So I have some thoughts and feelings about Vishnal Rune Factory

I am aware that approximately two other people besides me care about this, but literally when has it ever stopped me from rambling at length

So basically, I love Vishnal from Rune Factory 4. Like, a lot. I never commit to anyone in farm sims but boy howdy, he managed to hit literally all the criteria I have to be considered a Favorite Character™. He did it so well, in fact, he’s earned a spot alongside characters like Cobalt or Lydia. But like those characters, while there are people who like him, I feel as though he doesn’t get enough credit. The complaints I’ve seen tend to be that he’s boring and that he has the worst proposal event. Hell, one of the first few results from googling him is a thread asking if he’s supposed to be a joke character. While I can see where this sentiment might come from, I’d like to explain the appeal in a lot of the things people find fault in him for (at least for me), and maybe offer a bit of a different perspective, I guess.

If I had to guess where a lot of these problems that people have with him come from, it’s probably the fact that he doesn’t have a lot of lore behind him. To be honest, Vishnal doesn’t really have a whole lot of plot significance. He doesn’t have any direct connection to the capitol of Norad like Arthur or Kiel (via his sister Forte), he’s got nothing to do with the Sechs empire like Doug, and he’s not a guardian like Dylas and Leon. Vishnal, despite working in a castle and serving Ventuswill (who we shall henceforth refer to as Venti), a literal dragon god, is an everyman by comparison. He’s just a guy trying to do his job the best he can.

Similarly, he also doesn’t have a whole lot of mystery or drama behind him either. With pretty much every other bachelor, there’s usually some kind of dark secret from their past that comes up and has to be dealt with, either through the main plot or through their proposal events. To just give you an idea of the kind of things we’re dealing with here, let’s do a rundown.

Doug’s entire tribe was killed by Sechs soldiers, but the empire fed him propaganda to make him believe that Venti was responsible so that he would work undercover for them in order to kill her and take the Rune Spheres.

Arthur was an illegitimate child of Norad’s king and believes that his mother hated him so much she had to take off her glasses so that she didn’t have to look at him, causing him to have severe trust issues (as well as a glasses fetish? Have fun with that, Freud).

Kiel (and by extension, his sister) is trapped in a well-meaning, but incredibly fucked up family dynamic that forced him to be incredibly sheltered while Forte took on the duties of a knight in a heavily male dominated society to protect him. However, since both of their parents are dead, they have no idea that they’re allowed to free themselves and become their own people.

Dylas sacrificed himself to become a guardian, fusing with a monster in order to act as a living life support to help keep Venti alive, but when he’s finally free, he’s hundreds of years into the future, where everything he knows is gone. It’s also implied that before he became a guardian, he was suicidal.

Leon, like Dylas, also sacrificed himself to become a guardian and was flung far into the future. However, he also has the added guilt of believing he left his childhood friend to live the rest of her life emotionally stunted because when he was younger, he made a promise to marry her if she stopped crying so much, but didn’t take it seriously as she did, and couldn’t have kept it even if he did.

Meanwhile, Vishnal has had an utterly average life. In order to help people, he wanted to become a doctor like his father, but felt he wasn’t smart enough, so when he met a butler named Sebastian, he was so impressed he decided to become a butler himself. Though he was worried his father wouldn’t approve of this way of helping people, he was ultimately supportive, helping him train and, through a friend’s connections, getting him to Selphia to work under Volkanon.

Vishnal is basically Clark from Connecticut in terms of how average he is by comparison. However, I wouldn’t say this is a bad thing. Even dealing with one of these traumatic backstories is a lot, let alone trying to harem them all (and don’t even get me started on the main plot’s drama). A lot of the resolutions to these character arcs are followed up by a proposal, and maybe it’s just my age and personal experiences (or the fact that I’m aroace), but when that happens, I don’t get the feeling of “YES, TAKE ME NOW!” I just think “…You literally just found out the thing that’s been screwing you up your entire life was a giant misunderstanding. I get that you’re happy but like, maybe take some time to sort yourself out? See a therapist maybe???”

But Vishnal, for all of his faults (of which there are many and I will get to that later), generally has his shit together. I respect that and find it a breath of fresh air compared to the cavalcade of angst in everyone else’s lives. Not to say that he doesn’t have any problems at all, because then that would be boring, but they tend to be more focused in the present, and are a bit more grounded in reality and less… spectacular. But like I said, we’ll get to that.

