Carvin Throble: Swordsman. The Parallel Universe.

 

Carvin woke with a start. It was that same old dream again - a musical instrument that he didn't really know. A man was rubbing it with a stick. Then, in the dream, an asterisk always appeared and he was aware of the some words that really made no sense. Because of this he always left them in the dream and found them impossible to remember. This dream had been happening so regularly lately that one could not blame Carvin if he started to believe it was somehow connected with reincarnation, but Carvin wasn't going down that path - the last label he wanted was that of a remnant. 

No, Carvin Throble was a modern educated man. He knew his dreams were simply giving him a sample of a parallel universe, probably a taste of something that had happened many years ago, long before the every day reality of the rider.

When his dreams bothered him, Carvin just thought about swords. Swords were his thing and he thought he was pretty good at using one.

"You're fighting well today." shouted Stabby as the two men sparred.

"I'm working on speeding up my thrusts." spurted out a rather breathless Carvin.

"Well, the great Swordo might say that you're swinging too wide." Stabby replied.

Carvin hated it when Stabby said things like that. It was always bloody Swordo or that East European (now known as Sector 7) guy Pomodomo that Stabby used as his constant backups in sword discussions. There was, in Carvin's opinion, much more to the modern art of sword fighting but Stabby was just too close minded to look at the options. "Bloody remnant!" he thought to himself.

The other three members of the form were sparring together. Stick Inwid didn't look too happy but that wasn't unusual. Maybe he was noticing things that the other two were missing? He'd probably talk to the entire form later and enlighten them. 

The purpose of forms was that they would take on other forms. After the contest the side that did best would make out like winning didn't matter and that it was all about getting together, but the losing form knew that, once the winning form was alone together, the sarcasm would start in earnest. It wouldn't be long until some disparaging remarks would be carried into Footnet. They'd be cryptic to keep the Footnetcops and the kints at bay, but the danger was always that kint that nobody knew about - a kint who could even be a member of one's own form, or at least, a friend. 

Maybe Carvin's bed time look into parallels was a good thing? He remembered hearing stories about the old days and how, in a friendly chat, one person would answer a story with a parallel one. Maybe this was the way of the universe? Maybe these old discussions were keys that opened up a whole universe's ability to parallel itself? Maybe, in this way, an event could slowly develop and be taken to new heights? 

The Parallel Universe was indeed a marvelous place.