A buzzing sound rattled against Maynard’s desk as he crouched in his leather chair and stared at his computer in annoyance. He clicked his mouse and watched a character dressed in Victorian era clothes dash towards a creature that looked like the love child of the world’s ugliest man and most beautiful angler fish. His desk rattled again and he sighed, grabbing his mobile phone and turning on the screen. Smirking, he read the two texts he had received, before putting the phone back down.
Almost instantly the phone began ringing. Maynard picked it up and looked at the screen for a moment before sighing and answering.
“Mayn, are you coming or not?” Said the voice of a young man on the other end of the line.
“Why bother texting me if you’re just going to call me seconds later?” Maynard asked with a sigh. He glanced back to the screen and moved his character to fight another hideous fishman.
“Because it’ll be easier to find out this way. We both know you weren’t going to respond any time soon anyway.”
“You’re right, but still, you could have just called me first.”
“You’re dodging the question, man,” the voice on the other end of the call replied, an exasperated tone slipping into his voice, “Are you coming out tonight, or are you going to continue grinding for that stupid fishman achievement in Silent City?”
“You’re one to talk, Jay,” Maynard said, “You’ve spent just as much time in this game as me.”
“Yeah, but now there’s alcohol involved, and I’ve already done three runs of Solomon’s Cavern today,”
Maynard moved his character to attack another fishman, “Fine,” he said, “I’ll clear the Illham fishmen out one more time, then begin to get ready – whether I get the drop or not. You’re buying first round though.”
“That’s a cross I’ll gladly bear. Macca’s then the Rope in an hour and a half?” Jay waited for a moment but Maynard completely failed to respond; he was too busy staring at his screen. A smile gradually spread across his face as he watched the fishman fall and saw that in the bag at the corner of his screen there was now a small roll of paper. He hovered his mouse over the icon in his bag before clicking to open it and his smile only grew wider.
“Mayn, are you there?”
“You know what, Jay? You won’t have to worry about me being late on this one,” Maynard replied before bursting into laughter, “I just picked up the ‘Invitation to the Second Ring‘!”
“You actually got it?” Jay asked with a chuckle.
“Yeah. I’m gonna go and deal with this quickly. See you at seven?”
“Macca’s, seven. See you there.”
With a swipe, Maynard hung up and then threw his phone on his bed before returning to the open scroll that was at the forefront of his screen. The scroll was worn and slightly grimy, as if passed through many hands, but at its core everything was still clearly visible. At the top of the parchment was a crest shaped like three comets, interlinked by their tails. Below that was the body of the parchment, a wall of text in an elegant, cursive font that read:
The bearer of this parchment is cordially invited through the gate of the Second Ring to stand as a champion and Ringbearer for the deity Esh. To the bearer of this parchment, the entrance to the Second Ring will be made clear to you shortly.
Scanning through the text one more time, Maynard could not help but feel there was something he was missing. For all the fifteen hours he had spent killing fishmen at the edge of the river Nene, some of the thrill behind being one of the first people to receive an invitation faded when he realised that he would just have to spend more time waiting. He sighed loudly and sat firmly back into his chair, doing nothing for a full minute before getting up and walking through his cluttered, dim, bedroom and into his bathroom before turning on the shower and waiting for the water to heat up.
Less than twenty-five minutes later and he was presentable to the world. Gone was the faded, black tee shirt and slightly ruinous boxers that Maynard wore around his home. Instead he wore a different faded, black tee shirt and slightly ruinous denim jeans. As he stood at one end of his room, he checked his pockets while he combed his damp hair, “Keys, wallet, passport, headphones” he said to himself as he patted each pocket attached to his clothing, “…Phone. Where’s my phone?” After a quick glance around the room, Maynard grabbed the phone off his bed, a green hoodie off the back of his chair, and made his way downstairs. As he got his shoes, he heard the sound of a commentator coming from the kitchen. He moved towards the noise and saw his father sitting at the kitchen table, watching a martial arts tournament on his laptop.
“Hey kiddo,” the old man said with a smile, “I wasn’t expecting to see you for another couple of days! Where are you off to this evening?”
“I’m gonna go to the pub with Jay, and maybe some other people. What are you watching?”
“Olympics middleweight finals. You could have been there if you’d been more serious about training, you know?”
“I’m not that good at judo, Dad,” Maynard replied with a chuckle, “And I bet Mum would have still been angry at me for not going straight to uni.”
“Come on, Maynard, you know she means well. She’s just worried you might not go to university at all.”
“And if I don’t go, that will be my choice. As it stands it’s just one year. I’m free to mess about and find a job, maybe travel, then decide what I want to do with my future while not having to be stressed by exams or coursework.”
His father sighed, “I’ll talk to her when she gets home from work, but with the whole Brexit situation, she’s having to do more hours at the hospital.”
“Grumpy?”
“You did not hear it from me.” They both chuckled and turned back to the laptop at the sound of a cheer, “I’m going to need to rewatch the match, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, and I’m gonna get going before you yell at me for making you miss the ippon,” Maynard said as he slipped on his shoes and tied the laces.
“Go on then, and don’t forget to fill your stomach with something before you start drinking!”
As Maynard made his way through his front door he called back, “I know, but I can take it. I have a liver of steel!”
With a chuckle, he put in his headphones and began making his way towards the closest bus stop while flicking through a music playlist. Eventually he settled on an older band Jay had suggested to him weeks beforehand called Blue Öyster Cult. Watching the cars drive past him while he waited for the bus to arrive allowed him to focus on the music, and as Maynard listened he began tapping his foot in time with the beat. He found himself half humming along to the music as the red double-decker bus appeared down the road. Sticking his hand out to wave the bus down, he hummed along to the piano-synths and electric guitar until the double-decker stopped in front of him. The doors sprung open, he tapped his travel card against the magnetic reader and made his way to a window seat on the upper deck.
The bus began moving and Maynard looked out of the window at the similarly styled brick terraced houses that made up London suburbia. Each building was unique in their various states of decrepitude; some with fresh veneers, some stained by time and smog, some with gardens and some with driveways, but all of them perpetuated the same suburban lie – we made it, and settled for mediocrity.
The houses made way for parks and rugby fields before returning in short order, and as they did Maynard zoned them out, only paying attention to the colours that went by as the bus moved and the music that was coming out of his headphones. He had no interest in seeing the houses that he had looked at every day since he was eleven years old, and there was at least half an hour left of his journey.
