Actual Play Fiction

Actual Play Fiction (#APFic) is the term I’m going to start using to describe some of the work I do. APFic is part Actual Play, part typical fiction.

GXYZTavon Gatling

Our story begins on a day much like any other.

Well, almost any other day. This day was different, so I guess I shouldn't have said "like any other."

Let's start over.

Our story begins on a rather untypical day. The sun still peeked over the horizon, on its way out, painting the sky shades of purples and oranges and reds. The village of Nairene was mostly quiet, save for the tailors' shop, which doubled as the home for the rambunctious family of seven. They always had something going on, though tonight it was even more lively than was typical.

Admir Tailor—don't mind the family name; boring and typical, but it was easy to tell what the family did—tried his best to hold back a massive smile. (And failed, miserably.) Tonight's celebrations were all about him, and it was difficult to hide his excitement.

"To Admir," his sister, Laurel, said, raising a glass high. "For finally getting the hell out of here."

"TO ADMIR!"

There was never any doubt that Admir Tailor was going to leave the quiet, peaceful life in Nairene behind. Ever since he was little, stories of the world beyond the village excited him. There was so much out there to see, so many adventures to go on, countless people to save, deplorable villains to slay. Nothing ever happened in Nairene—except that one time Mr. Wren's cow got out, but Admir knew nothing about that incident.

But, hidden behind that charming smile of his, there was a hint of sadness. Could you blame him? Nairene had been his home. It had been his home for as long as he could remember. Hell, even before then. His parents...

Hm. Interesting word. "Parents." To most, it implied the people who had some hand in the procreation process. To others, like Admir and each of his siblings, the word "parents" simply meant the ones who raised you. It didn't lessen how much he loved them. Being completely unrelated to anyone in the home did not change the fact that he would miss them terribly. He was who he was today because of them.

But he'd always known he was different, and it was pretty clear to everyone else, too. I mean, who else has emerald green eyes? He'd always wondered where he got them from. None of the villagers had them, and neither did the travelers—he'd checked each and every one. And despite constantly asking about his origins, his parents never told him.

Until two months ago.

Naturally, Admir couldn't wait to find out where he came from. That's what caused the sadness, that pang of guilt: he didn't want his parents to think he didn't love them. Finding out he was a baker's son, or an alderwoman's son, or a descendant of royalty didn't really mean much. But he had to know. He wanted to know his story. He was a lover of tales and he could not resist the calling to uncover his own.

"Addy! Addy!" His little brother, Freddy, tugged on his shirt, pointing to the center of their home. He clasped his hands together and made that pouty face that always meant one thing.

He wanted a story.

Well, who was he to deny him—or any of them, really?—one last tale told from the great storyteller, Admir Tailor?

He stepped to the center of the shop, all eyes on him. He loved the attention, and the attention loved him, there was no denying it. This was his element. Standing before the people, sharing a story, either made up or inspired by true events. Maybe a bit of both, or somehow neither. On this stage and any other, he was in control, and they all yearned to hear what he had to say. It was going to be tough leaving all of this behind.

Ah. There was a story for that.

He motioned for everyone to quiet down and move in, and he cleared his throat.

"Now, some of you may have heard this one before," he said, giving a subtle nod to his sister, Liza. It was a favorite of hers. For months when they were much younger, this particular tale was the only thing that would get her to sleep at night. For a while, he could never remember the finer details. He'd heard it from a customer passing through town. What he did remember was the core theme, and despite going through a slightly different iteration each time, it's meaning stayed the same.

"However, just because you've heard it before does not mean that it's any less important. A story you've been told a million times can mean something new at a different stage of your life, or it can remind you of how you felt when you first heard it.

"This one is about a man who does whatever it takes despite the odds against him. I call this story...Kaito's Hunt for Justice."

The story of Kaito began in the wake of a violent crime, one which affected the titular character to their core. He leaves home in search of the truth, determined to bring about justice.

While the story was not a direct correlation to his life, he did recognize that, perhaps, it had its similarities. There was longing, hurt, drive, the need to seek out the truth, no matter the cost. Admir felt that. A calling to leave home and solve a mystery. The fate of the world was not in jeopardy, like so many stories in his repertoire, and yet, the smallness of it, the personal stakes it held, made it all the more...real. Too real.

As he made a flourish with his hands, the climix of the story tugging at the heart strings of his captive audience, he wiped away a tear as subtly as possible. Had anyone seen the break in the great storyteller's facade? He stole a glance towards his parents and siblings, and his sadness deepened. They had not noticed his tear, the fault in his smile, the worry of what was to come. They were too busy crying, though they did not hide their tears as he had.

He smiled, continuing on, letting another tear fall, though he let this one linger.

The party continued for hours more until everyone left, the moon almost at its peak in the sky. And once again, the Tailor family home was quiet—well, quiet-er. Immediately, as was custom for the end of the day, every sibling took part in cleaning up, including Admir, though he moved much slower than typical tonight. It would be the last time for him.

His primary station had been the front desk, obviously, where he could interact with all the customers. He would greet their neighbors and fellow villagers, and inquire about friends and family. He would greet the visitors and point out spots around the village worth visiting. He also learned how to shut his mouth when "important" people came by. The front desk was where he found his voice and honed it.

