Disclaimer: The characters, names, kingdoms & other things herein (Except for the plot and the use of said nouns, which are all mine :) are the property of some huge corporation that has aspirations of ruling the world. Tatzel Wurm also has aspirations of ruling the world, but he is neither huge nor a corporation (Damn).

Chapter 1: A Calling

It was a cold, snowy December night in New York City. For those without a place to call home, it was as close to Hell as you could get without pulling a trigger or popping one too many pills. The city was dark, with everyone asleep, be it in an apartment, a high-rise suite, or under a bench in central park. It is in central park that our story takes us, amidst a row of bushes along the path.

Michael was currently asleep under said bushes, curled into a tight ball to keep warm. He moaned, dreaming of fine meats, women and warmth. A particularly sharp pang in his stomach awoke him, and he slowly sat up, looking around. After recognizing that he was not in Hawaii, surrounded by food and beautiful women, he stretched, pulling his arms behind his back until he heard a satisfying 'Crack'. Well, he thought to himself as he yawned, If I move fast, I can get to Waterside Barbecue in time for the chefs to empty the trash. There should be some choice scraps after Christmas Eve.

Rising, he pushed the branches out of his way, revealing his lean, 5'8 form. His ear-length, raven hair covered his left eye as he surveyed the path, checking that no one was about. Once he felt reasonably sure that no one was in the vicinity, he set off. Pulling his thin, patched leather jacket tighter around himself, he shuffled his way through the snow. Suddenly, a smell caught his nose. He perked up, looking around. It was an old smell, like that of an autumn morning. And for some reason, it felt like… home.

Looking around, he tried to trace the source of the smell. Against his better judgment, he stepped off the path, into the forest in the middle of Central Park. The smell was getting stronger… For some reason buried deep in his lineage, the smell was irresistible. Pushing aside the branches, he stepped into a small clearing. On the side opposite from him, he noticed a patch of air that… just didn't seem right. Still, the smell was getting stronger, so he stepped closer. Next to the patch, the smell was overpowering. Against his better judgment, he stuck a finger into the shimmering air, and was instantly sucked into a vortex.

Mirrors, mirrors and more mirrors… Mike kept crashing through them, not knowing what was happening and unable to do anything about it. After what seemed like an eternity, he fell onto the ground, free of the omnipresent reflective surfaces. Looking around, he cussed under his breath.

"Fuck," he murmured, "Where the hell am I?"

"You are in the Palace of the Queen," Came a reply from out of the shadows. Spinning around, Mike faced the beautiful, gowned woman emerging from behind a pillar.

"And we have been expecting you."

"Expecting me… what are you talking about, and who the fuck are you?" She smiled.

"I am an apprentice to the Queen, and we have been awaiting your arrival for some time." Before Mike could respond, the woman pointed a finger at him, and he froze, literally immobile.

"Ah yes, your will is strong," She cooed, walking around him, examining his fit, if somewhat thin form.

"As is your body. Well, we will have to fix that." She snapped her fingers, and Mike felt a strange tingling sensation run down his spine. He couldn't see what was happening, but he could tell he was getting shorter. After a minute, the tingling stopped. The woman smiled, apparently pleased.

"Well, do have a look at yourself my dear, I'm sure you'll be quite… surprised." She held up a hand mirror to Mike's face, and he shrieked.