A trip out

Well, it seems like old what's-his-name, oh yes, Eldrigar, really didn't think I was worth checking up on, because I've not seen his smug visage smarming its way into Zarfang yet. So, I had plenty of time to take a trip over to Tumberwell and find that girl, Maevrin. Yes, I know what you're thinking - why didn't I just call her up on the phone? Well, I can't help it if I can't keep the payments up on the bill, can I? I still say it was very suspicious that the last bill was so large. If I didn't know better, I'd say Grott had been using it, though what a person who couldn't speak would want with a telephone call is kind of beyond me. Telephone gambling tip line? Oh God, if it was one of those phone numbers you call up to hear someone talk dirty to you then I swear I'll kill myself. The image of Grott crouched there gurning away as he listened to that is not one for a full stomach, empty stomach or indeed anyone with a stomach at all.


It was a cold, misty sort of morning. I set out feeling fairly positive, after the last few days of grumpy indecision. I decided to leave Grott behind for the day's operation, I kind of thought he'd cramp my style in trying to get some random and possibly inept quest contractor to do my general bidding for cut-price fees. The sight (and, regretfully, the smell) of Grott standing there grimacing beside me tended to make people look on me... unfavourably. I know this by bitter experience, and it's a shame, because we all know Grot's great, and a total living legend. Honestly, you should try his omelettes, you'd never have though something so simple could be so tasty. Have to watch him carefully while he's cooking them, though - I saw one of his boils burst while he was frying an egg, I think you probably don't want to know the details, but all I'm saying is that I'm absolutely NOT going to eat something like that if I can help it. God knows what would happen to you if you did - maybe you'd turn into another Grott - maybe that's how Grotts come about in the first place. Anyway, though, I'm going off topic again.


I walked determinedly across the blasted wastes feeling almost cheerful. I was very close to whistling a happy little song, how unseemly for one so awesomely wreathed in occult powers such as myself. The weather was gradually improving; I could make out the faint disk of the sun through the murky clouds above me. The mist seemed to be clinging to my robes and beading it with a shroud of tiny water droplets. I thrust my hands into my pockets as I walked, and thought about my situation. I was feeling optimistic, but in reality the unpleasant certainly that in the coming struggle I'd have to do incredibly and superbly well just to have a chance was hovering around accusingly in the outer edges of my consciousness. Yes, it had to be said that I'd be doing bloody amazingly for the whole thing to be able to be technically termed a "struggle" when all was said and done. Now, I don't want any readers to get the wrong idea. I am, of course, a dark wizard of the very highest echelons of the uttermost force of supreme evil, but for reasons that I don't want to go into at this moment, I've not been, how could we say... on form at this present time. Yes, that's exactly what's happening. Off form. I could crush this guy, what's his name - I keep bloody forgetting it, in about five minutes normally, it's just that I don't quite feel up to it right now, that's what's happening.


I soon enough came to the edge of the howling wastes, and passed briefly across the edge of the Swamp of Unending Festerment, passing close by the Swamp of Unending Festerment Gift Shop. No special offers in the window, no point in looking at it any further. Who would have thought that commercial venture would be a success? Well I for one didn't see that coming. Gives me hope for that potion business, eh? Maybe I could make it as a TV chef after all? Anyway, I wandered on, coming within distant sight of the Ebon Tower of Unyielding Gloom, at which I gave the finger in petulent protest for my ridiculous treatment there last week. After a short and squelchy walk across the boggy land, I met up with the east road into Tumberwell, taking me through the southern fringes of the Shadowed Forest of Eternal Night. Actually, it's not so bad as the name suggests, honestly I think whoever it was that named the places around here was just a big drama queen. It's just got an awful lot of these big, almost black pine trees that fit together so tightly they block out almost all of the light. Personally, I quite like pine trees. Don't ask me why I said that, I don't have a clue. Still, they say the forest is the ancient home of the dreaded BLACK MANGLER BEAST, though of course, it's pretty obvious the story was totally made up to scare kids and the idiotic. I don't believe in the Black Mangler of course, but I somehow prefer not to dwell too long on the thought of it while walking the forest. You know, they say it has fifteen eyes and seven heads, and has an inexplicable hatred for bowler hats? Yes, I know - creepy.


