the adventures of—! wait, hold on...

from a very young age, he showed great strength, cunning, and dexterity. some said he was a legendary hero propheticsed to lead the land to peace and splendor. others said he was cursed, the spawn of some wicked magic, perhaps even a fairy child, and that he would be their undoing. most said, "please take that blade away from that baby!"

growing up in the small town of littleplace, adventure had a happy and pleasant childhood, but always felt something was missing. and it was. littleplace was quaint, tranquil, and, well, boring. there was seldom a chance for adventure to stretch his wings or flex his escapade muscles, so to speak. while he did many a chivalrous, curious, and sometimes daring deed (he did his fair share of pet-saving, though often not from any great peril), he couldn't help but feel like there was more out there that he was meant to be doing.

now fully grown and freshly knighted by the local duke for his do-goodery (particularly his repeated rescuing the duke's cat, cork, who had a history of getting herself stuck in barrels), the wider world calls to adventure, beckoning him to... well, adventures. he is finally old enough to venture beyond the cosy and safe borders of littleplace and live up to his name, something he has dreamed of all his life—only one problem: he has no idea where to start.

this is where you come in.

sir adventure is eager, but also... let's say... naive. that's putting it charitably. he needs guidance on his journeying. you can help him make choices along the way that will shape his path—if you can keep up, of course.

how will the tales of sir adventure unfold? no one knows but fate herself, and even she can be bribed.

scroll or click below to venture forth into adventure! (or, forth with adventure? alongside? you know what I mean).

“this whole village has been a great surprise indeed, and I'm glad to find it a friendly one,” remarked he. “you may want to have your carpenter fix you up a new sign for the pole out at the fork in the road. the one that stands at present is sorely hard to read.”

vaughn reached down to touch his toes with a few cracks and pops of joints and gave a gruff noise that adventure was unsure was a grunt or a laugh.

“ah, yes, I suppose it is—we sometimes use it to sharpen our claws.”

at this, adventure peeked discreetly from the corner of his eye at vaughn's big brown paws. sure enough, he could spot the peaks of dark and wickedly pointed claws tucked away in the fur of his hands and feet. they looked bigger than the cheese knives in his mother's collection back in littleplace. vaughn made another low sound and with a flash of nerves, adventure did his best to pretend he hadn't been looking.

“I have not ever heard of bearberg before today,” admitted adventure. “if I had known it was so nice to visit, I would have done so sooner.”

“it is nice, isn't it?” remarked vaughn. he gazed calmly out at the straw thatched stone cottages and log cabins clustered along the central path. “though we do not get many visitors, they are welcomed warmly—when we are awake, that is.”

“awake?” pondered adventure. “I suppose it would be hard for one to host a guest in their sleep—unless they were a particularly active or talkative sleepwalker.”

vaughn rumbled another chuckle. “you are a funny one indeed, little knight.”

adventure joined vaughn in looking out over the town. again, adventure thought it very homely and inviting, but it was almost eerie to see it completely devoid of any creatures.

“I am curious,” said he, giving an inquisitive tilt of the helm, “as to why your town is set up as it is. why do your people sleep in a cave when there are so many perfectly lovely cottages and cabins here sitting empty? and why do you all sleep during the daylight, on such a fine day as this one? pardon any rudeness—but if I had somehow slept til this hour on a nice day like this without anyone doing me the favour of shaking me from my dreams, I should feel I had missed something quite worth being a part of.”

“it seems we live quite different lives, you and I,” answered vaughn. “such is the case for many beings of different places and kin. our ways may seem strange to you, but they suit our needs, and have done so for lifetimes upon lifetimes, back to the days of my great-great-great grandmother, who settled our people in this part of the wild woods. we sleep through the day and night because it is the sleeping season—we bears sleep our way through a chunk of the year, through the winter moons, and wake again come the spring. this way, we do not have to face the harshness of the winter, and we do not have to sleep nearly at all through the rest of the year.”

“goodness!” exclaimed adventure. “well, now that you've laid it out, that does seem rather clever of you.”

“it serves us well to live that way,” replied vaughn. “we do our sleeping for the sleeping season in our cave here for protection from the elements, and for comfort. my people have lived in houses for quite a long time now, for some of the seasons anyway, but there is an old comfort to be found in the security of a cave. most people's ancient kin come from caves. yours do too, I'd reckon.”

“oh, my. that is rather an odd thing to imagine.” adventure took a moment to envision his father trying to boil a kettle in a cave and giggled. “perhaps they did, once upon a time. in that case, that seems rather sensible, too.”

“all have their ways of facilitating the lives they need and want built on the customs of their ancestors,” told vaughn, closing his eyes as he basked in the warm sunlight. “despite the difference in the lives we lead, many folk have things like that in common.”

“how very interesting,” said adventure. “I do hope I haven't been too much of a nuisance in my ignorance of bearberg and its people. I did not mean to wake you so rudely. but—I do have to note, good friend vaughn, that it is no longer winter. spring is quite upon us, as the temperate winds and wildflowers blooming would tell you.”

