slightly. He turned to face her, still holding her right hand with his left, his gaze calm and steady.
“Come now, my love,” Roran said, his voice soothing. “You promised me a day in the town. It’s not meant to be stressful.” He gently rubbed her arm, trying to ease her nerves. “Besides, you need to see what it’s like out here—where everyone will read your stories—before you can deliver them properly.”
Brynn groaned. “Couldn’t you have just described it to me?” Her eyes darted over the heads of passersby, her discomfort palpable.
Roran chuckled softly. “I would if I could, but you’d never have taken me seriously. You’d say I was exaggerating—until you saw it yourself.”
“You do tend to exaggerate,” Brynn quipped, Geronimo snapping his beak in agreement.
Roran laughed. “I see. Two against one.” He scanned the busy square. “Alright then, I can tell the crowds make you uneasy. How about I explain my ideas as we walk? It might take your mind off things.”
Brynn nodded slowly. “That sounds acceptable.”
Roran smiled. “Let’s start with your suggestion. Can you see any issues with Geronimo handing out fliers in an area like this?” He gestured toward the chaotic streets where paperboys called out the latest news.
Brynn glanced around, noticing discarded fliers scattered on the ground like fallen leaves. Travelers brushed past, some clutching their papers briefly before tossing them aside. One even used a flier to scrape mud off his boot before discarding it in the street.
“My pages would end up just like that,” Brynn said, dejected. “Trampled and forgotten.” She watched another brightly-colored flier get blown into the gutter. “I don’t want my work to be used for cleaning shoes…” she murmured, her voice tinged with sorrow.
Roran nodded. “Exactly! It’s such a waste. People have magic—why aren’t we using it to solve this?”
“Magic as… paper?” Brynn asked, puzzled.
“Not quite.” Roran’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Where’s the one place people post messages that don’t end up on the ground?”
Brynn scanned the bustling square, her gaze landing on a large wooden board near the fountain, its surface plastered with wanted posters and announcements. “The message board?” she guessed.
“Exactly!” Roran grinned. “But here’s the thing—right now, it’s all about wanted men and urgent notices. So we need to figure out how to get your stories onto something like that.”
Brynn frowned. “But fables? They’d never post fiction there. The board’s for important notices.” Looking closer, she realized not everything was as crucial as she’d assumed. “Why are there fliers for discounted arming swords? How is that an urgent or important notice?” Her brows furrowed in confusion. She had never paid this much attention to the board before.
Roran led her closer to the board, though they remained at a distance from the crowd. “You’re missing the point. It’s not about what’s written—it’s about the value people place on it. The blacksmith’s sword sale is valuable to the Kingdom because it arms adventurers who fight off nearby monsters.”
Brynn bit her lip. “But how could I ever get a place on a board like this? What value do fables have? People only tell stories to children, and they don’t come to town to look at the board.”
“Maybe not yet,” Roran said thoughtfully, “and maybe not this board. But what if we made your own?”
Brynn blinked in surprise. “My own? We don’t have land, Rory. Where would we even put it? And even if we did, how do I keep my pages safe from vandalism? I don’t want them torn down or used to scrape mud off a boot…”
Roran’s grin grew wider, his eyes glinting mischievously. “That’s where magic comes in. Have you ever heard how some cities in the Kingdom use mages to maintain their message boards?”
Brynn looked skeptical. “Why would a mage waste time on posting announcements?”
“Because Kingdom affairs are important.”
“But a mage can’t be by to keep announcements there all day,” Brynn reasoned. “We don’t have enough skilled mages in the kingdom for one to do such a menial task.”
“Exactly—but these cities found a way to power a message board with magic without a mage needing to be nearby at all! Remember those mana crystals from school? The ones that store energy?” Roran started walking again, leading them away from the crowded square.
“Of course,” Brynn scoffed. “Mana crystals store magic for spellcasting, but they’re expensive and need a mage to unleash the mana at the rate needed for the spell. And I thought that crystals were used for big spells, not to hold papers on a board.”
Roran nodded eagerly. “True, but did you know some of the cheaper, less refined crystals leak mana at a slow, controlled rate, allowing the spell to continue long after a mage has stopped casting?”
Brunn frowned. “I’ve only worked with high-quality crystals and spells that require a caster to be present. How can you use a spell with a crystal that leaks mana?” They passed a crystal shop, where the pure crystals glittered behind high prices.
“Well, my father’s an arcane engineer. They use these imperfect crystals for small, consistent power—like street lamps and small enchantments.”
Brynn mused aloud, “So you’re suggesting we use these imperfect crystals to power a spell to stick my pages to a board? That would be nice, but the crystals you’re talking about don’t unleash a lot of mana at once. The spell I would use would need to be small, which could be easily countered or torn down if enough force was used.”
Roran waved her concerns away. “Hear me out. As a kid, I used these crystals for pranks. The trick with illusory magic is they’re hard to dispel unless you know the original incantation.” He pulled out a few small crystals to show Brynn. They were beautiful, albeit not perfectly refined.
Brynn studied the crystals as he rolled them in his palm. “But I want to write fables, not make them come to life,” she explained.
Roran laughed. “We aren’t doing pranks here, so there is no need for anything extravagant. We simply make your words the illusion.”
Brynn tilted her head, trying to follow along.
“Just trust me,” Roran said, quickening his pace as they headed down quieter streets. The west side of town grew less crowded as they neared the outskirts, where Millie’s Antiquities stood at the end of the road. Outside the shop was an enormous oak tree, its trunk weathered and scarred.
Brynn’s eyes fell on a patch of bark that had been stripped away. “Oh no, the tree!”
Roran muttered a few words, and before her eyes, the bark mended itself, resuming its normal form.
“How did you…?” Brynn whispered in awe.
Roran grinned. “Simple illusion. Now watch.” He re-cast the bark-stripping illusion, then chanted another spell. Soon, the area where the bark had been stripped shimmered with words: B.R. Quill’s Legends of Great.
Brynn’s jaw dropped. She could feel the delicate threads of magic weaving between the tree, the crystal in Roran’s hand, and something else in his pocket.
“The words will stay until the crystal runs out of mana,” Roran explained proudly. “It’s not perfect yet, but it’s a start. I thought you could use your own board, and this spot’s perfect. Mrs. Millie said she’s happy with the idea, especially if it brings more foot traffic.”
Brynn approached the tree, her fingertips brushing the illusion. The title gleamed beneath her touch: B.R. Quill’s Legends of Great.
Roran blushed. “You can change the name. I just thought ‘B.R. Quill’s Legends of Great,’ or ‘B-LoG’ for short, sounded catchy.”
Brynn’s eyes glistened with emotion. “Rory, I love it. I love everything about it.” She wiped away a tear that had slipped down her cheek.
Roran handed her a piece of parchment—the item from his pocket connected to his spell. “Anything you write on this will post to the B-LoG, so long as you are close enough to the crystal.”
Brynn reached out again to feel the pull of the magic between the three items: the tree, the parchment, and the crystal. It had a steady stream, similar to how she fed a steady stream of mana to Geronimo. She felt a calmness about her. This felt perfect. She was shaping the type of bard she wanted to be.
“And don’t worry,” Roran added. “Millie was a bit startled at first with the stripped bark, but once I explained, she came around.” He smiled mischievously. “Though… she might have hit me with her cane a few times before that.”
Brynn laughed, squeezing his hand. “You’ve thought of everything.”
Roran hesitated. “Well… there’s just one small thing that might cause a problem…”
B.R. Quinn 