What he lacks in terms of dramatic backstory, he makes up for in personality. He’s very… intense, to put it mildly. While not completely hyper, he’s very high energy and it doesn’t take much to get him psyched up. He’s the type of person to put at least 110% effort in everything he does, and nearly everything he does goes towards his goal of becoming the world’s best butler. Unfortunately, as a result, he’s considered one-note. Now, I’m not going to sit here and say he doesn’t talk about butler things all the time, because he absolutely does, but for me, as someone who also tends to get super into things and talk about them endlessly (hence this entire ramble), I find him pretty endearing, if not a tad relatable in that regard. However, for all his single-mindedness, he is still a decently multifaceted character.

Probably the most important thing to note here is that he is a very good person, like “too good for this sinful earth” kind of good. He has a natural drive to help others and doesn’t have a mean word to say about anyone (though even he engages in the ultimate Selphian pastime of Teasing Doug™ on occasion). He’s also honest to a fault. It’s incredibly easy to tell if he’s trying to cover something up because he’s usually pretty much an open book and wears his heart on his sleeve. He seems to expect others to be the same way, as he has a bad habit of taking what people say at face value even if they’ve repeatedly shown not to be trustworthy. This often leads him to be the butt of many a joke or the victim of scams. Other times, lighthearted teasing falls flat as he takes it seriously and winds up getting his feelings hurt. But ever the optimist, he doesn’t let setbacks get him down for long.

He very much believes in the power of hard work overcoming any obstacle, and it seems in his mind, literally anything is possible if you train hard enough, and he’s constantly trying to prepare himself to master every possible scenario, from protecting important secrets by staying silent to becoming invincible to the common cold by constantly being soaked with water. It generally winds up doing him more harm than good, and even Doug worries about him a little bit because Vishnal will do pretty much anything if you tell him it’s special training (though this does not even remotely stop Doug from having a field day with it). Were this not a very “anime” kind of game, it would honestly be amazing if he hadn’t died from any of his training attempts.

Though it may come across as though he has no idea what is actually possible for a human to achieve, he actually seems to have quite a few hangups about his own limitations. He has a massive perfectionist complex and is incredibly hard on himself. He tends to beat himself up quite a bit when he makes mistakes (I mean the man looks utterly devastated every time he screws up lunch) and outright warns the player (who we shall henceforth refer to as Frey) that he may cause her trouble. However, he’s not quite as terrible as he might imply. While he is gullible and very much a klutz, he’s got a wide variety of skills and knowledge he rarely gives himself credit for. For instance, he’s not exactly street smart by any stretch of the imagination, but he’s well-read to a degree that he can actually read things from Arthur’s library (which says a lot because Arthur is a colossal nerd), and he’s knowledgeable on a number of subjects from farming to geography. On the lake date (when it’s not summer), you have the option to ask him more about the kind of training he would do, and he rattles off a list of insane skills (I.e. making tea so good as to become its own singularity…singularitea, if you will) like it’s no big deal. Mind you, given what someone like Volkanon is capable of, that may just be par for the course as far as butlers go in this universe, but for your average person, that’s honestly impressive, if not a bit terrifying.

His confidence (or lack thereof), however, tends to reflect in the quality of his work. In a small example, every so often, he offers Frey his attempt at curry rice. It’s hot garbage, but if she tells him it’s good, he admits he wasn’t very confident in it. However, we see in his prerequisite event (which is a much more overt example) that when he’s more confident in himself, he’s not only able to make actual food, but is downright hypercompetent in his job. For context, he is conned into buying an overpriced statue that, according to blacksmith and Professional Vishnal Scammer™ Bado, will allegedly make him an expert overnight. Wholly believing in this thing, he’s suddenly amazing… until he accidentally knocks it over and breaks it. Utterly devastated and unconvinced that his improved performance came from within, he’s suddenly infinitely worse than he was when he started. Things of course balance themselves out, but we come away realizing that if he had as much self-confidence as he did pure determination, he could easily reach a point where he’d be absolutely unstoppable.

