RV Mage

  A Slice of Life Fantasy Adventure

  Noah Layton

  Copyright 2026 Noah Layton

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. All characters in this book are aged 21 or over.

  Contents

  Chapter 1 - They Call Me the Wanderer

  Chapter 2 - RV Victorious

  Chapter 3 - Burgers and Malts

  Chapter 4 - Setting Up Camp

  Chapter 5 - Breakfast Lore

  Chapter 6 - Green Wilds

  Chapter 7 - Okay, I'll Talk

  Chapter 8 - Many Grendels

  Chapter 9 - Lakeside Camping

  Chapter 10 - Beneath The Stars

  Chapter 11 - Warmer Nights

  Chapter 12 - River Company

  Chapter 13 - Different Kind of Fuel

  Chapter 14 - Abandoned for a Good Reason

  Chapter 15 - Hidden Mansion

  Chapter 16 - Bloat-Ghast's Hoard

  Chapter 17 - Even Warmer

  Chapter 18 - Breakfast by the River

  Chapter 19 - Conduit Reattached

  Chapter 20 - Mercer Farm

  Chapter 21 - Maple Patch

  Chapter 22 - Movie Night

  Chapter 23 - Morning with Anya

  Chapter 24 - Grove in the Hills

  Chapter 25 - Creative Ways to Go Fishing

  Chapter 26 - Trusty Axe

  Chapter 27 - New Home

  Chapter 28 - Fishing for Beginners

  Chapter 29 - Wild Foraging

  Chapter 30 - Nights by the Orange Trees

  Chapter 31 - Mornings in the Grove

  Chapter 32 - Armed and Dangerous

  Chapter 33 - Outsiders Welcome

  Chapter 34 - The Surfer

  Chapter 35 - Onward

  Chapter 1

  They Call Me the Wanderer

  'Usual, Joe?'

  'Only way I know.'

  Lacey, the pretty barista behind the counter, gave me her charming smile and spun around to prep the simple americano with a splash of milk that I had dropped by to pick up every morning for months now.

  I didn't know if it was a good or a bad thing to have somebody know your usual order, but Lacey and I had been talking since the third day I had rocked up, so maybe that had something to do with it.

  I adjusted my bag over my shoulder and glanced about the busy coffee shop. Most of the patrons were in for lunch and their caffeine fix just like me, but a pair of women in their mid-twenties at a table by the door kept giving me looks between sips of their drinks.

  'Have I got something on my face?' I asked Lacey.

  'Aside from the stubble?' She smiled, heating the milk with a blast of steam. 'No, but you are being checked out.'

  'Ah,' I nodded, holding back a smile. 'That makes more sense.'

  'Oh, please,' Lacey laughed, 'Are you really trying to play it aloof?'

  'Play what aloof?'

  'That is exactly what I mean - you can't just pretend that you don't know they're checking you out. No shirt you wear is going to hide those arms of yours. A cloak, maybe, but wearing a cloak would negate any interest in you whatsoever.'

  'Can't argue with that,' I smiled, paying for the coffee as she slid it across the counter. 'Unfortunately I've got to tell you that this is goodbye, at least for now.'

  'What?' She asked. 'No more boring plain old americano for me to make every lunch? What gives?'

  'Onto somewhere new for me.'

  'So the traveling never stops for a man of outdoor work and action, huh?'

  'Something like that.'

  'Well, it's been a pleasure,' she smiled, sweeping a lock of dirty blonde hair behind her ear and straightening her glasses. 'If I ever see you again, Joe, the next one's on the house.'

  'I'll remember that.'

  I left the coffee shop and stopped on the sidewalk, taking a last look around at the smalltown storefronts.

  The muscle I possessed was the kind that only came about from years of manual work. Strength was never something that had come to me naturally, and as a result, I knew the value of it.

  It was never what I intended. Years back I was more interested in burying my face in my studies than I was with building my strength, but deep down I could feel there was something missing - and it was only when I started getting stronger that I felt right for the first time in a long time.

  Throwing myself into the deep-end of tough work back when I could barely manage a few push-ups in a row had been difficult, but alongside eating plenty, I knew that it was the fastest way to become strong.

  Now I was in my late-twenties, and barely recognizable compared to the man I used to be.

  All kinds of work had led me from high-rise window cleaning and roofing to construction, and even a brief stint farming.

  Even cleaning windows 30 stories up and all the stress that came with it from the threat of a fall, and I still preferred it to being cooped up inside. I had tried that route before, but I knew that spending years sat behind a desk in a lecture hall just so that I could spend the rest of my life sat behind a bigger desk wasn't the life I wanted.

  Oregon was where I always found myself coming back to, mainly because it had every terrain a man could ask for, whether it was patches of dusty flatland, dense woodland or even mountains.

  Until recently I had been working with a one-team paving squad, a gig that had fast threatened to turn my skin to sandpaper.

  But damn, if it hadn't made me the strongest I had ever been in my life.

