Chapter One:

Professional Log

In the days when people kept dragons as slaves to heat the bath water, there existed a city that should have been insignificant. In fact, no one really went to the place, and no one really came from the place. But there were three brothers— who weren’t even truly brothers, partially because one of them hadn’t been born yet— who did come to this town, and later a fourth...but that’s almost the end of the tale, and this is only the beginning. You see, in those days towns were few, and cities fewer, so any city should have been noteworthy, but in those days magic was everywhere. Everywhere, that is, except this city. Here magic had been banned, and no one really knew why. Oh, they knew the official reason, that it caused too many troubles, which is, quite honestly a true statement about magic, but they didn’t know the real reason.

You see, this was an unenlightened city. Its people were stupid, which was fortunate for the three brothers, for otherwise history would have looked right over them. The city was called Vauntielle. Now, Vauntielle sounds like a French name, but it’s not. Nor is it a name from any other language, but French was the most important language to note that it wasn’t, mostly because there were absolutely no Frenchmen in the city. Well, some say there were. Some even say it was a French city, but they are all wrong, because I happen to know for a fact that the city was...actually I don’t know where it was, but it wasn’t in France.

This city had a local Tavern, called The Wounded Knee, where many battles were fought over many a long, drunken night. They were renowned across the land for their wonderful desserts, especially their custard. They were also known for their red-haired waitresses, which was just more proof that the town wasn’t French.

The town had a large fountain in its center. This was an exquisite stone exploration of the many beauties of pigs. There were five of them, and each squirted water out of its snout up into the air. No one really liked the fountain. No one, that is, except the princess, who never came down from her castle, so she never saw it, which was probably for the best, considering that it had all sorts of graffiti on it, most of which stated exactly how much the statues resembled the princess, or how much the princess resembled a man.

The most prominent fixture in the entire town was the mountain that sat up against it, and the castle that rested on that mountain. This was were the princess lived, and that is why she never saw the piggy fountain. You see, she wore high heels, and refused to wear anything else, and I don’t know if you’ve ever tried walking down a mountain in high heels, but it doesn’t work very well. She could have ridden a horse, or more to her position gotten a carriage, but this was not the brightest of princesses, and she didn’t like rocks anyway.

Not that the people minded. In fact, the two richest people in the city were the cobbler and the transportation manager — the cobbler because the princess insisted on wearing high heels, even though she broke at least one heel a day. Each day, upon this occurrence, she would send someone down to get more shoes, and, after about a week of walking the three miles up and down the uncleared mountain, the messenger needed to buy new shoes too. The transportation manager was wealthy because not only did the crown pay him to clear the mountain, but the cobbler paid him even more money not to.

No one else minded, because the cobbler and the transportation manager ate more and drank more then the rest of the town combined, so that kept them all well off growing crops and making liquor. It was a pretty decent system. Except for one problem, there was no militia.

The town actually didn’t see this as a problem, because there was also no need. For a militia that is. After all, there was no murder, no theft and basically nothing for a militia to do. And they all figured they didn’t need to pay another man to do nothing; the transportation manager was doing just fine at that.

Some suggested that they give the job to the transportation manager. The transportation manager said that if they were going to double his responsibilities they would have to double his salary. One of the quicker folk pointed out that twice nothing is still nothing and thus he wasn’t going to be doing anymore work. So it was that the town almost developed a militia to stop all the thefts and murders that weren’t happening.

I say "almost developed" because the chief proponents of this idea were all found dead. By some coincidence, each had written a suicide note that said it was obvious there was no murder or theft, so why pay someone to stop it. Also, oddly enough, they had all willed their belongings to the same people. And what was even stranger was that all these things were discovered on the same day. Content that there was no need for a constable, the people returned to their daily life, never realizing how stupid they truly were.

On a cold December morning, a baby was born to a poor family. One week later it died of pneumonia, and served no more relevance to anything. In fact it was only mentioned here as a brief interlude because everything was starting to sound too damned relevant. Ten months later, the couple had another child, which also died shortly after birth. It was after this occurrence that the couple vowed never to have children again — and if they did, not to leave them out in the snow over night.

