Olaf, Oliff, Oren and Ozwüld were the only ones awake at this godforsaken hour. They had all been prudent in leaving the manor to hunt for their wives and children. They had been even more prudent in bringing their bows, arrows, and traps with them. They had been foolish in bringing their whiskey with them, even if it was Kel'Thazud's Hearty Brew™. While whiskey was warming for a moment, it actually constricted the blood vessels, causing greater chill in the long run. Another region, of greater importance, that was stricken by alcohol was the Medulla Oblongata. Unfortunately, this is the area of judgment and inhibition. To be struck here was to be struck in the very soul. As a result of this, the hunters paid no heed to the fact that they were wandering blindly between borders they were not supposed to even know the existence of.
Olaf, Oliff, Oren, and Ozwuld caroused about the countryside, laughing, talking, and boisterizing loudly. They eventually collapsed in a safe-looking wooded area.
"Walp, Ozwuld," Olaf said, "Wot've 'e cot?" Ozwuld looked puzzled for a moment. His lifelong friend had never before had a Scottish accent. Oren and Oliff looked ready to testify to this fact. Olaf also looked puzzled.
"Wot're yeh so flabbergasted fer?" Olaf glared expectantly at his friends.
"umm… Olaf?" Ozwüld gathered enough courage to speak.
"Ya, wot?"
"your… accent,"
"wot aboot it?"
"it's um… it's no big deal really, it's just that you're not Scottish,"
"eh?"
"yeah, Olaf, you just started talking like a Scotsman there for minute, you know, from Scotland,"
This comment received even more whispered commentary from Oren and Oliff. Ozwüld noticed. Turning to them, he spoke, "What are you guys giving me whispered commentary for? Haven't any of you heard of Scotland before?"
They shook their heads in time to their rapid heartbeats. A moment of silence passed like the shade of a curse, howling on the wind. The chill of the night soon crept upon the four hunters, reaching its phantasmal fingers through their collection of furs and cloaks, strangling the whiskey from their souls. It was then that they realized just how far from home they had strayed. Oliff was the first to soften the silence.
"guys, I don't think we should be here," he whispered, afraid to be heard. Just outside his field of vision, shadows reached across vast expanses. Nightmares emerged and took their chances, "Seriously, guys, we need to get going,"
"Wot're ye so skeered aboot," Olaf said, trembling, "We've jes stumbled into a wee forest or summat,"
"No," sobbed Oliff, "We're in the Umbral Haven!" Throats gasped on a whim. There were far more than four of them. Oren's hunched form jolted upright, eyes aglaze. His three companions drew back from horror ablaze. The beast named Oren split its face in a grin. From its mouth poured the words in a language of sin.
"WTF n00bzors, R U gunna fli or I gotta pwn u?" the Shadows and Nightmares chattered to themselves triumphantly. They withdrew poetically, taking their rhymes with them.
Oliff was the most frightened. The other two seemed relatively impassive. Oliff looked at them, and saw something lurking behind their eyes, something so new that it would make any ancient horror crawl back into its cavern and close up shop for the season. This new threat welcomed the Beast named oren with open arms, and Olaf and Ozwuld embraced the change. They didn't have any choice.
Oliff got up and tried to run, but he was caught up by something hot and dark. As he fell, his screams were covered by the sweating hands of Olaf and Ozwuld. Blood trickled along the ground with a note of a book closing for the last time.
That same night, things were anything but quiet at the hidden citadel of Gur'Damad. The Lord Magus of Gur' Damad, whose name shall not be uttered, was wide awake at this godforsaken hour. He strode the citadel's halls, scanning floor and walls for whatever gruesome catch he sought. His crooked, nose, and grim silver hair seemed out of place among his young visage. His eyes, burning blue, penetrated the smothering darkness. He sought throughout the endless hallways of Gur'Damad for what seemed like hours, before his advance was abruptly halted.
Thud!
"Ow!" said the figure from the place where he had fallen, "Watch where you're going next time, okay!" There, in the darkness before him, another figure was recumbent on the stone floor. It looked up, and spoke.
"M-Maddrik? Is that you?" The Lord Magus blinked at recognition of his name, and responded.
"Yeah, Garbin? What are you doing up at this time of night?" The figure known as Garbin stood up.
"I was about to ask you that very same question," he said.
"I'm, uh, looking for something," Maddrik admitted sheepishly. The robed figure of Garbin drew closer, coming into view. He was tall, and also fairly young, but where Maddrik's form hinted at stormy gray, this one seemed to be all sky blue, or dirt brown, depending on his mood.Maddrik was the Lord Magus of Gur'Damad, and Garbin was the High Wizard.They both walked with the air of magicians about them, but while Maddrik's power was derived from dead spirits and tears in the space-time continuum, Garbin chose the elements of nature as his allies. Both of them had known each other for years, had attended the same school of sorcery, and both of them took up summer jobs as eastern restaurant workers.
"What is it you're looking for?"
"Well, uh," Maddrik wavered uneasily, then gave in, "I kinda lost my robe,"
Through the thick darkness, Garbin glared stoically.
"Again?" he heaved, "That's the third time this week, Maddrik,"
"I know,"
"How'd you lose it this time? Give me the full story,"
"Well, you know those things that rule over everyone?"
"Hm? Oh, yes I do, they're called Kings,"
"Right, them, well, I was summoned by one. He wanted me to--"
"--What the hell are you talking about, Maddrik? Earl is ruled by a Duke, there is no king!"
"Yeah, well, this was the King of the Fairy world,"
"Fairie world,"
"yeah, whatever, so this King of Fairie world summoned me to partake in a noble quest,"
"okay, where is this Fairie world,"
Maddrik looked confused for several seconds, then, "Well, I don't know, no one knows,"
"So," Garbin responded, "You mean to tell me that this Fairie King guy summoned you, Maddrik, Warlock-at-large, to do a noble quest?"
"yes,"
"how did he talk to you then?"
"he was a magic Fairie king…"
Garbin looked bluntly at his colleague. Maddrik looked bluntly at Garbin. There were a few moments of deathly silence.
"Well he was,"
"Nevermind that, Maddrik, just tell me where your robe is, so that we can find it,"
"Well, that's really the point of me narrating the story of how I lost it, Garbin. Anyway, this Fairie prince--"
"--King,"
"whatever. He summons me and asks me to partake on a noble quest to rescue his daughter,"
"Well was there a Fairie queen?"
"no, I don't think so,"
"Then how can there be a daughter," It wasn't a question, it was a discovered Checkmate
Maddrik pondered this for a few moments.
"I dunno… Fairie hookers? It's not important. So I go out to find the Fairie King's daughter, and as it turns out, when I rescue her, she really warms up to me. I mean, really warms up to me,"
Garbin's jaw dropped, "You left your robe in the hands of some Fairie princess who's in a distant fairie world that no one knows about?"
"Oh, no. The Fairies turned out to be demons in disguise. The princess tried to kill me… with fire. My robe's here in Gur'Damad. I think I lost it in the wash somewhere. I just wanted to bounce ideas off of you for my next story,"
If you were told that the fate of the Dukedom of Earl rested on Maddrik's shoulders, you would most certainly laugh, which is probably why this story is a comedy.