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January 2001, Issue 10
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Content:
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Untitled Comic Fantsy by Trak Disclaimer: Though it seems oddly out of place, the powers that be believe a word of warning is in order. What follows this is a purely fictional work, though the wizards, dragons, and knights may have fooled some. It is meant as a humorous view of our own society as seen through the eyes of some very “modern” fantasy characters, thus all the references to things which may seem out of place to most traditional fantasy stories. In short, to get bent out of shape over this little yarn would be to miss the point completely. Come on, laugh, everybody else does it... Introduction: This first section
sets up the background for a much larger story, a sort of prologue. With
any luck future pieces will follow which explain the rest of the tale.
Thank you and enjoy the show.
CHAPTER ONE: The Empire Strikes Gold The two main towers that, well, towered above the city of Isenbar proclaimed its majesty to travelers for miles around. They belonged to the local king, an ex-hotel manager of some repute, and they were the final touch to his royal square near the end of town. The rest of the city was filled with shops, inns, locals, tourists, merchants, and adventurers from one end to the other. It was nothing short of a metropolis. Trust me, finding a parking place for the horse on a Starsday night could be a problem. It was one of those old kinds
of towns, with some decent history and what have you. We’re not talking
Trollberg here, no sir. Isenbar had character. In fact, and justly
so, the city had a quarter for adventurers.
Nightly, there were drinking contests, illegal gambling, shady thieves breaking and entering, slimy lawyers going to night school, and a fair bit of killing and other harmful things to one’s health. The king sent troops in to put a stop to as much of it as possible, but they found it hard to run out all the lawyers. As early as the city’s founding 300 years before, there had been a need for adventurers to boost the somewhat roller coasting economy brought on by tax dodges, insider trading, and the instability of the Isenbarian gold piece. Beginning in 922, the year of the Owlbear, King Farenstoph granted charters for inns, gambling houses, and taverns to almost anyone who had the sense to sign. Shops sprang up almost overnight- about as quickly as some of them left town- and adventurers from towns as far away as Dead Orc Junction and Trollberg were on the way to Isenbar. Prosperity followed, and the city became the capital of the kingdom. Someone hit a vein of platinum and gold in the Dwarf’s Teeth mines, and the wealth was spread to all. That was, however, long ago. By 923 the city was back in ruin, due to an oversight in sewage planning and management. This was all discussed in the earlier volume, “Water Under The Bridge.” You read it, didn’t you? That’s what I thought. Good, wasn’t it? Yeah, I did the pictures. Anyway, we’re off track here. By 930, the year of the nagging housewife, everything was back in order. So it continued, producing great adventuring parties and some of the handiest swordsmen around. Dragons were slain, giants were hunted, and Old Threy, the town mage, was lynched. It was an honest mistake, up until
the point where they started cutting off his fingers. Some things are just
better left for orcs and sewer dwarves. Really, who’s ever heard of cutting
off a man’s fingers? It’s barbaric.
His successor, Morvin du Fluce, was an extravagant old archmage, with a flair for flashy spells and bright garb. He would stroll through town with his loudest red silk puffy shirt and felt pants, which he rarely kept hid by his red cape, which bore a large “MdF” on the back. All in all, he was a pretty wild town mage. But he had a dark past, indeed… Morvin learned the art of magic (“art” is a loose term, with him it was more like finger painting than sculpting) from Old Threy when he was a young man. Threy was the strictest of teachers and expected the utmost attention his pupils could afford. Morvin was far too laid back for him, and began wandering off on his own, getting into trouble, and soon he was sent off to the Royal College of Magic. There he fell in with a bad crowd of necromancers, and began experimenting with multi-vitamins around the clock. He failed his transmutation test and was kicked out of the school. It didn’t really stop him though. Soon he was outside picketing with a handful of urchins and used cart dealers. When the school’s archmage came out, Morvin chucked an egg at his bean. This led to what Morvin liked to call “the dark years”. After his jail time and probation for his egg throwing, he led a miserable existence and was forced to live on the streets. He sold his spell books to buy multi-vitamins, and lived in a barrel outside a local tavern. One day, luck fell in Morvin’s favor. Browenbaum, a local mage of some repute, was visiting the tavern, and Morvin managed to lay claim to his spell books while the good conjurer was using the little knight’s room. He grabbed a fast wagon, floored it, and got out of town. After a year of isolation with the books and some multi-vitamins, he returned to town a more powerful and more dangerous wizard. Men of both blade and spell feared him, and, for that matter, so did the sheep. But Morvin was determined to become the town mage through any means possible. Yes, Virginia, even slackers have dreams. So when the time was right, Morvin brought out the magic books and did one of those “everybody go lynch the wizard” kind of spells. Soon townsfolk were lighting torches and tying nooses faster than you could say “Threy, run for it!” With yet another evil trick he won the king’s favor and became the local archmage. His duties ranged, depending on the state of the kingdom at the time. He was usually out and about, but one day while in his study he received a visitor. The door to the rickety old
home of the mage was knocked upon thrice.
