The sun hung lazily over the bustling town square of Eldoria, casting golden rays across the cobblestone paths and the chattering crowd that had gathered for the day's spectacle. It wasn't every day that the Brave Party, the most celebrated band of adventurers in the realm, made a public appearance, and the townsfolk had turned out in droves, their faces alight with anticipation. Stalls lined the edges of the square, hawking everything from roasted chestnuts to enchanted trinkets, while children darted between legs, giggling as they mimicked sword swings and spellcasting gestures. The air buzzed with excitement, a palpable energy that seemed to hum in tune with the magical currents flowing beneath the earth—currents that fueled the very essence of this world where warriors, mages, assassins, priests, and tanks honed their crafts through the absorption of magical energy.
At the center of it all stood the Brave Party, a quintet of heroes whose names were whispered in awe from the smallest hamlets to the grandest courts. There was Magnus, the towering warrior with a beard like a lion's mane and a greatsword that gleamed with runes of power. Beside him stood Tara, the elegant mage whose robes shimmered with every color of the rainbow, her staff tipped with a crystal that pulsed with contained magic. Then came Kael, the assassin whose cloak seemed to swallow light itself, his daggers glinting ominously at his hips. Next was Seraphina, the priestess whose serene presence calmed even the wildest beasts, her hands glowing faintly with healing light. And finally, anchoring the group with his massive shield, was Torin, the tank whose armor clanked like a walking fortress.
But today, the focus wasn't on their heroic exploits against demons or their daring quests into forgotten ruins. No, today's event was something entirely different—a public expulsion. The crowd murmured, their curiosity piqued as Magnus stepped forward, raising a gauntleted hand to silence the chatter. His deep voice boomed across the square, carrying the weight of authority and a hint of theatrical flair.
"People of Eldoria!" Magnus began, his chest puffed out like a peacock displaying its feathers. "We, the Brave Party, have gathered you here to address a matter of great importance. For too long, we have carried a burden—a weak link that has hindered our noble mission to protect this land from the rising tide of demonic forces!"
A ripple of gasps and whispers spread through the crowd. Who could this "weak link" be? The Brave Party was legendary, their every battle a tale of triumph. Magnus paused for dramatic effect, his eyes scanning the audience before he turned and pointed a meaty finger toward the back of the group. There, standing awkwardly with a lopsided grin, was Finn—a slight figure in a patched robe, his brown hair falling into his eyes, and a leather satchel slung over his shoulder that seemed to bulge with an assortment of odd tools and ingredients.
"Behold!" Magnus declared, his voice dripping with mock indignation. "Finn, the so-called 'support' of our party, has proven himself utterly useless! His lack of combat prowess, his bumbling attempts at assistance, and his constant distractions have brought us to the brink of disaster one too many times. Today, we cast him out!"
The crowd erupted into a mix of laughter, jeers, and sympathetic murmurs. Finn scratched the back of his head, his grin widening as if he'd just been told a particularly bad joke. He shuffled his feet, the hem of his robe catching on a loose cobblestone, and with a theatrical stumble, he nearly toppled over. The crowd roared with amusement, some tossing half-eaten chestnuts in his direction, which he dodged with an exaggerated flail of his arms.
"Oh, come on now," Finn said, his voice carrying a playful lilt as he regained his balance. "I wasn't that bad, was I? I mean, I made you all those lovely sandwiches last week!"
Tara stepped forward, her staff tapping the ground with a sharp crack that silenced the laughter. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she fixed Finn with a stern glare. "Sandwiches?" she echoed, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Those soggy messes nearly poisoned us, Finn! And don't get me started on your 'healing salves' that turned Kael's arm green for a week!"
Kael, ever the silent type, nodded solemnly, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. He crossed his arms, his cloak fluttering as if caught in an unseen breeze, and muttered, "I still have nightmares about that rash."
The crowd howled with laughter, and Finn clutched his chest as if wounded, staggering back a step. "A rash? My finest work, and you call it a nightmare! I'm heartbroken!" He dropped to one knee, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead in an exaggerated swoon, prompting another wave of chuckles from the onlookers.
Seraphina, her voice soft but firm, joined the fray. "Finn, your heart is in the right place, but your skills are… lacking. Your navigation led us into a swamp last month, and your cooking nearly burned down our camp. We need warriors, not… whatever you are."
Torin, the tank, let out a booming laugh that shook his armor. "Aye, lad! You're more likely to trip over your own feet than hold a shield! Best you find a new path—maybe knitting or something equally harmless!"