I passed through the forest entirely un-mangled, and found myself walking down the cobbled high street of Tumberwell. The odd car trundled its way steadily along the busy avenue, and despite the chilly mist there were shoppers out in force. The whole architectural style of Tumberwell gave the impression of a master architect with serious balance problems - somewhat impressive, though antiquated buildings hopelessly crooked and higgledy-piggledy. After about fifteen minutes of ineffectual wandering I found what I was looking for. Maevrin's place turned out to be less than impressive, a small basement below a grubby and battered row of terraced housing, but in a way this was encouraging. Anyone who was willing to live in there was presumably willing to work for the pitiful pay I was going to offer. I climbed carefully down the crumbling steps to the rather battered front door, noting the rather crude hand painted sign above it, reading:


"Maevrin, Mistress of Quests, warrior maiden. Enquire within, budget rates and concessions for the elderly."


Below it was another sign, though this one was much better made; elegant gold script on a dark green carved wooden plaque.


"Tumberwell Stamp Collector's Club


President, Maev Wiggler."


Reading the second plaque didn't exactly make my heart sink. Rather, I just kind of... stopped. It was moments like that that made me really wonder what on earth it was that I was trying to accomplish. A warrior maiden who was also big on stamp collecting. Why exactly was it that some people's lives seem to work out in great dramatic waves of exciting and fulfilling accomplishment? I expect there are any number of black mages as I write this who are commanding a dark horde or two into battle, plotting over a bubbling cauldron of unspeakable power or flying around somewhere on a black dragon. OK, I know life never goes well the whole time no matter how lucky or talented you are, but there are a certain sort of people that would never be about to knock on a door and place their faith in the services of a philatelist nerd-girl with a sword. It wasn't the last time I felt like that as the day wore on.


After a short moment of quiet introspection, I pulled myself together and knocked on the door. There was a shuffling, rustling sound from within, a few bumps and curses, then the muffled voice from somewhere within:


"Just a moment! I've knocked over the glue!"


The feeling previously described made another dire assault on my mind, but I fought it back to the inner recesses of my concious, where it slunk, grinning to itself in the sure knowledge that it would soon be back to sink its wicked little teeth into me before long. After a while, the door slid itself open reluctantly, grinding and stuttering aside to reveal the round, bespectacled face of the girl that had knocked on my door a few days ago.


"Yes?" She asked, absently.


"Ah, yes," I began. "I'd like to hire your services for a quest, if you're available?"


She looked taken aback for a second.


"A quest?" she asked, "Are you sure?"


What sort of an answer was that? That nasty little thing in my brain's grin widened. I think I'll have to give that thing a name. How about George? If I make friends with it and give it a friendly name, maybe it'll leave me alone. Anyway, what was this girl implying? That I was the sort of person who shouldn't even bother hiring people for quests?


"Yes, I'm sure. Is there a problem?"


"No, no," she said, trying to backpedal furiously, "It's just been so long since someone actually wanted to hire me. You know what it's like with this bloody credit crunch. You know, I thought there'd be plenty of questing to do around here when I moved in - I've had nothing! Still, my stamps have never been better. Did you know, I've just got the complete set of commemorative stamps the King of Trandeburk issued when his favourite cat died in 1181? You know, it's a little known fact that..."


With that, she launched into a fearsome assault of stamp related information, while I stood staring at her in disbelief, while George had come out of his hole and was dancing around happily. At first, I tried to interrupt her subtly, trying to edge my way back into the monologue, after I while I gave up and just stood there nodding at the right points. Now, some might at this point ask me why I didn't get angry and make her stop, after all this was customer service so dire both contained no service whatsoever and in fact precluded me from becoming a customer. Actually, it was strangely mesmerising watching her rattle on, scarcely pausing for breath, the incomprehensible torrent words spewing unending from her like a waterfall; it took my mind off my own dire situation. OK, it sounds a bit strange now, maybe you'd have to have been there. And have been me.


After perhaps five or ten minutes of this, the flood appeared to be stemmed momentarily, though I sensed it hadn't dried up one bit.


"Well, I must say, it's a pleasure to talk to someone with such a keen interest in stamps and stamp related matters. What's your name?"