Actually, I’ve mad a mistake. There was a militia of sorts. They were the Blue Robes. They couldn’t rightfully be called a militia, though, because they only enforced one law, and that was "no magic." When they walked down the street people ran in fear. When they ran down the street people sprinted in fear, and when they flew down the street people just tried to dig really deep holes really quickly.

These blue-robed figures are extremely relevant, mostly because this is the story of one magic user, one barbarian and one very confused lad. This is the story of Tagenuate Trollsbane, Schmoo the Barbarian, and Adam. Adam Rundacks.

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A tall man stood looking into a deep colored fountain. This was his scrying pool. It made him feel good to look into it. It made him feel good to be tall enough to look into it. Just a year ago he had been too short to do anything like this. No one ever found short people impressive. He had been a lone monk in a far off monastery, when one day, the Father Abbot had run up to him yelling about finally understanding everything.

"Understanding everything about what?" he had asked, and wisely too. Unfortunately the Abbot never answered his question directly. All the Abbot ever got around to saying was, "Backus, do you want to be taller?" Which was actually a question, and not an answer at all.

Back then Backus wasn’t very quick on his feet partly because he was closer to them, so he just plainly answered, "Yes, yes, I’ve always wanted that. I’ve asked God on many an occasion to send me a healer, so that I may no longer be the brunt of all the short jokes."

"Well, he has done it now, and I know where the healer is. Sort of."
"Sort of he sent one, or sort of you know where he is."

"Both."

And he never saw the Father Abbot again, but when he awoke in the morning there was a note by his bed telling him to come to this accursed city, and to seek out the princess. Well, he had, and the princess introduced him the The Black Void With A Voice, which was a mouthful to say, but actually only it’s first name. It’s surname made it all even longer, and no one really thought about it much.

Anyway, he was tall enough to look into his scrying pool now, although he was also certain that this void had NOT been sent by God. But that didn’t matter as much as being taller. It takes so little to lead some men astray. What did matter was what he saw in his pool. An interloper. A foreigner who was unaware of his potential. And he was alone. Alone on a hill. Looking pretty majestic actually. Like he was trying to impress some woman, or, more likely, himself— which was more likely, because he was alone: but it was also less sane.

He realized exactly how specific his instructions were on matters like this. Surveillance, and surveillance only, because, no matter how dangerous the potential threat, it’s always less dangerous as a potential threat than as an actual threat. Though to attack preemptively, was somewhat strategically sound, it was better not to make an enemy when one did not have to. Maybe this powerful being was just passing through. Then he realized something. The figure in his pool had no mid-section. Well it did kind of, but not in the same way that it had hands and a face. Actually, now that he thought of it, the entire image was a little fuzzy. Very fuzzy in fact. He leaned over to try to sharpen the image, or adjust the v-hold or some simular such thing, but only got static in the pool. Then he realized something.

He understood what this was. This was what they had been waiting for. This was who they had been waiting for. It was then that he called in the harpies and blue robes. A small party was all they would need. Hopefully. After all, that was all they had at the moment. Fending off that warlord had been tough. Especially without letting the people in the city know they were doing it. All of their plans had been set back, and they were a bit short on harpies at the moment. Still, it was obvious that one of the last artifacts that they needed was now at hand now. The blue robes teleported and the harpies flew off as quick as they possibly could.

"Oh Backus, can I look into your scrying glass with you." He hadn’t felt her coming. Normally her presence sent shivers up and down his spine. Now she had her arms wrapped around him as she glanced over his shoulder into the depths of his pool.

"Of course, your majesty." Well, it wasn’t what he wanted to say, but it was his only sensible option. In truth, this woman sickened him.

"Good, I do so like to watch things with you. OH! It’s him, isn’t it? He’s so scrumptious. You never told me he’d be cute."

"I didn’t know, highness." Backus tried to look into the pool. He tried to understand how the princess could tell whether that blur was cute or hidious. He certainly couldn’t tell. If he could have made out any distinct features at all, then he might have even recognized the man, and so might have the princess, if she still had half a brain. But the image wasn’t clear, and thus whether the princess had half a brain or not we can’t say. What we can say is that this is where it all started snowballing. Right here, in this scrying pool.

"It’s your royal majesty, my love," she whispered into his ear.