We also see this lack of confidence manifest itself in regards to Frey. If she pursues a relationship, we get quite a bit of evidence that he doesn’t think he’s good enough for her. Before he formally asks her out, he lists all the things he does wrong; all the ways he’s a novice, essentially warning her of what she may have to deal with. However, if Frey’s conquered the RNG and made it this far, then it’s safe to say that she’s prepared to take the risk. On the airship date, he outright says once he becomes an expert, he’ll finally be the perfect man for her. Even during his own damn proposal event, he tells her he’s unreliable. This is incredibly far from the case, as even if he doesn’t really know what he’s doing, he’s doing everything he can to make this work. He works himself even harder to maximize his time with her, he buys (phony) charms from Bado to keep them together, he asks other bachelors for advice (as poor is it may be at times), he literally asks the entire town for date spot reviews, as well as just straight up reading up on how to be the best possible boyfriend.

Eventually, should the RNG gods be smiling, this brings us to the proposal event. Now, one might imagine that this event might follow the thread we’ve been building up here into him learning maybe not to beat himself up so much or becoming a little more self-confident, but no. While this sort of thing happens for a number of other bachelors/bachelorettes, where their prerequisite events foreshadow what’s to come in their proposal events, that isn’t quite the case here. While that development does occur to a degree, it’s a bit more subtle and is not really the focus of this event.

His proposal event instead mainly forces him to consider his priorities. So for some context, a butler judge has come, and if Vishnal does well, he may finally earn his first star and be one step closer to being the ultimate butler. In fact, his abilities are already recognized as worthy of the title, but there’s just once teensy little problem. You see, in butlerdom, your master and your partner being one in the same is a bit of a taboo. Dating your boss creates a whole host of problems, after all; not just for you, but your reputation. And so this is where the conundrum comes in. We already know he’s incredibly dedicated to this career choice to the point that if he doesn’t succeed, he will literally die trying, but he’s now just as dedicated to Frey. Being that this is a proposal event though, you pretty much already know how this is going to end, but just hear me out.

This is currently the biggest decision he’s ever made in his life, and is essentially the emotional equivalent of having to choose between losing your right hand or your left. He obviously doesn’t want to throw away years of hard work, but he’s also not the type to just leave someone behind in pursuit of his own interests. Frey ultimately saves him from waffling back and forth about it forever by breaking things off so he can pursue his dreams, but literally no one is happy with this. Even the judge feels bad and he’s the one who started it. But with this little problem out of the way, Vishnal is free to accept his new rank. Except he doesn’t. After a dramatic, heartfelt speech pointing out that this actually puts him in a better position to serve Frey, and how reputations shouldn’t matter more than protecting the person you’re entrusted to, he whisks her away and proposes. Before she can properly answer though, he’s called back to the castle. In the end, the judge is moved by his dedication, and so Vishnal can now have his cake and eat it too. Short, sweet, and to the point.

It’s probably about half the length of the other bachelors’ events, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s bad. It’s actually a pretty nice contrast between the other proposals. Leon, Arthur, and Kiel have the common thread of having to sort out baggage from their past before they decide to marry. Doug and Dylas, while their events are more lighthearted, are a bit more focused on a lack of communication and resulting misunderstandings that come from trying to surprise Frey with a ring. However, because Vishnal’s life isn’t a veritable conga line of angst and trauma, his obstacle to marriage is entirely in the present, and because he’s so open about his feelings, he and Frey actually have a chance to sit down and discuss where to go from here, so there’s no communication issues. Plus, his situation, while a bit dramatically handled because anime, is actually kind of relatable. Having to choose between a career and a relationship is a situation that happens to a pretty good number of people, and it’s rarely an easy decision. It’s a logical conflict for such a work focused character.