A royal guard opened the door and stepped inside. He held a letter in one hand. “Yes, yes, what is it boy?” The guard took a few steps forward toward Morvin, who was sitting across the room, reading a book on tax evasion. “Sir, there’s a letter for you, from the king.” “Ahh good, I haven’t seen King Gerald around in awhile. How is he?” “Sir, King Gerald died 2 years ago. Farenstoph II is now the king.” “Well, I hope this isn’t what the letter’s about. You people should really be more hasty.” “It’s important business, I think you should read it at once.” “Oh alright,” Morvin seemed a bit huffy about it. He marked his place in the tax evasion book and opened the letter: Dear Morvin,Morvin looked up from the letter, “’Please return her’. Does he think I have her?” “No sir, he would like you to find her. You know, bring her back, rescue her. He’ll pay.” “Of course he will, I’m getting a bit old to be running around slaying princesses.” “Saving princesses, you mean?” Morvin glanced at the soldier, “Whatever. You’d better go. I have a student coming in for his lesson in a moment.” “Right. Good day, sir.” With that, the soldier left the building. Morvin went back to his book and, putting the note on his table, he thought no more of it. He got through a chapter of Tax Evasion And You before he heard another knock. This time it was his apprentice, Al-enkara, for his afternoon lesson. He brought his books with him and took a seat while the old mage prepared some tea. Al-enkara was a young man, of maybe 20. His family owned a do-it yourself butcher shop on the edge of town. His father was determined to have a wizard made out of his son. He’d never had much interest in it before, but they hoped he was coming around to it. He kept his shaggy brown hair cut short, and had a highly expressive face. He was the silent type, the one who usually didn’t speak up. Dressed in a cheap velvet vest and plaid knickers, he had all the appearance of a promising mage. He took a seat at Morvin’s dining table. “Where did we leave off last time, boy?” Al-enkara opened his books and studied his notes for a second, “With the spells of offense, I believe. You were just going to show me how to use a Fireball.” “Well then, since we’re through the conjures, how about whipping up some glasses for tea?” The student moved his books to the side and went through a brief spell, creating two cheap wineglasses, one of which was cracked. Morvin turned around to see how his pupil was doing. “Fine, that’s close enough for jazz.” Al-enkara was surprised that such a shabby spell passed his master’s test. He listened intently as Morvin spoke up, while pouring tea. “My boy, what is it that you’d like to do?” “I want to be a wizard someday.” “Ah yes, and what must all wizards do?” Al-enkara shrugged, “Cast spells?” Morvin stopped pouring, “No, adventure!” “Right, adventure,” the boy made a note of it. “Anything else?” “Well, mainly just adventure. And boy do I have one for you. A right old quest, it is, actually.” “To slay a dragon?” Al-enkara’s eyes grew wide. “Not exactly,” Morvin finished pouring and took a seat across from his student. “To recover a holy artifact from the Smelly Desert?” His eyes weren’t quite as wide, but the idea of trekking across the Smelly Desert did warm his heart. “No,” Morvin sighed, “not that either.” “Well, what is it?” Al-enkara was desperate for an answer, hoping it didn’t involve becoming a door-to-door salesman in the Armadillo Isles. Morvin took a deep sigh, “You’re gonna go rescue a princess.” “Oh. Do I have to?” The boy drew back in his seat, a heavy breath escaping his lips. He picked up his spell book, hoping to turn to it for solace. “Of course you have to. It’s part of your lesson. I’ll get an expense account for you and you’ll get use of the company wagon if you’d like. We’ll start rounding up hired swords immediately.” Al-enkara looked defeated, “I suppose, if I must.” He put down his book of offensive spells and bit his fingernails... About Trak -- when i asked him for a biog..
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