• It was a typically gloomy night in Sunnyville. The rain bucketed down, the heavens groaned, the wind howled. Four luckless travellers made their way hurriedly along the muddy road with thoughts for little else but the prospect of once again enjoying good food, soft beds and – most importantly –being dry.

    Finally, they came to the threshold of the village’s only inn. The first traveller was quick to hammer on the door. From his confidence, he was clearly the leader, despite his young age of fourteen and his obvious awkwardness around the heavy sword tied to his waist. He had mousy brown hair and long nose, but he wasn’t overly ugly, nor was he particularly good looking. Behind him stood three men.

    The first was tall and well muscled. Rather fierce in appearance, he sported scars on his arms and face. He had black hair and a short beard – both just a little unkempt. He carried a long bow on his back.

    The second was short and just a little fat. He had a round face and a bulbous nose. He had a few wrinkles around his mouth and eyes that suggested he was accustomed to smiling. Compared to his companions, he seemed the most weighed down by his packs. He carried with him a lute case.

    The last man was old and withered. His face was little but wrinkles. He was a little hunched over, and he only a few white wisps on his head. At first glance, he was quite frail. Anyone to look again might have noticed that he walked with a steady step – hardly ever relying on the ornate cane he carried. He had a confidence about him, and the look of one who had seen much of the world – and knew more of its workings than most.

    Soon enough, the door was answered by a large woman in a nightdress.
    “What?” she demanded simply.
    “Please excuse us, good woman,” the boy began, “I am Jon, and this is Dale, Ben and Aberty. We’ve travelled a long way on our quest and we have little money, but Ben can perform for you if we could just stay the –“
    “BILL! THERE’S ANOTHER LOT AT THE DOOR!” the woman hollered up the stairs, interrupting him.
    “ANOTHER LOT? THAT’S THE FIFTH LOT TONIGHT!” a male voice called back. There was a series of loud thumps as the man came down the stairs. The woman stepped back as a fat, balding man came to stand in the doorway. He was clearly the innkeeper.
    “Please sir,” began Jon again, “We’ve travelled a long way and –“
    “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know the story,” interrupted the man, Bill, “You’ve come a long way yada yada yada, you’re on a quest to avenge your dead parents yada yada yada, you don’t have much money but your musician can play for me if you could just stay the night? Yes?”
    “Well, sort of but –“ interjected Jon.
    “Now, let’s see,” Bill continued, “that makes YOU the Heroic Orphan,” he indicated Jon “and YOU the Sympathetic Yet Troublesome Hunter,” he indicated Dale – the tall man, “and YOU the Bumbling Comic Relief,” he indicated Ben, “and YOU the Wise Old Wizard Guy,” he indicated Aberty “all that’s left is the Vulnerable Lov—“ Bill’s eyes narrowed. “You stay away from my daughter.” Bill paused, and then stepped out of the doorway with a sigh. “You can stay, but only because I take pity on you poor folks.”

    And so, Jon and his band stayed a while at our inn. Which is where I came in. Jon didn’t at all heed Bill’s warning – Dad’s warning. At that point a Bored Village Girl, I became intrigued by the adventure that so many of our patrons seemed to give off like fire gives off smoke. Particularly in Jon’s band. And, for that matter, in Jon himself. Yes, I became the Vulnerable Love Interest. I got captured a few times, always saved by Jon and the others of course. We were always on the move. Jon was always going on about those dead parents of his. We were off the kill the Evil Emperor that caused their death. There were a lot of mishaps along the way. Then, in one random bar fight, Jon was finally killed. He didn’t even die heroically. He wasn’t fighting for his cause. Just another frivolous death in this chaotic land of ours. I was devastated. After screaming the customary “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” and grieving and whatnot, I started to think.

    Looking back, I realised that “Vulnerable Love Interest” wasn’t a particularly good profession for anyone with any sense of self preservation. Also, vengeance never works. Thousands of Heroic Orphans go out onto the road thinking they’re the “Chosen One” because of some stupid prophesy – one that could apply to anyone, really. They all end up getting themselves killed. No, there wasn’t anything left for me in either profession, and I never really fancied settling down again. Which is what lead me to my TRUE calling.

    As the Villian.