  I knew when it was time for me to make a change, though, and this was the time. With some cash saved up, I was thirsty for somewhere new. For me, bailing was a whole lot easier to do considering not a single thing was keeping me anywhere.

  I had no intention of getting bogged down with a new vehicle considering all the electronics they piled into cars these days that broke down every other week.

  A series of rust-bucket beaters would do the job, ones on their last legs that I could drive until the wheels fell off.

  But with all of the places I planned on visiting, getting stranded on some remote highway with a flat or a smoking engine was the last thing I wanted.

  There was only one answer: an RV.

  Even if I broke down somewhere, I would still be able to stay alive. Start up a generator, throw down some solar panels to keep the electricity going, find a river for fresh water...

  I shook my head free from the train of possibilities. First I had to find the right RV for the right price.

  I had spent the past week searching every listing I could find. I was content to travel across the entire state to pick one up if I needed to, just as long as it was right for me.

  Turned out I didn’t even have to leave the small town I happened to be living in at the time.

  I had been focusing on internet searches without any luck, and was considering heading further afield when I took to leafing through the back pages of a local newspaper.

  The lot was just outside of town, in walking distance, and the name didn't exactly scream reliable: Jerry’s Bargain Steeds.

  Strange, but it was the line beneath that really got my attention.

  From two wheels to recreational vehicles, we'll get you on the right path.

  Maybe it was a play on words, maybe it was false advertising, but there was no way I couldn't check it out before leaving.

  An online search didn't turn anything up. No online presence, no reviews, nothing.

  Weird, but I had experienced weirder.

  I headed out to the spot in question at the edge of town and stopped by the address. Most spots around here were all flat concrete and fresh chrome and glass, but where they had modernized, this place seemed to have leaned even harder into the dusty aesthetic.

  It made no effort to be noticed, and it seemed like that wouldn’t change anytime soon.

  ‘The mind sees what it wants to see, huh?’ I said to myself.

  I started through the open gates and into the lot. I had never seen such a sprawl of vehicles in different conditions in one place. Some were total wrecks, while others were pretty darn pristine.

  A nearby van caught my eye. It was in decent shape, but the actual shape wasn’t one that I recognized. I smeared away the dust from the badge on the hood and found an intricate image of a two-headed lion looking back at me.

  ‘Never seen that before. Probably just a modification or something.'

  I brushed my palm over the window and checked out the price. $1000.

  ‘No way. The engine must be a wreck.’

  I rounded to the back window, smeared away some more dust and peered inside. The back could be converted to a spot to live similar to a campervan with a little cash poured in, but there was something else back there. It looked like another engine.

  ‘What the heck is th-…’

  ‘Welcome to the lot, friend!’

  I drew a
way from the van window so fast that I almost hit myself in the face with my peering hand.

  Heart pounding, I looked up to see a guy in overalls standing just a few yards away. He was a couple of inches shorter than me; what little skin he had exposed on his hands and face seemed to have been smeared with the same dust beneath our feet. His cap was falling apart, with strange objects jutting against the material, as if a pair of carrots had been shoved beneath. Were those his ears?

  ‘Woah!’ He chuckled, holding his hands up in a don’t shoot motion. ‘Didn’t mean to startle you there, big guy!’

  ‘That’s okay,’ I replied, clutching my chest and catching my breath. ‘You really appeared out of nowhere, huh?’

  ‘I suppose you could say that. The name's Jerry, and this is my lot.'

  'Joe,' I nodded, shaking his hand and noticing how rough it was. It could have challenged even the palms of the pavers I had been working with lately.

  'So what kind of steed are you looking for, fella?’

  ‘Steed?’ I repeated.

  ‘Damn right,’ Jerry chuckled, ‘That’s just my name for the old rides around here. Too often we get folks coming around looking for four wheels without much of a mind for what makes their ride tick. But rest assured, we’re the only dealers in town when it comes to vehicles like this.’

  ‘So you care about the cars,' I nodded. 'That’s good.’

  ‘Oh, we care. That’s what we’re about here. The right steed for the right man. So what are you looking for?’

  The exit was the first thing that came to mind.

  But then I reminded myself of the price sticker in the window of the van right next to me.

  If this guy was really just trying to part me with my cash like a lot of other dealers on lots like this, he would have bumped the prices up a lot more.

  ‘I’m looking for an RV,' I spoke.

  Jerry frowned back at me. ‘A what?’

  ‘An RV – you know, a recreational vehicle. A house on wheels.’

  ‘Oh!’ He suddenly shouted, laughing to himself. ‘One of the bigger things, the kind that you can live inside of?’

  ‘That’s the one,’ I nodded, seriously reconsidering getting out of Dodge seeing how this guy owned a car lot and didn’t know what an RV was, despite it being in the place's ad.

  ‘I’ve got just the thing. Sure enough, it’s seen better days, but there’s still plenty of life in this steed yet.’

  The dealer led me across the lot, through the labyrinth of cars, so far that I was starting to forget how to find the exit in the event that I needed to make a break for it.

  ‘Here she is.’

  That thought went out the window when I laid eyes on the RV.

