Chapter 1:
In a land of myth, and a time of magic... the destiny of a great kingdom rests upon the shoulders of a young boy, His name Lewis.
As the young warlock Lewis stumbled over the grasping rocks of Camlan on his way to the mighty citadel of Camelot he wondered what had let to him being kicked out of the stinking, dirty hovel that he called home. Was it the villagers' jealousy of his long, radiant brown hair that flowed halfway down his back? Was it there disapproval of his dress sense: a tattered brown greatcoat, ruffled trousers, a creepy 'freedom forever' V for Vendetta t-shirt and old, scuffed leather army boots as opposed to the moulding rags worn by the rest of the population? Or maybe it was just their hatred of his obsession with the workers' revolution he always called for against that dollophead Prince Arthur and his crazed father King Uther Pendragon?
As his boot twisted over another jutting spear of rock and he face-planted into the cold and unforgiving floor he decided that haters gonna hate so what was the point worrying about it? He had other things to worry about such as how his beauty was now marred by a considerable number of bruises, but at least he was making good progress on the long winding journey to Camelot where he was sure his natural good looks and charm would provide him with a nice bale of hay to sleep on in the stables (it would be an improvement on soggy cardboard).
As he lay under the bright, luminescent stars later that night thinking more heavy thoughts, about the nature of existence and if they made good quality shampoo in Camelot, Lewis little knew that he was being watched by the heavy hand of destiny and that his troubles and weird dress sense were merely intended to prepare his character for the tests ahead. Had Lewis known this he would have happily endured a lifetime of low self esteem, mud-soaked clothes and greasy hair instead.
Several days later under the bright morning sun Lewis turned his perfect face towards the great city he thought of all ways he could improve it is a Marxist collective instead of it being a Monarchic dictatorship. But enough of that for today thought Lewis, he would have ample time for plotting to create the first people's republic of Camelot once he had food on his plate, a roof on his head and clothes on his back (everything except his majestic pink boxers had been stolen by an inquisitive anteater two night previous leaving his awe-inspiring potbelly and perfectly formed muscles for the world to see).
And so The Wild Lewis neared Camelot, his brain aching from overuse and his stomach from being underfed, little to know that his arrival would set the great wheels of destiny into motion.