While it doesn’t really overtly follow up on the initial thread that seemed to have been laid out of him learning to be more confident in himself, the transition is definitely there, at least in regards to Frey. It’s just not quite as spelled out in events. Even in his proposal, he’s still self-deprecating, but it’s a far cry from the absolute list of faults he gave initially asking her out. Not to mention, it absolutely takes a whole lot of courage to one, choose love over your life’s dream, and two, to do it in the incredibly dramatic and utterly obliterating manner that he did. The relationship also changes some post-marriage. Post-marriage Vishnal is a much different beast than pre-marriage Vishnal. As we’ve discussed, in the dating phase, he’s a lot less sure of how boyfriend things work, and resorts to asking others for advice and outright studying. Now that he’s married, he’s less reliant on others and is much more forward. He actually tends to be the one to initiate romantic gestures, from goodnight kisses to using his own sappy lines as opposed to borrowing them from Leon, among other things. Truly a far cry from the days where he would agonize over whether or not to even hold Frey’s hand. Sadly, while date dialogue doesn’t really change (with the exception of the room date, where he literally states he’s past being shy and awkward), there’s definitely a more visible shift in the focus of his other dialogue from being even good enough for Frey to being more protective. Jury’s still out on how much this development has affected his work performance, as there’s no real new mentions of it after the fact (though after marriage he is finally capable of making edible curry rice…sometimes!), but at least some degree of his self-esteem is improving.

So basically, to summarize, Vishnal isn’t a bad character. He’s just handled differently than the other bachelors. He’s a bit more grounded in reality as far as his backstory and conflicts are concerned. His development also tends to happen outside of his events rather than being the feature, making it a bit more subtle, and thus a bit harder to spot from a glance, but it’s there. For as much fun as he is as a character, I admit he’s definitely very tame compared to the other bachelor options, even despite the localizers’ attempts to make him spicier, so he’s not for everyone. I can see why others might prefer someone a little more exciting or mysterious, like Leon (who seems to be like, god tier as far as RF4 bachelors go), but I hope I’ve at least adequately explained why Vishnal might be appealing to some and has more merit than just a joke character. After all, vanilla is a flavor too, and plenty of people like that.

Anyhoo, thanks for coming to my TED talk.

An American Fairy Tale

Once upon a time,  A village burned.  Ever since Prometheus passed along the idea of making fire to a caveman somewhere at the dawn of civilization, human beings have enjoyed burning things. It started with wood, moved on to your neighbor’s wood, and then the natural progression was to set fire to your neighbor as well. Prometheus would have rolled in his grave if he’d ever been allowed to die. But this fairy tale takes place before the Catholic Church had gotten its world renowned reputation for burning people in all sorts of ingenious and incredibly creative ways, when the concept was still on the cutting edge of brutality and not something that happened on a day to day basis. Burning villages was still an avant-garde art-form that only the most cultured artists of the era had tried their hand at. The most talented among these was a man named Atilla the Hun, who had reached the forefront of his field slowly and methodically. Like most fools, what he lacked in talent he made up for with endless practice and quite admirable tenacity. Through sheer force of will a man who is inept at a task may slowly become a master.  That is also an accurate summary of the human race’s plodding and asinine progress through the last ten thousand years or so.

 But that is not the point of this fairy tale. This fairy tale follows in the same classical tradition as the immortal and universally hallowed morality tales of the great Greek storyteller Aesop. It is a homage, if you will. Which is to say is to say that its message is about as subtle as a brick flying out of the back of the truck in front of you, smashing through your windshield as quickly as it takes a grumpy old man to complain when you change the channel from yet another NCIS rerun, and near instantly pulverizing your skull so completely that when the paramedics finally show up to scrape your lifeless husk out of your 1973 Oldsmobile Omega, the grizzled 20-year veteran paramedic actually gags a little.

 This is one of those kinds of fairy tales.  Once upon a time,  A village burned.  A young man stumbles from the ruins. He is covered in ash, and the softly moaning wind blows his soot stained shawl up against the side of his body, revealing his hollow chest and the bones of his rib-cage. If you’re having a hard time picturing this, imagine him looking a bit like like a character from Loony Toons who’d blown himself up chasing a roadrunner, but admittedly it’s a lot less comedic considering the boy’s circumstances, which are as follows:

 Two days before, he had gone out into the wilds alone on his first hunt. This was the right of passage into manhood for this particular village, in which when a boy reached the age of thirteen, all of the older men in the tribe forced him to go out into the nearby forest alone covered in nothing but what amounted to a tattered sack. Sometimes they gave them a stick, too. He had three days to kill an animal of some sort, preferably a big one that tasted good, then bring it back so the village could throw a big party and eat whatever the boy caught. After this set of arbitrary conditions had been met, the boy was thought to have become a man, and everyone congratulated him for slaughtering the animal and not getting killed after they had all abandoned him in the woods. It was a sort of proto college fraternity hazing ritual, basically. The French anthropologist who first studied this practice, Arnold van Gennep, christened it “rite de passage” and so ever since anthropologists have called this the “The Rites of Passage Tradition”, but everybody else calls it “Fucking Retarded.”  On the second day of his rite de passage, the boy returned with a promising deer only to discover every single person that he had ever known was dead. If you actually took the time to trace the modern Gregorian calendar all the way back to when the boy came back to find that everybody and everything that he’d ever known was on fire, you would find that it in fact occurred on a Monday, which anybody probably could have guessed anyway, since it’s without a doubt the worst day of the entire week.

 He hadn’t stayed in his village long after he had returned to find it burning, only pausing to take a broken sword from what was left of his own home. He didn’t bother gathering any food; he didn’t plan on traveling much. This was because the young man had decided to kill himself. The burning village had been his home his entire life. He was born there, and he had once expected to live a long life, start a family, and eventually die there surrounded by friends and loved ones. That was obviously off the table now. "Up in smoke”, if you will.  Like many suicidal people, the boy also developed a certain inexplicable taste for irony and the macabre. The shattered sword he carried had been passed down from father to son for generations. He supposed now that since his father and brothers were dead that it now belonged to him. His plan was to travel far enough away from his old home so that he could no longer see the flames and billowing smoke rising from what was left of the village, and then take his broken sword from its sheath and slit his throat. There was a cliff outside the village, and for a time he stumbled toward it slowly like a zombie from a bad horror film, but he never got there. He kept looking back on the life that was behind him, and each time the fires in the distance reflected in his eyes. Eventually he stopped and sat on a rock, and sadly watched as his future slowly turned to ash. It would be a disservice, I think, to call what he felt sadness. Nor would it be accurate to call it the mind-numbing torturous emptiness that sucks at a person’s chest like an open wound, which we name despair. It was a kind of peace, maybe, but not the kind which gives us grace in times of trouble. If there were any word to describe it, perhaps it would be resignation. Yet even that is a disservice to the countless millions that have died by their own hand. Who can say what is in the mind of a person who is about to take his own life? They silenced their own voices before they could tell us their stories– their thoughts, whatever they might have been— are gone now forever, hidden from us as though behind the reflective sheen of a darkly tinted two-way mirror: from the outside looking in, impossible to understand, and from the inside looking out, impossible to explain.  But don’t worry. The boy did not die. Well, he did eventually, of course, but not like that. This isn’t some horribly-ending German fairy tale, after all, but an American one. It’s right there in the title.  The sun would soon set in the west. The boy took his sword from its sheath and placed it alongside his throat. The steel was as cold as something that’s really cold, and a drip of blood slowly began to pool at its point.

 “Evenin’, traveler. I think I know you.”    The young man spun wildly towards the source of the voice. He was especially quick to move the blade from his neck. Human beings still have a shred of modesty burned into them, even when they are about to kill themselves. The sword fell to the ground almost instantly in a quick jerking motion of his arm, a thoughtless reflex action, like the legs twitching on a dead cricket, and he assumed a position and posture that insisted wordlessly that “Oh. Hey. I had just been standing around with a sword next to my neck.” and that people doing this particular activity were as common as sneezing or starting inane  conversations about the weather. He’d just been thinking, that’s all. Sword? No, I hadn’t had a sword held to my neck. You must have seen me at a bad angle, and gee, isn’t it nice out today?  “It’s harder to kill yourself with someone watching, y'know. Makes people feel ashamed, because something in them knows it ain’t right.”    The young man stared at the the new arrival in disbelief. Anybody living today would have recognized what was standing before him as quickly as they would recognize the Coca Cola logo. Here is what the boy saw:  The stranger wore a white button up shirt, and a rugged brown leather vest, with a sort of cloak thrown over it to protect him from the elements. He wore blue denim jeans. His boots were of an odd design. They were tall, brown, the tips were pointed, and there were odd circular metal rings hanging off the back of them which were ringed with spikes. He wore a belt that had a sheathe for some kind of weapon on his right and left leg, but they were not swords. Instead of having a straight handle like that of a sword, these had a strange curved handle made out of wood. Behind the man, the sun setting in the west  gleamed off the blue steel of the two weapons he wore on either hip.