“yes, I had taken notice. the blooms are very pretty,” mused vaughn in a low rasp. “while that may be true for you, sir adventure, spring has not yet started in earnest in bearberg, and will not until it is time to wake up.”

“I see,” nodded adventure, and then paused to puzzle a moment. “if the starting of the spring does not hail your waking, how do you know when it is the proper time to wake up?”

“well,” vaughn started, scratching behind one of his fuzzy brown ears, “usually, we sleep all we need to and wake up when we're done, in the patterns we have for generations. something in our bodies just knows, I suppose. I can tell you that time has not come yet, because you woke me before I woke myself, and because I am still a bear.”

huh? who are these two? what's going on?

“excuse me, good creature—my most humble apologies!” cried adventure. “I'm sorry to have disturbed you!”

“quiet, quiet!” snarled a low growl of a voice before him. “keep it down, little mouse! do you want to wake the others?”

“I am not a mouse, I am a knight,” replied adventure, paring down to a whisper. “and what, praytell you good creature, do you mean by others? are there more of you?”

“most definitely,” answered the creature, a shadow among shadows. “why, the whole town is here.”

“the whole town!” adventure exclaimed quietly. “you mean all of beeberg is here in this cave?”

“beeberg?” the creature snorted a laugh of surprise that was echoed by that cacophonous rumble all around again. “now that is quite a silly bit of nonsense. you, sir mouse, are in bearberg.”

sir adventure felt awfully silly for his misunderstanding then and terribly sorry for having imposed unannounced and uninvited.

“oh crumbs,” he cursed, rising back to his feet only to fall into a deep bow. “I am truly sorry for wandering in without my manners. and I am also sorry to ask, but as I cannot presently see I feel I must to clarify—are you yourself a bear?”

another rich and rocky laugh fell on his ears. “come along with me to the mouth of the cave, to the light,” said the creature. “I shall stretch my legs a little and let you see for yourself.”

so adventure turned and marched up back the way he had come with the heavy padded footfalls of the creature close behind. when they had reached the entrance to the cave the sunlight was painfully bright in the knight's eyes and he had to squint and blink a while to reclaim his vision. when he did, what a sight his new company was!

at his side stood a large brown bear, taller than adventure even down on all four feet and with a white star upon the fur of his forehead. the bear yawned and stretched and warmed his paws and snout in the sunlight, settling down to a seat at the mouth of the cave and nearly eclipsing it entirely.

“all my days and nights!” exclaimed adventure. “I have never seen a real bear before, but I'd reckon you to be one. back home we only have teddy bears, toys about about yay big—” here he stooped and measured with his hand at his knee, “—which I now figure to be quite misleading. still, surely you must be the biggest bear in all of bearberg!”

the bear chuckled again, a smile on his fuzzy lips. “believe it or not, I'm actually rather small for my kind.”

“really? if that be so, how on this good green earth does the whole town fit into this here cave?”

“the cave is much bigger farther down. it is a tight squeeze for some, but us bears do not mind a tight squeeze so much. I myself am quite comforted by a small space—that's why I was sleeping up in the shallower part of the tunnel there, a short way from most of my kin. and speaking of squeezing, I am rather curious to know what you were doing grabbing and jabbing at my back down there for.”

adventure hung his head again, embarrassed. “it really was rather rude of me, wasn't it? well, truth be told, I didn't know you were a bear, or a creature at all—I thought you some kind of strange moss. I was down there looking for honey.”

the bear gave a hearty laugh at that, rolling onto his back a little and rocking back and forth.

“seeking moss and honey in a bear cave!” said the bear, sounding very amused indeed. “what a strange adventure you must be on, little mouse-knight.”

“I am not a mouse,” adventure reminded politely, “but in fact you've just said my name. I am sir adventure—at your service.”

the knight gave another, more flourished bow then, the feather on his helmet swishing wildly about. the bear scratched at his round belly.

“a curious name for a curious fellow,” he said, and adventure got the impression it was said as a compliment. “well it's a pleasure to meet you, sir adventure, however an odd one. my name is vaughn.”

“well met and pleasure returned,” said adventure. “what a very nice surprise.”

huh? who are these two? what's going on?

“what a strange sort of moss!” remarked he. “I shall have to ask the bees about it, whenever I finally find them in this blasted dark.”

just as he was about to try and feel his way along the mass of pleasant fluff, the rumbling returned, louder than ever before, echoing down the chamber tunnel like he was standing right next to a tolling bell. in his startle at the cacophony, adventure's grip tightened, and he pinched a warm bit of fluff between his ungauntleted grabbers.

with a crash of sound like a one man band falling instruments first down a flight of stairs, the grumble all around was accented with a strange discordant note—a yip and a snarl, like a dog adream, followed by a wavering hum as deep as the dark surrounding. there was then a snuffling of some curious snout that, for its volume, must have been very big and very near indeed.

then, the mass sir adventure had pinched in his hands began to move.

he was coming to realise, finally, that it was not a wall at all or a warm squishy moss upon it that he had grabbed at—as it shifted and the snout nearby snuffled, it dawned on him that they must both belong to some creature that was most certainly not a bee, cave or otherwise. he stumbled backwards a few paces, well alarmed, and discerned also that whatever it was must have been sleeping, and had now been roused.

huh? who is this? what's going on?