  I had been researching different makes and models for a while before quitting my job and thought of myself as decently well-versed in the major brands.

  But this thing I didn't recognize at all.

  It was an impressive, mid-sized vehicle, much bigger than the van I had come across before, but smaller than the coach-sized ones that moved like roaming mansions.

  Hoping to get a better idea of what I was looking at, I rounded to the back and checked out the logo. Drift-Hearth XT3. Beneath was another dirt-smeared mark that had been painted over the finish.

  Engineered proudly by Marak of the Takarak Builders.

  ‘It's got to be missing a letter,’ I muttered to myself. ‘Something that’ll make this thing make sense.’

  But no matter how much more dirt I smeared, no other letters made themselves known.

  A foreign import, maybe? I pulled out my phone and tried to search the name, but I wasn’t getting any reception.

  The windows were all intact, so that was a start.

  I circled the RV, checking the tires and the exterior as I went. Beneath the dirt and dust was a sturdy machine that would look sharp once it was fixed up.

  I gave the ladder at the Drift-Hearth’s back-end a sharp tug to make sure it didn’t come loose from its bolts, then climbed up to the roof. Everything was in order, and I could easily see myself perched up here in a deckchair with a few beers, watching the sunset at the end of a long day’s travel.

  I took the opportunity while I was up high to search for the way I had come into this place. Thankfully I spotted it not too far off – but then I glanced over my shoulder at the rest of the lot.

  ‘Woah…’

  The air out here was dusty, and a storm was coming in, but as far as I could see, at least a mile, the cars stretched way into the blur.

  ‘Got yourself quite a place here, huh?’ I called down.

  ‘What?’ The owner frowned before his eyes went wide. ‘Oh, we sure do. We’ve got a few collectors who like to happen by now and then, pick up all kinds of peculiar things. Others we assign.’

  ‘Assign?’

  ‘To, uhh… The right customers. I can’t talk much about that.’

  Government stuff. Or criminals.

  Yeah, probably the latter.

  ‘Say no more,' I nodded.

  I descended the ladder and rounded to the door.

  ‘Mind if I check things out inside?’

  ‘Be my guest.’

  Jerry unlocked the door, pulled it wide and ushered me inside. I pushed up the steps and into the vehicle’s interior.

  I expected the worst, but what I got wasn’t half as bad: a well-kept cockpit with two sturdy seats, a spacious galley complete with a stove, sink and refrigerator, with plenty of storage space, as well as a booth-style dinette that could easily seat four people.

  Beyond that was a small living area complete with two couches, a bathroom in decent condition, and a berth with a large bed.

  The best part was that there wasn’t much left behind by the previous owner; no personal effects, no trash, and no bedsheets – but there was a mattress in the berth, new and still wrapped in plastic.

  ‘Did you put that in here?’ I asked.

  ‘Certainly did,’ Jerry spoke proudly. ‘Had a few people say that a new mattress would be a dealbreaker. I resisted until the RV was sat here a while.'

  I turned my attention to the RV’s finer details, testing the appliances to make sure that everything worked. To my surprise, it seemed that everything did.

  ‘What do you think so far?’

  ‘Not bad at all,’ I remarked. ‘But all of this stuff isn’t too much trouble in the fixer-upper department. What I really need to know is whether it starts and stops.’

  I dropped into the driver’s seat. It was well-worn but comfortable.

  ‘Do the honors, friend,' Jerry spoke.

  I took the keys from him, pushed them into the ignition, and for the first time heard the machine roar.

  A strange sensation coursed through my hands from the wheel – not power, but a kind of painless electrical hum.

  I activated the wipers. To my surprise there was water in the tank, which sprayed and wiped away the dust, giving a clear view onto the path ahead.

  It was the kind of thing I was looking for – and back outside as we stood in the lot, water trickling over the glass, I saw the price tag. I didn't believe it until Jerry himself spoke it out loud.

  ‘So what do you say?’ He asked. ‘$5000, and it’s all yours.’

  I propped my hands on my hips and admired the RV again. ‘Be real with me, man: what’s the catch?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ He smiled, throwing his arms wide.

  ‘I mean you’re charging maybe 25% what you should be charging. Probably way less than that. A part of me is wondering why I’m telling you that because I don’t want to draw attention to the fact, but running a place like this, I’m guessing you already know.’

  ‘I care about pairing the right vehicle with the right person – and putting the right person in the right situation. It’s kind of a... Lottery, I guess.'

  ‘A lottery?’ I repeated with a frown.

  ‘Let’s just say I’m in a situation where I don’t have to worry so much about coin, and can worry more about the passion involved with the practice. But $5000 is my price. I’m not going to encourage you or deter you. It's your choice to make.’

  I took another look at the RV.

  ‘Let’s go for it,’ I nodded.

  ‘Wise choice, sir, a very wise choice. Sign right here, and it’s all yours.’

  My host seemed to pull the contract from nowhere – in the instant I looked away, the single sheet of pink paper appeared in his hand, and a pen in the other.

  I took the paper and read it over. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen before.