 Most importantly, he wore a hat the likes of which the boy had never seen before. It had a wide brim that circled the man’s entire head.

 “Howdy,” the mysterious stranger said. For some reason he was squinting so hard that he looked like somebody who was staring straight into the sun, even though the sun was at his back. It was the sort of weather-worn face you couldn’t ever imagine having smiled.

"Who’re you?“

 The squinting man shrugged casually, and a brown cylindrical object suddenly appeared in his hand.  He put it in the side of his mouth, and casually walked over toward where the boy was sitting alone on the rock. The boy wasn’t frightened by this. He was in a place beyond fear now. He wasn’t even afraid when the mysterious stranger sat down next to him, reached into his pocket for a small box, made a quick flicking motion, and fire appeared in his hand as if by magic. He lit the tip of the thing in his mouth with his magic fire, took a deep breath. After a moment he breathed out a cloud of smoke with a sigh that sounded like it was weary with the weight of a thousand troubles and a long and profoundly annoying 62 year Hollywood career.  "Are you a god?” the boy asked.

 The man sat there for a long while before replying, seeming to ponder this as he stared off into the distance. The sun was getting lower now.  “‘I 'aint no god. I only been here just as long as people have been around to think me.” His voice was as rough and gravelly as asphalt. He took another long drag of his cigar, exhaled. “Kid, y'know, each drag burns different, but in the final moment, they all become wind.”  The boy told him he didn’t understand.

 The stranger nodded toward the broken sword on the ground, which had only so recently been up against the boy’s throat. “That 'aint no way to die.”

 The boy shook his head. “I don’t have anything left. Why not do it?”

 At this, the stranger took the cigar from his mouth and gestured toward the setting sun and the burning village in the distance.

   “Kid, you been lookin’ at the wrong thing out there.”  The boy looked. He saw the life he had thought was his future burning. But then he saw something else, beyond, further in the distance. It was smoke, but not from the burning village. They were campfires, thousands and thousands of them.“  "That’s them,” said the stranger, “the ones that burned your village. They’re out there waiting for you to go fight them.”  The boy looked down at his scrawny body. “But if I do that, I’ll die.”  The stranger took another long drag from his cigar, exhaled, and watched the smoke as it billowed away into nothingness. “Like I said kid, in the final moment, they all become wind.”

 This time the boy understood. He picked up his shattered sword and stood up. Before he could start walking toward the horde amassed on the horizon, the stranger put a hand on his shoulder. “Figure I’ll go out there with ya’, and besides, think you could use a horse.”

 The stranger worked his magic again, and two horses were there so quickly it felt that they’d been there all along, just out of sight. He and the boy mounted up on the horses and turned them toward the fires of the army in the distance.  “Better to go out like this”, said the mysterious stranger to the boy, “and keep on fighting, for the rest of our lives.”

 “For the rest of our lives,” the boy agreed.  And so they rode off into the sunset together, and they kept on fighting, for the rest of their lives.

An American Fairy Tale

  Once upon a time,   A village burned.   Ever since Prometheus passed along the idea of making fire to a caveman somewhere at the dawn of civilization, human beings have enjoyed burning things. It started with wood, moved on to your neighbor's wood, and then the natural progression was to set fire to your neighbor as well. Prometheus would have rolled in his grave if he'd ever been allowed to die. But this fairy tale takes place before the Catholic Church had gotten its world renowned reputation for burning people in all sorts of ingenious and incredibly creative ways, when the concept was still on the cutting edge of brutality and not something that happened on a day to day basis. Burning villages was still an avant-garde art-form that only the most cultured artists of the era had tried their hand at. The most talented among these was a man named Atilla the Hun, who had reached the forefront of his field slowly and methodically. Like most fools, what he lacked in talent he made up for with endless practice and quite admirable tenacity. Through sheer force of will a man who is inept at a task may slowly become a master.   That is also an accurate summary of the human race's plodding and asinine progress through the last ten thousand years or so.