I feel the need to report the fact that at this point I had only spoken the one sentence of introduction. To tell you the truth, I don't mind eccentrics, I'm not a hypocrite, most people would say I was one myself (though of course they'd have missed my hidden ABSOLUTE POWER of course).


"Just call me Ivan", I said, deciding to leave the other part a mystery for the time being, remembering Eldrigar. "I'm a dark wizard. Don't you remember knocking on my door the other day?"


"Err, no, can't say I do."


"You can't remember me, all dressed in black robes, living in a large tower in the middle of nowhere? The only inhabited place for five miles or so of blasted wasteland and heath?"


"No," she said blankly, "I expect I was thinking about stamps."


I wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that. Fortunately, I didn't have to.


"You'd better come in. Excuse the mess, I've been re-mounting my Krumlian Blue album."


She shuffled back through the door and I followed, grinding the door closed behind me. The room was murky, with the exception of a very large and solidly build dark oak desk which was brilliantly lit by a bright spot lamp. I couldn't really make out much of the rest of the room, though there did appear to be a very large number of rectangular shapes hanging from the wall, which turned out to be covered in innumerable stamps. The desk was covered in bottles of glue, brushes, papers and all sorts of odd and outlandish looking bits of equipment of indeterminable function.


"Please, sit down," she said, gesturing at a rather elderly chair. She herself set herself down on a stool by the desk. "Sorry about the lights, the landlord still hasn't fixed them yet."


I noticed she wasn't wearing the ill-fitting suit of armor that she'd been wearing the first time we met. Instead, she was wearing a plain brown dress, nice enough, but kind of nondescript. She was kind of on the short side, brown, slightly curly hair. The freckles and large, black rimmed glasses were still very much in evidence. You know, those glasses were quite remarkable in a way. Most of the time, those kind of glasses make your eyes seem disproportionally large, with hers, you rarely could make out her eyes at all, god knows what bizarre powers to distort light they had. It gave you the strange feeling of speaking to a giant pair of window panes when talking to her, you kept trying to make out what was behind them. She gave the impression that she didn't spend an extensive amount of time each morning on a complex beauty routine while not looking in any way scruffy, the sort of appearance you sometimes find in a research scientist in gerbil science or a librarian that dealt with books on vintage plumbing. I was having slight doubts about her athletic prowess, which was something you did generally look for in an adventurer for hire, she was the sort of shape that was just one cream cake away from definite chubbiness.


"So," she began, and I for one moment thought she might be about to be helpful. "If you're a real dark wizard, what's your name of power? You know, like "Black Stone" or "Grim Fire" or something like that."


This wasn't helpful in the least. I had to tell her, assuming the grimmest expression I could muster.


"It's 'The Limpet'", I said, glaring at her. I've told you before, I can't actually see the problem with the name, it's just everyone else can't seem to understand it.


She paused for a moment, rubbing her chin delicately as if in deep thought, then said:


"That's a bloody stupid name."


I was incensed! However, being a master of self control and incredible self-discipline (as I'm sure you're well aware) I didn't give her the satisfaction of having some kind of spasm, instead I remained very calm.


"Well," I said, assuming the most aloof voice I could muster ,"I'm afraid I'm an entirely self-taught wizard, I wasn't fortunate to be born into a family that could afford a proper dark master. That was the name that the Obsidian Tome came up with for me, and that will do as far as I'm concerned."


"Well, OK," she said, "Sorry about that. I keep forgetting you're not a stamp, so I can't say what's on my mind."


Once again, George did a little caper around my mind and grinned toothily at me. He's getting to be a real problem, and I'd only just thought him up.


"Anyway, bypassing your excellent customer service," I said, my best sarcasm met with nothing but blankness, "Are you going to help me or not?"


"How much are you offering?"


"56 Waldroons"


"56 Waldroons!" she said indigently. "I charge 70 to join the stamp club, honestly, you don't expect me to work for that do you?"


"Well," I said, sucking my breath through my teeth in the way a car mechanic does when it's going to be expensive, "Times are hard, you know. Besides, once you've helped a famous dark wizard like me, I'm sure your reputation will go through the roof. You'll have so much work you won't know what to do. Plus, this is only the beginning - I'll probably have lots more work for you, depending on how well you do."


