In the beginning of creation, before there was anything at all, a loop was finally completed.
In a flash of light, in what seemed like an instant, the being known as MOACA, along with the rest of all of existence in all there was or will be, created the world of Wondertale, a world of magic and adventure. Of wonder and whimsy with some new adventure always rounding the corner of any dirt trail or ally way.
Some say this is a world where monsters could be the size of anything from a shrub to a mountain range, where snowmen can dance around to the sound of bells, where beanstalks can pierce the 9th layer of clouds and grow a field of vegetables the size of ten baseball fields. Someone once said that there is a grove of self duplicating seaweeds on the very bottom of the 25th deepest ocean: Star-weeds. That there exists a tree with a type of wood as hard as titanium with multiple berries of explosive flavor underneath: Oakatango. That there is a flower drifting in the frozen tundra with pollen that could bring an eternal spring time with a single spec; Forevahlila.
This is the Treasured Age of Wondertale, an age of economic and cultural prosperity and peace where the goal of treasure hunting has become a common goal amongst the sentient, whether it be for money, self indulgence or for a love of exploration.
Within this world of Wonder as the Treasure Age truly began existed the kingdom of Camelot, a proud kingdom that once prided itself on its mastery of magic even in the youngest civilian, the last survivor only known as Arthur Anamdead. His bravery, unrivaled. His Magic, ever growing. His death is said to bring his greatest Treasure to all. His story, this is not.
Today, we join our heroes of the evening in a small shop.
Anamdead's Contracts and Such, a rather colorfully designed caravan, a mixed design with violet and red paint and a cherry/oak wood blend, surrounded by multiple vines with a small chimney top on the roof. There are two doors in particular, one on the wider side of the caravan with a sign that reads "Anamdead's Contracts and Such. Open to 5:30, last table seating at 4:50" with a small barbershop post for added taste. Right on the left of it, a small set of stairs that lead to a traditional caravan entrance.
"ORDER FOR TABLE 24!!" screamed Verity as she kicked down a door with a tray in her hands.
Her gothic black attire and pale chalk dust white hair moves alongside her as she walks around with little sense of direction, to which her patience wanes and explodes forth if only slightly to unfortunately show the entire shop one of the three main qualities one might gain from meeting her for the first time. She was a ghost who died in her teens, she was cockney, and that she had less of a filter than an insurance executive on his fifth shot of bourbon.
"WHO HAD THE SCORPIARACHNID PLATTER COME ON!!" she would scream to the dining room.
Whispers erupted in the dining hall of the dish being served itself.
"What the hell is this girl talking about?"
"Scorpiachnid? I thought their venom was illegal around these parts."
"Who cooks this kind of thing anyways?"
Verity, in a fit of indifference, sets the food down to a table of two, one member tall and robust, the other small and petite, with little care of who got the platter itself.
"Here you go short-stack. The Freshly Green Special, and the platter itself for the little lady. Both of you enjoy it."
She walks away leaving the two stunned, the table's patrons looking at each other like chickens in the middle of a dirt road with a horse and carriage heading its way.
Through the dining room, Verity wanders away to another woman in the kitchen, her footsteps soft yet aggressive
Voices began to invade her head as she fought every urge to turn back and give any of them a piece of what she was thinking. It wasn't until two patrons in particular in front of her began to stand up and yell.
"MY MEAT SLAB WAS SOON TO ARRIVE AND YOU SIT BY MY TABLE YOU PEON!!! PREPARE TO DIE!!" screamed one man, a robust yet muscular goblin with multiple burnmarks along his body and various precious gems all along a coat made to resemble a pattern reminiscent of fire. As he pulls out a club, the other man begins to stand up and respond.
"You shall show respect, you heathen. I, Noir Schwartz, heir to the Noir Schwartz fortune and Level 3 Umbrella Mage, shall sit where I so desire." The newly defined Noir Schwartz states in his ruffly royal attire of black, white with a pair of bifocals with his blackened hair slicked back, as he reaches down into a sword-like sheath and pulls out an umbrella, preparing for battle in an upright position ready for whatever may come his way.
Verity tries to walk past the scene before her with an absolute sense of apathy in her tone.
We get it, magic is a thing. Please let me through.
She walks up to the two as the man with the club swings at Noir, who opens his umbrella and not only blocks the attack but also bounces it back as the man with the club, close to losing his balance, swings again at a lower angle, his anger not relenting.
Noir points his umbrella as he begins to wind up one more swing. The club catches on fire before he attempts to slam into the seemingly unbreakable umbrella before him. After all, the fire the man with the club created with the Mana in his body was at Level 2, enough to burn through any type of metal possible, even melt it upon contact through heat alone.
But Noir couldn't be defeated, his Umbrella Magic had been refined since he was but a small child in the palace of the Schwartz estate. His umbrella unbroken by any attack he has ever encountered and almost any attack was sure to make a connection.
The two mighty mages, leaders of their own adventuring parties, go to strike at each other with almost everything they've got.
Verity waves her hands at the two of them as they go to strike with a slight smile.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen. You know the rules of the house, no fighting amongst fellow customers. Please, let's just leave that for when you two are outside."
The smile is obviously fake as she says this, but she was determined to have at least one break tonight, if not for the last five breaks taken already.
"This will hardly be a fight, for the brutish dolt faces I, Violet Noir Schwartz, heir to the Noir Schwartz fortune and Level 3 Umbrella Mage. This will instead be an execution." He says as he points his umbrella and begins to charge energy at the very tip.
