Chapter I: The Ravenfeather
**[Disclaimer: This history challenge is fantasy-themed and therefore not at all accurate; any mention of persons real or fictional is solely for the use of entertainment purposes and the author reserves the right to take massive liberties to that end. If this bothers or offends anyone, this blog isn't for them and they should probably stop reading here. If you like a silly story as much as the next avid Simmer, please read on. ^_^]
Many years ago there lived two gifted and unique brothers. They became well known in the burgeoning town of Snordwich* for their storytelling skill; even traders from Tredony* and beyond came thousands of miles just to hear one of them tell a tall tale. They were known by other Sims in Snordwich as the Brothers Grimm.
The older brother, Jacob, was dashing and brazen; when they told stories together he usually narrated all the parts that might have a listener on the edge of their seat. The younger brother, Wilhelm, was studious and quiet; when they told stories together he usually narrated all the parts that might make a foreign listener feel such a trip was worthwhile, for it was the happy endings that he liked the best.
These brothers were not only talented orators, but naturally talented writers as well. Both could pen a phrase more poignant and entertaining than any other Sim in the kingdom. Yes, they were renowned but not very well off. Jacob Grimm was a single parent and a compulsive gambler whose wife had died giving birth to their daughter, Gemma, and without Wilhelm, he was left to raise her alone. Wilhelm, however, was beset with his own personal dysfunction - the curse of a nagging wife for whom nothing was ever good enough. Wilhelm and his wife had no children, something she continually told him was a good thing because they wouldn't be able to keep one.
One day, after he could bear her complaining no longer - the leaky roof needed to be patched and Jacob had gambled all the Simoles away again; she wanted a new gown but they couldn't afford satin; he was supposed to be this prolific author and she never expected to live with her brother-in-law and his brat - he escaped her glaring eye to find a moment of respite at the Snordwich Center Market. Ducking inside a stall to avoid a persistent fishmonger hawking his wares, he whirled around to find an old woman with a face like a hawk. All beady eyes and long, beaky nose. She surveyed Wilhelm Grimm critically and held out a black feathered quill with a gnarled old hand that gently shook. "Every scribe could use a new pen," she rasped in a voice that put him on edge. Still, the quill was beautiful and he could not help but take it from her. The moment he touched it, he could feel a sort of tingling in the tips of his fingers that nearly made him gasp and drop it. He knew better with the old woman's eye on him, though. "Ravenfeather," she informed him, as if he needed to be told. It was black as pitch, with an iron-gray shaft running through it attached to an ornate silver nib. "Looks expensive," he said with a sigh as he attempted to hand it back, but the old woman refused to take it.
"A gift, Master Grimm," she wheezed, "suitable, I should think, for one of your remarkable ability." She smiled with teeth as yellow as parchment and disappeared, leaving Wilhelm and all the other random odds and ends alone in the stall.
"A witch!" he whispered to himself with certainty. Perhaps he should know better than to take the quill home with him...but it really was the finest quill he'd ever seen. Against his better judgment, Wilhelm left the witch's market stall with the ravenfeather quill in hand. He was still admiring it when he returned home that night, but he tucked it inside his warped desk for safekeeping. The last thing he needed was for his wife to see it and start complaining that he bought expensive things for himself while she never saw anything new. And that was the end of that strange little story, at least for the time being. Once Wilhelm stashed the ravenfeather in his desk, he nearly forgot about it altogether - until the day came when he saw his brother writing with it, hunched over that same desk and apparently hard at work. "What are you doing?" he asked, unable to keep a note of alarm from his voice.
"Writing another story," replied Jacob quietly. If he was ever studious and solitary, it was when he had a story in his head. However, he switched off of autopilot and looked up with renewed interest. "Where did you get this pen, Will? It's extraordinary."
"An old woman gave it to me at the market. She said it was a gift. I didn't want my wife to see it, so...I put it away. She never goes through my desk. Why are you using it?"
"Mine wore all the way down to nothing, so I went searching for a spare. Since when have you been possessive of pens?"
"I just...get a strange feeling about that one, brother." Wilhelm was hesitant to answer, but he didn't want to lie.
"Why?" Jacob pressed. He never knew when to let things go. "Because some old hag admires the way you can spin a good yarn? If you're hiding it because you think your wife will be jealous of a stooped crone, you should just give it to me. It's remarkable, I've never had a point glide so smoothly across the vellum. Like water, try it."
"No, I said I don't feel good about it, Jake. I think you should put it away. There's something about that pen. Certainly don't ever let Gemma touch it."
They argued about the remarkable pen for awhile longer, until Jacob finally relented. He didn't have much choice; it had not been given to him, after all.
The ravenfeather ceased to exist again for a time; tucked away in that old desk drawer, Wilhelm nearly forgot it again. It sat unused for months and the seasons had changed before he thought of it once more. He went to his desk drawer while his wife was out to sneak another peek at the quill, but lo and behold, the drawer was empty. Wilhelm's dark eyes widened and he flew into a panic, overturning every drawer and all its contents onto the floor. "Where is it?" he asked aloud, his voice frantic. "Where is it?!"
"I...gave it away," said a voice from the door. To his surprise, it was not his wife but his brother who spoke.
Wilhelm looked up to see shame in Jacob's eyes. "You gave it away?" he echoed with disbelief. "But why?"
"I knew I could win," Jacob tried to explain doggedly. "But I had nothing else to bet with."
"You gave every Simole you had to some unsavory back alley parlor runner, and then you gave him my ravenfeather? Knew you could win, did you? Where's my quill, then?"
Jacob sighed. "At least I made a fair sketch with it," he said.
"A fair sketch?" Wilhelm wasn't sure why, but it seemed he couldn't stop repeating Jacob's words. "I never even used the damn thing once!"
"Did you really want to? You told me not to use it. You told me to put it away."
"Because it was mine!" The moment the words left his mouth, Will knew they were childish and regretted them. As angry as he was with Jacob, the way his brother looked at him made him feel awful. Jacob didn't say anything else, just fished the little sketch out of his pocket and dropped it to the floor amidst all the contents of the overturned drawers. "I'm sorry," he said, and walked out without another word.
That wasn't enough for Wilhelm, who put his face in his hands without a reply. He didn't look up from them until after he was well certain that Jacob was long gone. Among the debris on the floor he spied another scrap of parchment, smaller than the one Jacob had doodled on. His wife was leaving him for another man - one with less renown and more money. That night he fell asleep on the floor with the mess, unsure which he missed more - his wretched wife or that cursed quill.
[Sorry for the lack of pictures in the debut post - I promise plenty in subsequent posts! Thank you for reading, particularly without the Simmie eye candy. =P]
*Kingdom names from The Sims: Medieval.