She didn't look terribly impressed, especially at the "famous dark wizard" part (annoyingly). But, I could kind of tell she needed the money as much as I needed the help. At last, she grudgingly agreed.


"OK, you've got yourself a deal. I tell you what, I'll come back with you to your tower, or whatever it was, then I'll change into my business clothes when I get there. Come on then," she said as she stood up and walked over to a murky cuboard in the corner of the room and began shoving various items in a rather mouldy looking green leather bag.


We walked off down the street together, Maevrin staring ahead sullenly, no doubt internally grumbling at the pittance she was being paid. I tried to lighten the mood with a little conversation.


"So, err, Maevrin," I began rather awkwardly. "This stamp club of yours, how many members have you got?"


Her grimace intensified.


"None," she said, "Can't seem to find anyone with even the remotest interest in stamps around here. Hey, how about you joining?" she seemed suddenly eager with a slight edge of desparation. I couldn't help feeling a bit awkward.


"Ahh, well, I'm sorry, I just don't really have the time, you know, never really was in to stamps..."


She looked crestfallen, I felt irrationally guilty. Maybe as business partners we weren't so mismatched after all.

Hmm

Well, things have been a bit slow around here. OK, so I've been wasting time a bit. You know, these sorts of things have got to be worked up to steadily. Plus, I've been gathering intelligence on the enemy in general. I've been watching him building that ridiculously high tower of his. Actually, all that stuff I said about psychologists and tower building in general that I said previously, I think that's actually true, in his case anyway. The thing's massive! As if that's couldn't possibly be making up for something... Anyway, looking out of the window, things aren't looking so good. The new tower's unmissable as I look out of my bedroom window, huge; a great black pillar stretching up so far its top is misted by clouds. I'm off out tomorrow, I'm going to Tumberwell, the local town, to find that girl with the ill-fitting armour and hire her services for a bit of free-lance questing. Actually, I wonder if I could hire her... Ahh, sorry, I think I've been hanging around at home on my own for a bit too long, I think getting out in the fresh air will do me good. Plus, she doesn't look like like the sort of girl who.... Sorry, I don't know what I'm talking about, blame the toad extract they put in this bloody awful cheep beer I'm drinking. Why am I even thinking about that girl in any other way than as a pawn in my sinister game anyway? What sort of a dark wizard am I? Dear oh dear, this whole business is becoming cringe worthy.

Hmm, well, don't think there's anything else much to say about now. You know, even though few people (if that) will in all probability stumble across this account of all my difficulties, problems and general unpleasant happenings, it really is nice to send all this stuff out, even if it is to the inhabitants of some other and quite obviously odd other dimension, world or whatever. Well, toodle pip for now,

THE LIMPET

The Result

Well, I can't say everything went entirely to plan. In fact, I can't say things went to plan at all. I do hope these recent setbacks don't convince you otherwise if you were considering signing up as one of my minions. I swear, one of these days I'll be getting right on to the whole "world domination" thing. You just have to take things one step at a time, and in any case, I've got enough on my plate right now. Anyway, here's what happened.


We snuck towards the new tower, picking our way through the ragged boulders and contorted, skeletal trees, conveniently masked by a faint and eerie mist. Just the sort of weather the Howling Waste is famed for (when it's not a howling gale, of course). Grott's bush disguise seemed to be working admirably, though I had noticed the odd branch dropping off from time to time. He certainly seemed to be enjoying himself, he was grinning ear to ear and making little burbling sounds to himself, I had to tell him to keep quiet several times. Still, I couldn't be angry with him, at least he was showing the sort of spirit for his master which is, alas, often sadly lacking in today's generation of lackeys. At least I can count on his loyal assistance throughout this whole sorry affair.


We slowly approached the foreboding walls; they loomed up, towering above us, dark and menacing through the thin haze of fog. Far above, I could still see the faint, phosphorescent glow as more blocks were slid magically into place. I wondered how high he could possibly want the bloody thing to be.