"YOU'LL BURN TO A CRISP, YOU…"
The two go to strike, Verity is still in the middle as they go to strike.
Noir shoots a bolt of Mana through his umbrella as a cloud of dust is kicked up around them.
The sounds of metal clashing are heard throughout the entire dining hall for all of twenty seconds.
The dust settles and while the goblin with the club lies there with a bowling ball sized hole in his armor, clearly unconscious, Noir falls flat on the ground with a cut on his hand, his umbrella dropped as Verity simply states "Boo." as Noir falls unconscious as well.
Verity is seen leaving the dust cleaning a small letter opener in her hand with a simple napkin on the tray she picks up next to her as she begins to walk away and smile once more.
"No need for alarm, everyone, please enjoy your meals."
Verity slumps her shoulders and begins to walk away, finally resembling the young lady, the teenager she regrettably died as long ago.
Verity is dead, a ghost, a being of Limbo. She died at the young age of fifteen. She is the eldest of the Anamdead children. Beyond that, her history is not vocally stated by herself, at least not without a fake story to tell along the way.
Verity continues her strike up to a small wooden counter at the opposite side of the shop with a couple of curtains above and a series of full fire stoves, furnaces, and multiple spice racks behind it as far as she could see. Behind the curtains, aside the scenery, stood Mary-Anne in her rose red shoulder length hair in a bun in the back of her head. She is currently wearing an apron adorned with multiple roses dropping down to her knees with a handbelt around her waist with multiple bandolier holsters for different spices.
Her 5 '8 figure stands above a small stove with a bit of sauce being cooked up as she takes some seasoning from her belt and sprinkles a couple of bay leaves, strange salt crystals, and parsley in. She takes a knife and chops down on a demonic boar's head, chops the meat into small chunks and throws it into a pan to let it simmer.
As the meat veins to turn brown, Mary-Anne turns around with a plate of what can only be described as a handmade tart of oranges, strawberries, chestnuts and mangos all squeezed with a little bit of lime juice before putting it up onto the counter.
"Order up." she screams as she rings a bell before trying to walk back into the kitchen.
"Auntie!! How much longer do we gotta do all this?" She questions as she slumps over the counter.
"Eh, about half an hour more. Granted since no one else had time to show up at this hour, or so I'm told, it's just the two of us and about ten customers left." States Mary-Anne as she reaches for Verity's hand trying her best to give her a sense of comfort, no matter how tiny.
"No one? The girls? The boys?"
"Verity, they're all at the academy while service is happening. Remember?"
"What about Uncle Arthur and Stella? Huh?"
"Actually, your uncle? He just left with Stella and…."
The door bursts out open as an old man in white hair and a young lady with light blue walk through the front door.
"They basically just got back, apparently." She says with a little smile about to break out in laughter.
The old man with the scarred face walks beside his daughter with a smile. His arm clicking more and more as the wooden components that make it up begin to move back and forth.
The young lady with a set of horns on her forehead and a small petticoat tutu dress walks by her adopted father's side carrying whatever she can as a set of glowing vine-like patterns glow on her arms. She waves hello to Mary-Anne with a massive smile on her face as well.
"HI MOM WERE HOME!!" She screams
"And y'all came back with quite the catch as well, didn't ya?" said Mary-Anne as she exited the kitchen with her arms held wide as Stella took the first chance she could to drop her half of the best run into them.
As mother and daughter embraced in an almost back breaking hug, Arthur, in his pink furred coat with his tie pinned to his shirt, sets his half and all chromatic eyes, one completely white, blind, the other with almost every color imaginable on a table and sets a strange beast caught by he and his daughters hand on the table in front of them all.
He tilts himself backward to try and reset his back, cracking a few bones in the process.
"Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, so me and dad, were at Lumarity's market, and he started making jokes, and than this guy comes up like "I can put animals and people together" so we knocked him out and…."
Verity leaned against the counter Mary-Anne walked up from as she looked at the scene in front of her. She began thinking to herself as her perspective slightly darkened like the night sky, only with a few stars in the middle of it all as she began to smile.
This is really the family I got myself into, huh?
She stands there with her hands crossed in a contemplative mood if nothing else. She smiles as the realization finally dawns on her.
Eh. At least the Snickerdoodles and the company are pretty good.
Verity walks over to the family in question as the ever talkative Stella goes into as much detail as possible over the fight she and Arthur had with the mage-made hybrid beast in front. A terrifying mix with the teeth of a young dragon, the neck of a duck, and the body type of a full horse.
A brand new species was created in front of the two's very eyes.
"--And then the mage used his magic and Dad was like "Fascinating. And now Dad has an idea of what new magic to sell."
"OH MY GOD, Uncle, listen, PLEASE MAKE AT LEAST ONE CENTIPED MAN OR…"
The front door to the shop opens up one final time. A humble looking man in a brown vested suit walks in looking somewhat soaked with a mess of black hair and a top hat hanging his coat up as if he walked in from a kingdom of machinery and very little else.
Arthur smiles and he welcomes the customer in.
"Welcome to Anamdead's." He says with a smile.
"God, that was so cheesy, uncle." Smirked Verity, taking the man's hand to the final table of the evening, her heels stepping on the hardwood floor with each step.
Thus, the evening sun begins to set.