“something's in there, I'll bet,” said he, spying into the shadowed cave entry, “maybe even somethings. perhaps it's the bees of beeberg—perhaps they're some manner of cave bee.”

bolstered by the reinvigorated potential of a sweet honey treat, adventure crept up to the cave hole. it was not an especially big hole, only just a bit taller than he and a few times as wide, but it was impossible to tell how big the tunnel or chamber beyond stood with the thick dark filling it up.

“if only I had a torch,” adventure wished to himself. “alas. I'll have to navigate by hand.”

so, peeling off his leather gloves and tucking them in his belt, he stepped slowly into the cave with hands outstretched before him to feel his way along.

it was entirely pitch dark inside beyond the angle of the sunlight, and for a few moments adventure was blind. the walls of the cavern were cool stone that was rough under his palms as he moved along, deeper and deeper. he noticed only when he glanced backwards at the shrunken entry that the floor beneath his feet was sloping gently ever-downwards.

the rumbling came again, buzzing through the dark so intensely it made adventure's teeth chatter in his skull. he was in the middle of thinking what strange bees these must be to live in a pitch dark cave and to make such a ruckus when the texture of the wall changed against his palm. it was all of a sudden softer, squishier, warm almost to the point of hot, and quite fuzzy.

huh? who is this? what's going on?

as the trees thinned round him, adventure came upon a beautiful sunny glade with grass dancing in the wind. he could still hear the rumbling, but where he had expected to see great honey-combed castles dripping with amber syrup, he found no trace of any bees whatsoever—not so much as a chunk of wax or a little polleny footprint. instead, the glade was populated by low cobblestone houses roofed with straw and a few cabins built of logs, with paths worn into the dirt between. it seemed here was beeberg, as a little village indeed therestood, but without any bees nor any people or creatures to speak of.

“hello?” cried sir adventure as he stepped further between the houses, peering around corners and through windows. “is anybody home?”

his calls were not answered. still the rumbles went on, unaffected, and adventure began to wonder if perhaps it really was some strange persistent thunder growing closer, and if any of these seemingly abandoned abodes would offer him good shelter if a storm came upon him. they all seemed in very good repair, like everyone had simply stepped out to run to the dairy’s for milk all at the same time.

as he wandered to the opposite side of the glade, adventure noticed a little pond on the far side fed by some little babbling brook rolling off a craggy hillside. it stood clear and blue next to the mouth of a little cave that disappeared downward into the hill, something like a cavern and something like a burrow. whether it was natural or fashioned was beyond adventure's guess, but he was quite thirsty, and if he couldn't quench his want for sticky bee gold, he thought he might as well have a quick sip of ol’ water.

as he drank from the pond, he thought about just how odd this little village was, and where all its inhabitants might be. as he thought, the rumbling came again, this time as loud as he had ever heard it—it sounded very near.

huh? who is this? what's going on?

that's when he remembered the oracle. he had been raised on stories of the strange folk beyond littleplace, of wizards and werewolves and other weirdos. one such figure was that of the oracle—a wise woman who could use her powers to bring hidden truths to light or even see the future. adventure wasn't interested in knowing his future (that seemed to him a rather hasty thing to pursue—he'd only just started through the now, after all), but he figured if anyone could set him on the best and most adventurous path, it would be the oracle. luckily, she didn't live very far away, and if sir adventure remembered the tale correctly, he could reach her forest cottage within a day's time.

after a whole lot of walking, however, sir adventure came to a fork in the road. the path split in two: to the left, it continued on as it had, well-trodden and hard-packed, in the direction of the wildflower glades where the oracle resided; to the right, it branched off into a smaller patchy path winding through stones and roots off into the trees. the sign at the fork that pointed down the righthand path was badly scratched and scrungled, but looked to adventure like it might have read "beeberg."

he stood and pondered a minute. he had set to seeing the oracle, but he did like bees quite a lot. he liked honey even more, and he was realising that not bringing any food with him could have perhaps been a tiny oversight. he wasn't sure if the oracle would have good snacks at her forest cottage, or even what food oracles ate. he couldn't recall if it was her or the whistling witch of the wild woods who liked to eat ground up people meat between two slices of bread (a creation older legends had dubbed a "manwich," but was now more often called a "personwich" to be more respectful to those being eaten), which sounded to adventure nowhere near as appetising as a big glob of honey.