The crowd's laughter peaked, and Finn sprang to his feet with a dramatic flourish, brushing imaginary dust off his robe. "Knitting? Me? I'd knit you all scarves so ugly you'd beg for the demons to take you!" he retorted, winking at a group of children who giggled uncontrollably. He then turned to the Brave Party, his expression shifting to one of mock hurt. "But if you insist on this grand exile, I suppose I'll have to wander the land, a lone soul seeking redemption!"
Magnus raised his greatsword high, the blade catching the sunlight in a dazzling display. "Then go, Finn! Leave us, and may you find a purpose worthy of your… unique talents!" With that, he brought the sword down in a sweeping arc, stopping just short of the ground, the gesture more for show than threat. The crowd cheered, some clapping, others shaking their heads in amusement as Finn gave an exaggerated bow.
But beneath the theatrics, there was a secret—a carefully orchestrated plan known only to the Brave Party and Finn himself. Finn wasn't the weakling they portrayed. Far from it. His lack of a combat class was true, but his mastery of life skills—cooking, crafting, healing, navigation, and more—was unparalleled. He had absorbed magical energy from every ley line, mana spring, and enchanted artifact they'd encountered, pushing his abilities to thresholds beyond what most could dream of. He was, in fact, the strongest member of the party, a fact the others acknowledged with grudging respect. The expulsion was a ruse, a way to let Finn pursue his dream of forming a second team to tackle the Demon King from a different angle, doubling their chances of victory. None in the crowd knew this, and Finn intended to keep it that way.
As he straightened from his bow, Finn caught Magnus's eye. The warrior gave the slightest nod, a signal that the performance was a success. Finn returned a subtle wink, then turned to face the crowd once more. "Well, folks, it seems my grand adventure begins now! Wish me luck—I'll need it with these clumsy feet!" He took a step backward, only to trip over the same loose cobblestone, tumbling into a nearby fruit stall with a crash that sent apples and pears rolling everywhere.
The crowd roared with laughter, some rushing to help while others pointed and jeered. Finn emerged from the wreckage, an apple stuck comically on his head like a hat, and he plucked it off with a sheepish grin. "See? Told you I'd need luck!" he called out, tossing the apple to a child who caught it with a delighted squeal. He dusted himself off, adjusted his satchel, and began to shuffle toward the edge of the square, the crowd's attention slowly shifting back to the Brave Party as they struck heroic poses for the townsfolk.
As he moved away, Finn's mind buzzed with plans. The Brave Party had agreed to this charade because they trusted his vision—two teams, one led by Magnus, the other by Finn, working in tandem to outmaneuver the Demon King's forces. Finn's role would be to gather a team of misfits, those overlooked by the traditional adventurer guilds, and turn them into a force to be reckoned with. He'd hide his true power, letting them grow under the guise of his "clumsiness," all while absorbing magical energy to push his own abilities further. It was a risky gambit, but one he relished.
The square faded behind him as he reached the outskirts of Eldoria, the cobblestones giving way to a dirt path that wound into the rolling hills. The laughter and cheers grew distant, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the distant call of a hawk. Finn paused, glancing back at the town one last time. The Brave Party was still basking in the crowd's adoration, their figures small against the colorful backdrop of market stalls. He smiled to himself, a mix of amusement and determination settling in his chest.
"Right," he muttered, adjusting the strap of his satchel. "Time to find some misfits and make a mess of things." With that, he set off down the path, his robe flapping slightly in the breeze, the weight of his secret power a quiet hum beneath his skin. The journey ahead promised chaos, comedy, and perhaps a touch of glory—if he could keep his act together.
The path led him toward Smudgewick, a small village known for its rough-and-tumble inhabitants and its proximity to a minor ley line, a source of magical energy that Finn intended to tap into. The walk was uneventful at first, giving him time to reflect on the events of the morning. The expulsion had gone off without a hitch, the Brave Party's over-the-top performance ensuring that no one would suspect the truth. Magnus had been particularly convincing, his booming voice and exaggerated gestures turning the event into a spectacle worthy of a traveling theater troupe. Tara's sarcastic quips had added just the right amount of bite, while Kael's stoic nod and Seraphina's gentle rebuke had sealed the deal. Even Torin's hearty laugh had felt genuine, though Finn knew it was part of the act.
He chuckled to himself, recalling the apple-on-head moment. It had been unplanned, a genuine stumble that he'd turned into a bit of improv comedy. The crowd had eaten it up, and it had cemented his image as the bumbling fool. Perfect. The less anyone suspected his strength, the better. He'd need that cover to build his team, to find those who'd been cast aside like he had—though, of course, his "casting aside" was entirely voluntary.