"Got ya something." His father slid a package onto the counter while his mother stood near him, arms clasped in front of her, eagerly waiting. "I know it's not exactly fashionable but..."

After a "gentle" nudge from his sister, Wendy, Admir approached the package and opened it. Inside was a rather plain looking messenger bag. No amount of charm would have gotten this bag sold. No, really. He and Laurel had tried on numerous occasions but no one would bother. Admir had gotten close once, almost selling it to a visitor who just needed something to carry a few supplies in. It was old, worn out, and patched over multiple times. It had brown leather, with purple and red and blue and green and gold and white stitches, accumulated over the years. Yeah, no one would want this bag.

Except him.

Admir ran his hands over the mismatched stitching, forcing the sadness back down as much as possible. He'd helped repair the bag once, right under the flap. The green thread was still there, haphazardly holding the leather together in a small area. On the left side of the bag, stitching made by Liza and Freddy some years back. And there was Laurel's handiwork on the bottom, sewn together after "someone" ripped it. They'd all practiced on the bag at some point, a safe place to make errors and learn from their mistakes.

The patches on the front were new, though. None of his siblings had done this. No, this was something by his mother or father, perhaps both. A story was sewn into the leather: him coming home with them, growing up, telling stories, being a big personality.

His story.

For once in his life, he was at a loss for words. His father held his arms open and Admir fell into them, tears running down his face for the second time that night.

Apparently, he was born in a village called Kozen Crest, not too far from Nairene. While his parents were passing through, they were convinced to take him and raise him. They didn't give too many details, despite his incessant asking, but they said he might be able to find answers there. Perhaps the names of those responsible for his birth. Perhaps the reasoning for giving him up.

Perhaps, even, their true nature.

As he bid farewell to Nairene, Admir wondered if he'd ever encountered anyone from Kozen Crest before. The name didn't ring any bells, but perhaps it was so long ago that he simply didn't remember. What if he'd sold something to one of his birth parents, and never knew? What if they were regular visitors, popping in to check on their green-eyed son?

His emotions flipped, a spark of anger flaring. How could they have kept this information from him for so long? They knew just how different he was. Were they ashamed of what he could do, what it could mean?

The anger faded; they weren't ashamed, he knew that. And, feet on a dirt path, Nairene out of sight behind him, he knew why they hadn't told him before. Because of this. Like I said, if Admir had known about Kozen Crest and what it meant before, he would have been gone a long time ago. Could he really blame them for wanting to keep their oldest child a little closer, a little longer?

Admir had never travelled far from Nairene before, a fact that had most certainly caused concern when he'd first told his family he wanted to leave. While the Dales had known peace for as long as any of them could recall, he knew there were dangers out there. They may not have been the fanciful villains of his stories, hellbent on world domination, but there was harsh weather, wild animals, nefarious criminals hiding along the sides of the road. Things would try to kill him, and he would have to do his best to survive.

Lucky for Admir, he had some innate help, which was part of the reason for his journey in the first place. He was blessed, or cursed, with more than just green eyes, though those talents had only ever really been useful for sprucing up a story with some dramatics and flair. Regardless, he had his words, truly his greatest weapon. He may not have been able to talk down a bear, but he could convince a lawless swordsman to put down their weapons.

He stared at his hands for a moment as he walked, remembering cautionary words from his mother: "Be careful who you let in." He knew enough stories to know the truth behind her warning. Not everyone would accept him for who he truly was, even if he didn't know who he truly was.

The road to Kozen Crest was a strange path, twisting and turning oddly. Luckily, no one was around to see him worry. He couldn't let a simple walk make him turn back around and seek the comfort of home. Instead, he told himself a story: the Trees of Warning. A very fitting one, given his surroundings. He had heard this one from a hunter who stayed in Nairene for a few months before disappearing. It was about travelers, journeying through a forest, not unlike the one he was in, and listening to the trees. They were, after all, the guardians of the road, the sentinels tasked with standing watch. If you treated them nicely, they would protect you in turn. As he walked, he looked for any signs of the trees attempting to warn him, taking note of the many hiding spots that the area had to offer.

"Hello, there," a voice called out, snapping Admir's attention toward it. A man, about a decade or so older than him, sat content on a fallen log, one hand in the air waving, the other holding a wooden bowl.

Admir smiled. A simple conversation he could do.

If it wasn't clear before, Admir loved to talk. So what felt like a simple five-minute conversation between himself and this wandering pilgrim named Thawnym, was actually more than thirty. Admir had divulged that he was leaving home in search of work, spreading his wings, and that he was heading to a place called Kozen Crest. To his surprise, the man was from there!

"Don't bother going there though," Thawnym said with a roll of his eyes. "Place ain't all its hyped up to be. Not my fault somebody's wife liked me more!"

Admir, expert communicator, hid his true feelings behind a placating smile. The man had been kind to him, even so much as pointing him in the right direction. He'd successfully navigated his first encounter with someone outside of the safety of Nairene.

If every person he met along the way was as "bad" as this one, he had nothing to fear.