Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away; there lived a rather unpleasant young man named 'Bakura.' His eyes were dark and fiery, and his wild, white hair hung low over a sharp face. He was somewhat handsome, but he was also arrogant and unsocial, so he became known as the local 'ogre.'

He lived in an old hut on the outskirts of town and kept to himself, frightening away unexpected visitors with various pranks and traps. The 'ogre' loved knives and swords, and he made a reputation for himself as a skilled sword-smith. His bad reputation amongst the other townsfolk, combined with his fascination with weapons, meant he was rarely disturbed. Yes, Bakura's thatched cottage at the edge of the woods normally went unnoticed by those not seeking a skilled metal worker.

Yet the unfriendly 'ogre' was about to receive a most unusual visit, from a most unwelcome pest...

Several miles away, a richly bronzed man was preening himself in front of a large, floor-length mirror. The golden-framed looking glass was presently being held up by two servants, while several others milled about the distracted nobleman. Only one manservant was currently standing next to the aristocratic young man; a strong, dark-skinned man with strange markings on his face. Yet despite the odd scars, it was clear that he was quite shocked by what had just been stated.

"My Lord Marik, do you truly mean-?"

"Yes, Odion. I have decided." The well-muscled baron nodded, and the two retainers eagerly rested the heavy mirror against the nearest wall. Then the platinum-haired lord gestured outwards with one arm, grandly throwing his red cape behind him as he spoke. "Everyone! Listen well: we shall hold my wedding in a fortnight!"

The bewildered servants glanced at one another, not certain what to make of this sudden declaration. Their liege, Marik, had a reputation for being... well, far past eccentric; but to host a wedding so quickly?! Of course, it was the lord's second-hand man, the brawny retainer named Odion, who stated the obvious.

"Um, and what of the bride, master?"

The light-haired aristocrat scoffed. "Never fear; it has already been decided- I shall wed the most beautiful creature in the land! ...and all my sources all tell me that this creature is a shy young man named 'Ryou' living in the Goshin province. He is the second son of King Milde, and therefore of the finest royal breeding. He is currently studying magic as a mage under the care of a foul-tempered tutor at a remote castle outpost."

The retainers looked at each other once again with uncertainty, but only Odion was brave enough to point out the obvious. "But, my lord- without a woman, surely you will be unable to produce heirs?"

The nobleman raised one golden eyebrow in disbelief. "Odion, have you lost your mind?! I lack no hairs- gaze upon the crowning glory of my beautiful, golden locks!" With that, the conceited aristocrat waved a dark hand through his platinum-toned hair. He glanced critically at his man-at-arms' well-shaven scalp.

"Wait, is that why you're bald? You've been somehow led to believe that you cannot grow hair if you aren't shacking up with some bawd?" The proud baron snorted at the tall underling. "And people say I'm ignorant- good grief, Odion, get a clue!"

The defeated manservant held back a sigh as he bowed in agreement. "Yes, Master Marik..."

"Hmm..." the dark ruler suddenly seemed thoughtful. "But, your question does raise a fair point- it probably would not due to send someone to fetch him the day of the ceremony. There are plenty of preparations to be made, after all... so I must send someone as quickly as possible... someone unafraid of dealing with an irate sorcerer..."

Odion continued kneeling on the stone floor of his lord's castle. "We have many brave, young knights on your court, my liege. They would all gladly pledge this quest to your honor."

But Marik sneered distrustfully. "Oh, yes, we certainly do; but I cannot risk one of them taking my place- young hearts tend to easily fall for heroic deeds... and the naive Prince Ryou might find himself falsely ensnared... no, I cannot send someone from our own attractive forces." The purple-eyed baron began pacing back and forth as he racked his mind for a solution. "No, I must send a champion who is ugly both inside and out... but who in my kingdom could ever fit such a measure?"

One of the mirror-holders suddenly smirked before speaking up. "Sire, I believe I have a name for you..."

"You want me to do WHAT?!" The pale blacksmith glowered at the egotistical idiot standing boldly on his threshold. Bakura scowled at the gaudy entourage currently standing just behind their liege. The confused metalsmith was wearing a thick, protective apron made from old leather, and his entire body was smudged with soot. He hated being interrupted when he was working the bellows, and of course it turned out to be the local nutcase, Lord Mare-tick or whatever his name was. "Have you finally lost your last shred of sense?!"

Lord Marik gave a twisted smile as he repeated his declaration. "Not at all. As I said- I, Lord Marik, am sending you on a quest." He pointed one dark finger at the scowling 'ogre.' "You will retrieve the dear Prince Ryou from his tutor's home and bring him to me."

Bakura's cerise eyes seemed to burn as he loudly rebuffed the lord's orders. "You want me to go and freakin' kidnap some guy because you think he's good-looking?! Forget it, you lunatic! I'm a sword-maker, not a matchmaker!"

The bronze-skinned aristocrat seemed to be enjoying the reactions of the dirty metalworker. "Oh, but you are whatever I declare you to be. And today I declare you to be a mercenary under my command."

"And if I refuse?" The unsociable citizen snapped, clearly eager to be rid of the madman.

Lord Marik smirked and gestured widely towards the modest land plot surrounding them. "This lovely land you've claimed has not seen a tax increase in a few years... I think it's due for an increase." The noble nonchalantly picked at a spot on his chin as he spoke. "Perhaps a modest rise of say... 1,000 percent for next year's taxes?"

"WHAT?!" The metal-smith nearly passed out upon hearing the outrageous threat. "That's... that's insane! I could never pay off such a massive increase!"

"Then I believe we've reached an understanding, dear mercenary." The blonde lord sneered as he turned on his heels and marched back towards his company. "I shall expect you to return within half a fortnight- fare well, 'ogre!'"

The stunned blacksmith felt his jaw drop as the entire party marched off towards the main road. He glanced around at the small hut and the old forest behind him. He knew this was the perfect spot for his metalworking- he needed the trees to make the coal that fueled his furnace, and the distance between himself and the town protected him from complaints against his smoky procedures.

He could not afford to lose this perfect parcel of land.

"#&%$!"