  But that is not the point of this fairy tale. This fairy tale follows in the same classical tradition as the immortal and universally hallowed morality tales of the great Greek storyteller Aesop. It is a homage, if you will. Which is to say is to say that its message is about as subtle as a brick flying out of the back of the truck in front of you, smashing through your windshield as quickly as it takes a grumpy old man to complain when you change the channel from yet another NCIS rerun, and near instantly pulverizing your skull so completely that when the paramedics finally show up to scrape your lifeless husk out of your 1973 Oldsmobile Omega, the grizzled 20-year veteran paramedic actually gags a little.

  This is one of those kinds of fairy tales.   Once upon a time,   A village burned.   A young man stumbles from the ruins. He is covered in ash, and the softly moaning wind blows his soot stained shawl up against the side of his body, revealing his hollow chest and the bones of his rib-cage. If you're having a hard time picturing this, imagine him looking a bit like like a character from Loony Toons who'd blown himself up chasing a roadrunner, but admittedly it's a lot less comedic considering the boy's circumstances, which are as follows:

  Two days before, he had gone out into the wilds alone on his first hunt. This was the right of passage into manhood for this particular village, in which when a boy reached the age of thirteen, all of the older men in the tribe forced him to go out into the nearby forest alone covered in nothing but what amounted to a tattered sack. Sometimes they gave them a stick, too. He had three days to kill an animal of some sort, preferably a big one that tasted good, then bring it back so the village could throw a big party and eat whatever the boy caught. After this set of arbitrary conditions had been met, the boy was thought to have become a man, and everyone congratulated him for slaughtering the animal and not getting killed after they had all abandoned him in the woods. It was a sort of proto college fraternity hazing ritual, basically. The French anthropologist who first studied this practice, Arnold van Gennep, christened it "rite de passage" and so ever since anthropologists have called this the "The Rites of Passage Tradition", but everybody else calls it "Fucking Retarded.”   On the second day of his rite de passage, the boy returned with a promising deer only to discover every single person that he had ever known was dead. If you actually took the time to trace the modern Gregorian calendar all the way back to when the boy came back to find that everybody and everything that he'd ever known was on fire, you would find that it in fact occurred on a Monday, which anybody probably could have guessed anyway, since it's without a doubt the worst day of the entire week.

  He hadn't stayed in his village long after he had returned to find it burning, only pausing to take a broken sword from what was left of his own home. He didn't bother gathering any food; he didn't plan on traveling much. This was because the young man had decided to kill himself. The burning village had been his home his entire life. He was born there, and he had once expected to live a long life, start a family, and eventually die there surrounded by friends and loved ones. That was obviously off the table now. "Up in smoke", if you will.   Like many suicidal people, the boy also developed a certain inexplicable taste for irony and the macabre. The shattered sword he carried had been passed down from father to son for generations. He supposed now that since his father and brothers were dead that it now belonged to him. His plan was to travel far enough away from his old home so that he could no longer see the flames and billowing smoke rising from what was left of the village, and then take his broken sword from its sheath and slit his throat. There was a cliff outside the village, and for a time he stumbled toward it slowly like a zombie from a bad horror film, but he never got there. He kept looking back on the life that was behind him, and each time the fires in the distance reflected in his eyes. Eventually he stopped and sat on a rock, and sadly watched as his future slowly turned to ash.  It would be a disservice, I think, to call what he felt sadness. Nor would it be accurate to call it the mind-numbing torturous emptiness that sucks at a person's chest like an open wound, which we name despair. It was a kind of peace, maybe, but not the kind which gives us grace in times of trouble. If there were any word to describe it, perhaps it would be resignation. Yet even that is a disservice to the countless millions that have died by their own hand. Who can say what is in the mind of a person who is about to take his own life? They silenced their own voices before they could tell us their stories-- their thoughts, whatever they might have been--- are gone now forever, hidden from us as though behind the reflective sheen of a darkly tinted two-way mirror: from the outside looking in, impossible to understand, and from the inside looking out, impossible to explain.   But don't worry. The boy did not die. Well, he did eventually, of course, but not like that. This isn't some horribly-ending German fairy tale, after all, but an American one. It's right there in the title.   The sun would soon set in the west. The boy took his sword from its sheath and placed it alongside his throat. The steel was as cold as something that's really cold, and a drip of blood slowly began to pool at its point.

