Silver - Emma Many-Names
Gather round while the fire’s hot and bright and I will tell you how our Emma Many-Names got her favorite one.
A long time ago, before many of you were born, Emma Many-Names found herself overwhelmed by wanderlust and left her village. She moved from town to town, city to city, continent to continent, swift as a bird and twice as free. She did many great things and many terrible things; she began collecting titles like trophies, keeping track of the names people called her in her little journal.
“Emma the Thief”, said the Nomads in the West, “She who tried to sell us our own ancestors’ treasures.”
“You didn’t even know they were there until I found them!” she would say.
Thief was not her favorite name.
“Emma the Warrior,” cried the Northern Chieftains “She who beat the bandits back into the mountains!”
“I only did what anyone else would,” she would reply.
Warrior was not her favorite name.
“Emma the Hurricane,” said the Pirates of the East Sea, “She who ripped through ships and taverns with equal prowess!”
“Ha!” she would laugh, “Of course I did, I learned from the best!”
Hurricane was not her favorite name.
“Emma the Nuisance,” whined the former Southern Nobles, “She who needled us dry and left our country in the hands of pond scum.”
“You got what was coming to you and you know it,” she would say.
Nuisance was not her favorite name.
Indeed, much and more did Emma Many-Names accomplish in her adventures, in more lands than we even knew existed until she ventured to them. But one day, she received a letter in the little tavern room she had been staying in. The courier boy had brought it miles and miles and miles from her homeland to deliver it to her. It read:
Emma,
Your father has fallen ill.
We fear he may not have much time.
Pray return as soon as you can.
With love,
Your friends in Panshire
She left with all haste, leaving the courier her room key and a small fortune in gold.
She climbed great mountains, rode with a travelling theatre troupe through the plains, and ventured across the sea in a group of her old pirate friends until, finally, she approached the wall.
“Open the gates!” The guard cried out, “Emma Monster-Killer has returned to us!”
At this, Emma closed her eyes and pointed her chin to the dirt. Monster-Killer was not her favorite name, of that you can be certain.
At the door to her birthhome, they told her she was too late; her father still drew breath, but his mind was already gone. The village was assembled inside saying their goodbyes, but they would clear out if she requested it.
She did, and she went inside and she took her father’s hand. His breathing was laboured as she fussed about him, fluffing his pillows and holding water to his lips, but he wouldn’t have it.
“Damnit Erika, I told you, I’m not thirsty,” he said.
She put the glass down, hugged her father, and kissed his forehead. As she drew away, he snatched her sleeve and squinted at her.
“Wait. You’re not Erika,” he said.
“No,” she said.
Tears formed in the corners of his eyes, balling down his cheeks onto the bedding.
“You’re my Emma. Returned to me at last,” he said, “to see me off to the next life.” A broad smile spread over his tired face, but the tears didn’t stop. He pulled her back into the hug and whispered,
“You’ve done more than I could have ever imagined, my girl. I’m so proud of you, my little Wanderer.”
And so, Emma Many-Names became Emma the Wanderer.