"Right, Grott," I said, rallying my troops, "You go around to the right, I'll go around to the left, and we'll meet up on the other side"


Grott nodded eagerly, his bewarted features the very picture of keenness. We both began to creep steadily around the tower's walls. I had to admit, it was an impressive piece of construction. Each block was nearly as tall as me, and must have weighed several tons. Of course, I had myself forged Zarfang using only the mightiest of arcane dark magics, so if you happen to hear any of the completely false rumours that I simply moved into it when it was empty and unoccupied, like some kind of magical squatter, I'll say now that this is completely untrue.

I couldn't make out anything of interest, bar the tower walls themselves. There didn't seem to be any kind of gate, or indeed any kind of windows or openings of any kind lower down. Far above me, I could just about make out what looked like narrow arrow slits, which presumably provided some kind of contact with the outside world for the tower's occupants.

After a while, I met up with Grott once more.

"Did you find anything interesting?" I asked him. He shook his head vigorously.

"What about a gate, did you see a gate?" He shook his head once more.

I didn't look as if we were going to get very much out of the whole operation, and to make matters worse, Grott's costume was starting to disintegrate. Motioning him to turn around, I thought I should at least try to tuck in what was remaining more securely. It was while I was in the rather compromising position of tucking fronds of foliage into the back of Grott's trousers that events took a turn for the worse. A large puff of purple and black flames rapidly resolved themselves into the figure of a young, fair-haired man, dressed in impressive, long black robes with blood red trimmings. His face bore a languid, almost bored expression as he cast his gaze witheringly over us. I rapidly withdrew my hands and assumed the most "I'm supposed to be here" sort of expression that I could muster. Still, the young man remained silent and aloof. He was irritatingly good looking, and seemed the type to regard anyone less so to be practically sub-human.

"Err, hello there," I began, straightening up and trying to look as innocent as possible "nice day for a walk, isn't it?"

The man raised one elegant eyebrow, and spoke.

"I take it you are the occupant of that tower over there?" he said, nodding lazily in the direction of Zarfang.

"Yes, yes I am," I replied, trying to look as if walking around in camouflage painted robes was the most natural thing in the world. "I was just casting my eye over your tower. Very impressive, not a bad job at all."

The man stared at me with thinly concealed contempt.

"Well, having met you, I think you should rest assured that you are not at all high on my list of priorities here. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Eldrigar, Eldrigar Dark Eagle of Mandrigon."

I attempted to match his haughty introduction, fighting an impossible battle. Curse this name of mine! I really must let you know how I got it, sometime. And before you ask, I think it's a good name, it's just others don't seem to recognise its power and brilliance. Well, you'll all be laughing on the other sides of your faces one of these days. But, I digress.

"I am Ivan, Ivan The Limpet!"

He didn't look impressed. In fact he looked almost disgusted at having to deal with me. I don't need to tell you, he was starting to get on my nerves. Still, I thought it best to play it safe, the guy obviously had power.

"I'm not going to ask how on earth you managed to come up with that name," Eldrigar answered haughtily, running a hand through his fair hair. "I won't ask, but you can be very reassured that you are now even lower on my list of objectives. I also will draw a veil over that misshapen creature that appears to be following you about. Tell me," he said, his eyes narrowing, "how old is that tower you occupy?"

"Oh, not very old," I said, as of course, as I told you, I defiantly didn't pick the lock and move into it a few years ago, "I built it a number of years back. Built it myself."

"Is that so," said Eldrigar suspiciously, "I have much work ahead of me before I can get involved with the likes of you. But I will tell you one thing, so listen carefully." He met my gaze with a cold and menacing eye. "I am now in control of this whole region. I don't mind suffering your existence, provided you stay well out of the way and don't presume that you can meddle in my affairs in any way. I really don't think you'd want to find out what would happen to you if you do. Now, I strongly suggest you get well out of the way. That is all."

And with that, he vanished in the same way he came. When the purple and black flames had died away, I signaled to Grott hurriedly and made a swift tactical withdrawal. I'm sure that in reading this you would will certainly have been very impressed about the way I not only successfully hid my true power, but lulled this intruder into a completely false sense of security. I'm sure that's exactly what you thought. Well, if he thinks I'm going to hand control of the blasted wastes over to him on a plate, he's sadly mistaken. Yes! Just as soon as I think of something, he'll be begging for mercy. I hope. Right then. Yes.