As he walked, Finn's senses attuned to the magical energy around him. The ley lines beneath Eldoria had been rich, their currents feeding into his body with every step he'd taken in the square. Now, as he moved further afield, he could feel the energy thinning, but it was still there, a faint pulse that he drew into himself with practiced ease. Unlike the combat-focused members of the Brave Party, who relied on structured training and specific thresholds to advance their classes, Finn's growth was more organic. He absorbed energy from the environment—mana springs, enchanted objects, even the residual magic left by battles—and used it to enhance his life skills. Each threshold he crossed unlocked new abilities, from crafting finer tools to brewing more potent potions, and he was nearing the next one, a milestone that promised something significant.
The path dipped into a shallow valley, and Smudgewick came into view—a cluster of weathered buildings with thatched roofs, surrounded by patchy fields and a rickety wooden fence. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the faint sound of a blacksmith's hammer rang out. It wasn't much to look at, but Finn felt a spark of excitement. This was where his new story would begin, where he'd find the misfits who'd become his team. He adjusted his satchel again, feeling the weight of his tools—hammers, a small cauldron, a bundle of herbs—and took a deep breath.
As he approached the village, a group of children playing near the fence spotted him. Their game of tag paused, and they stared, their eyes wide with curiosity. One of them, a boy with a mop of red hair, pointed at Finn's robe. "Hey, you're that guy from Eldoria! The one they kicked out!"
Finn stopped, spreading his arms with a theatrical sigh. "Guilty as charged, young sir! Cast out like a stray cat, left to fend for myself with nothing but my wits and this fine robe!" He twirled, letting the patched fabric flare out, and the children giggled.
"Did you really make sandwiches that bad?" a girl with pigtails asked, her nose wrinkling.
"Worse!" Finn declared, dropping to one knee to meet her eye level. "They were so soggy, they could've doubled as swamp water! But don't worry, I'm working on a new recipe—something with extra mud for flavor!"
The children burst into laughter, and the red-haired boy stepped closer. "Are you staying here? Smudgewick's full of weirdos. Maybe you'll fit in!"
"Weirdos, eh?" Finn said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Sounds like my kind of people. Maybe I'll start a weirdo club—membership's free, but you have to trip at least once a day!"
The girl with pigtails clapped her hands. "I trip all the time! Can I join?"
"Absolutely!" Finn replied, standing up with a grin. "First meeting's tomorrow. Bring your best fall!" The children cheered, then scampered off, leaving Finn chuckling as he entered the village.
The main street was narrow, lined with shops and homes that leaned slightly as if tired from years of standing. A blacksmith's forge glowed to his left, the clang of metal a steady rhythm, while a tavern on the right spilled raucous laughter into the street. Finn's stomach growled, reminding him he hadn't eaten since before the expulsion. He headed toward the tavern, figuring it was as good a place as any to start his search for misfits—and maybe snag a bite.
The interior was dim, lit by flickering lanterns and a hearth that crackled at the far end. The air smelled of ale, sweat, and roasted meat, and the patrons—a mix of farmers, laborers, and a few rough-looking adventurers—turned to eye him as he stepped inside. His patched robe and lopsided grin didn't inspire confidence, and a burly man at the bar snorted.
"Oi, look at this one," the man called, his voice slurring slightly. "Fresh from Eldoria, eh? Heard you got the boot from the Brave Party. What'd you do, trip over your own staff?"
Finn laughed, spreading his arms. "Guilty again! I tripped, I fell, I turned their lunch into a swamp! I'm a walking disaster, and I'm proud of it!" The tavern erupted in laughter, and Finn took it as an invitation to approach the bar. He slid onto a stool, nodding to the barkeep—a stout woman with a scar across her cheek.
"Something to eat?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Or are you just here to entertain us?"
"Both, if you'll have me!" Finn replied. "Got any stew? I promise not to improve it with my special touch—yet."
The barkeep chuckled, sliding a bowl of steaming stew his way. "First one's on the house, clown. Let's see if you can keep the place standing."
Finn dug in, the warm broth a welcome comfort after his long walk. As he ate, he listened to the chatter around him, picking up bits of gossip about Smudgewick's residents. There was talk of a mage who couldn't cast anything but sparkles, a warrior who knocked himself out more than his enemies, and an assassin afraid of the dark. Perfect, Finn thought. These were his people. He finished the stew, left a copper coin on the bar, and stood, ready to begin his mission.
But as he turned to leave, his foot caught on the stool leg, and with a yelp, he crashed to the floor, sending a nearby table skittering. The tavern roared with laughter, and Finn popped up, rubbing his head with a grin. "See? Told you I'm a disaster! Good thing I'm starting fresh here!" The patrons clapped, and Finn stepped out into the fading light, already plotting his next move. The journey had begun, and with it, the comedy of errors that would shape his legend.