    "Evenin', traveler. I think I know you."     The young man spun wildly towards the source of the voice. He was especially quick to move the blade from his neck. Human beings still have a shred of modesty burned into them, even when they are about to kill themselves. The sword fell to the ground almost instantly in a quick jerking motion of his arm, a thoughtless reflex action, like the legs twitching on a dead cricket, and he assumed a position and posture that insisted wordlessly that "Oh. Hey. I had just been standing around with a sword next to my neck." and that people doing this particular activity were as common as sneezing or starting inane  conversations about the weather. He'd just been thinking, that's all. Sword? No, I hadn't had a sword held to my neck. You must have seen me at a bad angle, and gee, isn't it nice out today?   "It's harder to kill yourself with someone watching, y'know. Makes people feel ashamed, because something in them knows it ain't right."       The young man stared at the the new arrival in disbelief. Anybody living today would have recognized what was standing before him as quickly as they would recognize the Coca Cola logo. Here is what the boy saw:   The stranger wore a white button up shirt, and a rugged brown leather vest, with a sort of cloak thrown over it to protect him from the elements. He wore blue denim jeans. His boots were of an odd design. They were tall, brown, the tips were pointed, and there were odd circular metal rings hanging off the back of them which were ringed with spikes. He wore a belt that had a sheathe for some kind of weapon on his right and left leg, but they were not swords. Instead of having a straight handle like that of a sword, these had a strange curved handle made out of wood. Behind the man, the sun setting in the west  gleamed off the blue steel of the two weapons he wore on either hip.

  Most importantly, he wore a hat the likes of which the boy had never seen before. It had a wide brim that circled the man's entire head.

  "Howdy," the mysterious stranger said. For some reason he was squinting so hard that he looked like somebody who was staring straight into the sun, even though the sun was at his back. It was the sort of weather-worn face you couldn't ever imagine having smiled.

 "Who're you?"

  The squinting man shrugged casually, and a brown cylindrical object suddenly appeared in his hand.  He put it in the side of his mouth, and casually walked over toward where the boy was sitting alone on the rock. The boy wasn't frightened by this. He was in a place beyond fear now. He wasn't even afraid when the mysterious stranger sat down next to him, reached into his pocket for a small box, made a quick flicking motion, and fire appeared in his hand as if by magic. He lit the tip of the thing in his mouth with his magic fire, took a deep breath. After a moment he breathed out a cloud of smoke with a sigh that sounded like it was weary with the weight of a thousand troubles and a long and profoundly annoying 62 year Hollywood career.   "Are you a god?" the boy asked.

  The man sat there for a long while before replying, seeming to ponder this as he stared off into the distance. The sun was getting lower now.   "'I 'aint no god. I only been here just as long as people have been around to think me." His voice was as rough and gravelly as asphalt. He took another long drag of his cigar, exhaled. "Kid, y'know, each drag burns different, but in the final moment, they all become wind."   The boy told him he didn't understand.

  The stranger nodded toward the broken sword on the ground, which had only so recently been up against the boy's throat. "That 'aint no way to die."

  The boy shook his head. "I don't have anything left. Why not do it?"

  At this, the stranger took the cigar from his mouth and gestured toward the setting sun and the burning village in the distance.

    "Kid, you been lookin' at the wrong thing out there."   The boy looked. He saw the life he had thought was his future burning. But then he saw something else, beyond, further in the distance. It was smoke, but not from the burning village. They were campfires, thousands and thousands of them."   "That's them," said the stranger, "the ones that burned your village. They're out there waiting for you to go fight them."   The boy looked down at his scrawny body. "But if I do that, I'll die."   The stranger took another long drag from his cigar, exhaled, and watched the smoke as it billowed away into nothingness. "Like I said kid, in the final moment, they all become wind."

  This time the boy understood. He picked up his shattered sword and stood up. Before he could start walking toward the horde amassed on the horizon, the stranger put a hand on his shoulder. "Figure I'll go out there with ya', and besides, think you could use a horse."  

  The stranger worked his magic again, and two horses were there so quickly it felt that they'd been there all along, just out of sight. He and the boy mounted up on the horses and turned them toward the fires of the army in the distance.   "Better to go out like this", said the mysterious stranger to the boy, "and keep on fighting, for the rest of our lives."

  "For the rest of our lives," the boy agreed.   And so they rode off into the sunset together, and they kept on fighting, for the rest of their lives.