I walked steadily back home, Grott trotting obediently by my side. I wondered what he wanted here, anyway. It wasn't as if there was anything very interesting for miles and miles around.

"Honestly, Eldrigor Dark Eagle! Who does he think he is, with a name like that?" I thought, petulantly. "I bet Mandrigon isn't even a real place. He probably made it up on the spot. First thing when I get back, I'll be checking that out on google earth."

Frankly, I didn't care what he was up to, he'd stepped on my turf, and that, for any dark wizard worth his salt, was about the worst thing that could happen. I needed a plan. As if to directly oblige, my gaze fell to the wrought iron railings near to the gate of Zarfang. A leaflet had been tucked into the metalwork. As if someone littering was what I needed at a time like this! I snatched up the leaflet, casting my eye over it quickly.

"Maevrin, Mistress of Quests! No quest too big, no quest too small. Competitive rates, call today for a free quote!"

"Oh god, it must have been that girl from yesterday," I thought, wearily. Then, steadlily, the gears of my brain began to turn. "Wait a minute," I thought, a plan beginning to slink into my mind like a weasel rising slowly from its burrow "I think I just might be able to come up with a quest for her after all..."

***

Well, I'm back in my room at the top of the tower now, sipping on a well earned cup of tea. Stay tuned for the next exciting installment. Well, I hope it's going to be exciting, it could be all go horribly wrong for yours truly. You know, I always thought the term "yours truly" was really annoying when used like that, but what the hell, I've done it anyway. Honestly, what I wouldn't give for a quiet life....

Reconnaissance Mission

Right, time to find out what's going on. Grott and I are going over there to see what he's up to. I say "he", I think it's a fair assumption that this unwelcome interloper is male. Most black sorcerers usually are, especially the ones that build tall towers. I suppose the shape of those is somehow symbolic, but I for one can't stand it when bloody psychologists pop up out of the woodwork just when you've build a really great tower and say it's due to your repressed feelings of inadequacy in certain departments. Nothing spoils things more than something like that, and it is also NOT TRUE by the way.


I've painted up one of my old robes in camouflage colours, Grott has been camouflaged to look like a small bush. I don't know whether it's quite worked as well as I hoped, plus there is the fact that nothing much is growing in a five mile radius of here, but hopefully this newcomer is unfamiliar with this area and will think ambulatory bushes are perfectly par for the course in these parts.


OK, I'm going over there right now! Wish me luck. A bit of sneaking should yield some good results....

Curses!

I can't believe it. As if it wasn't enough that my peace and quiet was so rudely shattered by that girl selling door to door questing yesterday, you'll never believe what's happened this morning! Let me calm down a bit, and I'll tell you about it. Grott's just bringing me a cup of tea. Ah! With lizard scales and pine beetle juice, just the way I like it. Thanks Grott. He's shuffling off out the door now. He's a godsend for making tea, but I do wish he wouldn't dribble on the carpet like that.


Anyway, where was I? Right, I'll start at the beginning. This morning, I had to make the trip over to the Ebon Tower of Unyielding Gloom again to pick up my unemployment benefit. It's not such a bad journey, the Swamp of Unending Festerment isn't so nice this time of year, but then again I suppose you can't really say it's very nice any time of the year.


In any case, I got there on time and was waiting in line. There was a large troll with diabolical BO standing in front of me, trying to figure out how to fill in some form or other. As always, it was far too hot in there, and I was soon sweating copiously beneath my Shadowed Robes of Unspeakable Power (a nice find in a local charity shop last year). All of a sudden, a nightmarish, multi legged, hairy SOMETHING skittered in an abominably jerky way out from behind the office photocopier.


I bloody knew it! I probably don't need to tell you this, but I absolutely despise giant spiders, and this one was particularly appalling in appearance. Looking back, it's a miracle I didn't soil my robes at that moment.


The hideous spider lunged in my direction, its eight bulging green eyes seemingly intent on feeding on my flesh. Panicking, I aimed a boot directly for the monstrosity's head, and connected with a sickening crunch. The beast appeared to be stunned and rolled over, kicking its legs in the sort of way that causes an arachnophobe have suffer instant mental breakdown. Then it flipped over onto its legs and scurried away. Horrible!


That bloody troll was still standing there, staring at its form and scratching its head stupidly. I noticed, in a post adrenaline induced delirium, that the spider had left some sheets of paper behind it. This bizarre observation turned out to have a meaning after all. You'll never believe this, that revolting spider turned out to be an employee!


Now, I'm all for equal opportunities, it's no skin of my nose if that lot want to hire some sort of aberration of nature to do their photocopying, but they could try actually TELLING you! I'm not some kind of MIND READER am I? Apparently, it was trying to bring me the latest customer satisfaction questionnaire. I still say it was trying to eat me. Well, the upshot is they've suspended my benefits pending an investigation into assault of an employee. Perfect, now I'm totally broke. Well, they messed with the wrong dark wizard! I'll get them back one day. I hope.


Well, yes, anyway, at least I thought I could go back home to Zarfang and get a bit of peace and solitude. I stamped off back through the marsh land, across the empty wilderness, looking forward to the moment I could slam the door and have a bit of a sulk. But as I was just arriving at the front door, an unspeakable sight met my eyes!


Across the murky and broken landscape, I could make out the shape of another mage tower, partly constructed! I watched through the misty gloom as large blocks of black stone magically hovered up from the ground, wreathed in a ghostly blue-green light, and slotted themselves neatly in place at the top of the growing tower.


I noted, with a ghastly sinking feeling, that the the tower looked as if it would be a great deal taller than Zarfang and a great deal more impressive. Well, it just about looked as if the day couldn't have got any worse. Bloody hell! I'm sitting here in my bedroom, and I can see that tower out there growing taller and taller by the minute! Is it so much to ask that you can move to an out of the way backwater and make a meager living as the local black sorcerer? Is it such a crime to want to live in peace? Was it my fault, the incident with the frog, the soap and the picture of Hernán Cortés that got me chucked out of The Dark Lord Zarnak's employ? Well, OK, maybe that one was kind of my fault.


Anyway, first thing tomorrow, I'm going to find out who that sodding mage is, and why he's barged his way into my patch! He'll have me and Grott to answer to, and I'm sure he's not going to like that! So, tomorrow then....

A Visitor...

The sun sets in crimson splendour over the wasteland, as I lean back in my chair and sip a can of beer luxuriantly. There's nothing like having an evil domain to lord it over, even if it is a rather small one. I think back over the day's events...

You know, something unusual happened right after I'd finished with the laundry. There was a knock at the door. This pretty seldom happens - they don't call it the howling/blasted wastes for nothing. When I opened the door, there was a girl standing there in ill-assorted and badly fitting armour. I wasn't about to complain about her dress - I was wearing ill-assorted and badly fitting set of Robes of Uttermost Blackness, which weren't actually all that black due to liberal quantity of soap bubbles and greasy marks from where I'd been scrubbing the deep-fryer. The girl turned out to be an out of work quest contractor, wondering if if I had any general quests that needed completing. It seemed the credit crunch had cast its baleful influence over more than just the evil wizardry sector. Actually, as heroic figures would go, it had to be said, she didn't really fit the classic image, unless the classic image was "slightly overweight, numerous freckles and large horn-rimmed glasses". Still, I suppose my own rather skinny appearance didn't exactly match the image of dark mage either.

I made it clear that there was no chance of any quests cropping up in the foreseeable future. You have to make it clear to these salespeople, or they'll always be banging on your door. I also made it clear that despite the outward appearance of a rather fine and impressively gloomy mage tower, there was actually nothing remotely in the way of valuable or magical items that might be worth stealing, unless you count my great uncle's Rod of Mystic Summoning which I currently use as a doorstop, being that it hasn't worked for over seventy eight years. The last time it had worked, it only managed to call up a Brussels sprout that could quote lines from Shakespeare, not terribly useful when you wanted a level 17 Black Beast of Hraath.

She looked quite crestfallen as I sent her away. I couldn't permit myself to feel entirely sorry for her, I am supposed to be a dark warlock after all, but I did feel some sympathy. After all, she was in the same boat I was. I didn't move to the Blasted Wastes for the lively social life, it's the peace and quiet and potential of setting up a grim and imposing wizard tower that I wanted, but I do admit some company that, unlike Grott, could actually speak let alone hold a conversation would be nice once in a while. She wasn't really all that bad looking, despite the glasses and everything... AH! I'm a dark wizard, I'm supposed to be plotting the demise of my enemies, not thinking about ineptly attired hero girls.


Still though, the only time I've had any amorous feelings towards anyone also coincided with the only time I've ever tried drinking one of my own potions, and I don't really think it counts as I ended up falling in love with an iced bun. Time for a flashback, I think....


I was walking down the baked goods isle in the local shop, my mind wandering aimlessly in a potion induced haze, when I saw her. Smooth pink icing covering her every contour, I was smitten from the start. The man in the shop seemed delighted that his iced cake had finally found love, it seemed he couldn't get me out of there too quickly. Her name turned out to be Suzanne, and our relationship rapidly blossomed. We faced a lot of prejudice from the general public, mainly due to the negative portrayal of sugary snacks in the media. We had to endure cruel stares as we walked the streets together or kissed in public.


Alas, it all had to end. A trip to a beach resort ended in tragedy. Rushing to cross the road in a freak downpour, she slipped from my hand. I was struck by a passing car. Looking down, all that was left of her was a sad splatter of dough and pink icing in the gutter. I contemplated ending it all, but realised Suzanne would have wanted me to carry on. It was a bleak time, but I tried to remain strong.


It was only later, when the potion wore off, that I realised the fundamental illogicality of falling in love with baked confectionery.


Well, there it is, my tale of woe. The annoying is that potion was only supposed to stop chronic sneezing. Oh well, mustn't moan. I'm not drinking any more of that stuff for any money, though.

Greetings

Greetings, and welcome to the inaugural blog special! Though of course you will never have heard of me, I am the great and powerful Ivan the Limpet, professional dark wizard and master of all types of arcane arts. I suppose the first thing you would want to know upon receiving this piece of information is how I did, in fact, become known by such a name as "Ivan the Limpet". Well, you'll have to wait for that, lest I ruin my exotic air of mystery. Anyway, I live here in the Dark Tower of Zarfang (not really sure about that name either - what do you think?) which is set amidst the picturesque rural landscape of the Howling Wastes, also known as the Blasted Wastes.

I live alone, except for my most wizened manservant/lackey, Grott, who is currently (as it's a nice sunny day) wheezing up and down in the garden, hanging the washing out. Ah, it brings a tear to my eye to watch him, such dedication to duty! I'm sure he'd thank me if only he could speak, but he does make very complementary gestures. If you could see Grott now, the first thing you'd probably notice is the extraordinary quantity of warts that encrust his face like barnacles on a rock. Just to reassure you, it doesn't seem to bother him as far as I can make out. Besides, as I watch his progress against the sombre background of the tower's garden, the warts seem to add a subtle splash of colour into an otherwise drab scene.

It's currently Saturday, so that means even more peace and quiet than usual. During the week, much of my time is devoted to the pursuit of what might be called "evil machinations", so you'll understand that the weekend brings a welcome relief to my busy schedule. Actually, to tell you the truth, maybe things have been a little bit too quiet since my unfortunate laying off last month from the employment of that complete bastard that calls himself “The Dark Lord Zarnak”. There's really not all that much work for a dark wizard around these parts recently as well, mostly thanks to this damn recession. Every two weeks I have to go traipsing off to the Ebon Tower of Unyielding Gloom to pick up my unemployment money, a degrading experience for one as adept in the mystic arts as myself. I wouldn't mind too much, but they keep you waiting for an age in there, it's far too hot and I'm almost certain I saw a giant spider wandering about near the photocopiers. Maybe I should consider becoming self-employed? Evil potions, something like that? Maybe a TV chef?


Before I go, I'd like to state the official purpose of this blog :- to report and recount the great deeds which I will undoubtedly perform in the coming months, thus encouraging the recruitment of a vast army of minions, which will be used in the cause of world domination. So, read on, and bask in my ever-lasting glory! OK, got to go now, the washing machine needs emptying. See you later!