Bartfort was famous - some would say infamous - for his extensive knowledge of the unknown. Thus his most well known nickname: the Knower of Secrets.

This is why my attention was caught by certain entries in the journals of other people in Holfort at the time of the Contest. Repeated mention is made by many different people of a man searching for the Copper Oak Leaves with a curious certainty in his stride, of someone who seemed to have prior knowledge of what he was looking for. His description perfectly matched that of Huan Strongarm, and by extension that of Leon Fou Bartfort. This is supported by the existence of the music box offered as a prize, which still exists with pride of place on the Bartfort Household's mantelpiece.

I was not able to uncover the order in which Bartfort found his Leaves, save for the last, so I shall order the first three in terms of historical significance. The following clue remained in Holfort's archives:

Whole of body but bent of back

I returned undone from woods of black

Though mind be fragile and broken still

Watching the skies with shattered will

But thee must know that lest we meet

Thy prize doth lie beneath mine feet.

At the time of the Contest, there lived by the docks a man of great notoriety. His name was Iven, and he was known as the Madman of Holfort. He disappeared during the citywide blank I mentioned at the start of this book, but pieced together records of Huan/Leon's movements trace him as being near his location. According to legend, Iven wandered into the woods one night while drunk and came out again a lunatic. He spoke in gibberish and refused any food or money offered in charity, eating only rats he caught with his bare hands and drinking only rain and from dirty puddles. Bartfort either killed him or cured him.

According to Queen Shirley of Invictus, it was the latter. The following is her own account, and is as trustworthy as she is.

As a side note, I find it highly unethical how King Roland - or whoever chose these hiding places - would use a harmless and mentally unwell person like Crazy Iven and use them as a glorified landmark. In bird culture, this is considered a dick move.

Huan Strongarm: A Bartfort Folktale, by Lufas Maphaahl

Leon arrived in the Holfort Outskirts, a bustle of passengers and dockworkers that surged between the docks and the city walls. Crates and barrels from all over the world lay in great piles, constantly being set down and taken away. Leon turned right, hugging the grey stone walls as he stepped between the unwashed masses.

Not far from the city gate he found what he was looking for: a fish stall with three fish (some of them being the kind that flew rather than swam) hanging from a high wooden beam. The two on the right looked normal enough, while the creature on the left was longer than Leon was tall.

A few feet away - just like he was in the game - a decrepit old man was huddled in a corner. His clothes hung off his skeletal frame and stank of his own filth, and the cobblestones where he sat were littered with the bones and mutilated carcasses of rats. He was revoltingly, horrifyingly, terrifyingly thin, his belly shrunken so far beneath his ribs that Leon could see the front of his spine. Most of his hair had been torn out or fallen off, leaving bloody scars and weeping sores across his scalp.

His eyes were so wide and bloodshot that Leon at first thought he had no eyelids, and his rotted teeth jutted from his lips and wept with blood and pus. The nails had been torn from his shrivelled hands and were embedded in his arms, legs, sides, neck and face while a few more had been left in the cobbles around him. There were far more nails than he had fingers or toes, implying that they had built up bit by bit as the man scratched at his body and surroundings over the course of many years.

And then there were the sores. The terrible, weeping sores. Some were on his head, as mentioned above, but chiefly they were everywhere. This was someone born to suffer. Who fate despised. Who the world hated. Every misfortunate soul he ever met going forward he would compare to Crazy Iven, and find their life to be better and more beautiful. Hell wept in shame.

Leon said nothing, because there were no words.

"Not pretty, is it?" Leon startled slightly when the little boy spoke, having been too distracted to notice him. "They call him Crazy Iven."

"I… I knew the stories, but I didn't…"

The kid just nodded. Iven was gently rocking back and forth, constantly whining or moaning. The sound intensified as Leon knelt in front of him, trying his best to look non-threatening.

"Hey there bud," he smiled, softly and sadly. "How's things?"

Iven sucked his teeth behind his lips along with as much blood, pus and spit as his mouth could carry. His eyes were wide and scared. "Mmm!" he moaned, refusing to open his mouth. "Mm mmm!"

"I see," nodded Leon, interpreting correctly that he was stressing him out. "I won't be here long." He turned back to the child, who had stayed to watch. "Is he always right here?"

"It's his spot," the boy nodded.

Leon turned back to the madman, who watched him with thinly veiled terror. "Someone hid something here," he went on. "I'm just here to pick it up and then I'll leave you be. May I please do that?"

Iven seemed to calm down. He pulled his knees up to his chin and unclenched his jaw, once more exposing his crying mouth.

"Thank you," nodded Leon politely. "You're very kind."

Only one of the cobblestones by his feet was loose. Leon considered prying it off with his pocket knife but didn't want to upset Iven, so instead he awkwardly poked at it with his fingers.

"Arg burffle durple there sdedum redobedo."

"Hm?" Leon blinked. Iven had leaned forward slightly and was staring at him in an intense, creepy manner. "Sorry, were you talking to me?"

"Is itn berbat jokte reveime oxcart?"

"My bad, I was focusing on this

"Lolo anrema treasure tlortle hinwe fawdee drinkable."

"I wasn't ignoring you, I was just distracted." Leon continued to pry as the cobble but couldn't get a grip. His fingers were starting to hurt. "I just… can't…"

"A pawfaw quedeg the havoy a choodeedo?"

Iven rolled his eyes and forced a blunt chisel into his hands.

"Big delicious!"

"If that was your way of calling me an idiot: you're right." Leon accepted the chisel with a red face, glaring at the kid as he started to laugh. "Shut up, brat! Go bother someone else!"

"Irt birt bird, in oo loo too."

"I hope you're not trying to defend him. Besides, there are dwarves in this city. He might not even be a kid!"

This made the boy pout a little. "Don't dwarves have beards?"

"A bald dwarf, then," Leon amended, fiddling with the chisel as he talked. "Baldy baldy bald." Abruptly, the cobblestone flipped over.

"Mish kish fish!"

"Yes!" Leon cheered. "Thank you, Jesus!" The first Copper Oak Leaf was tucked beneath it. He picked up and admired it for a moment before tucking it into his front pocket. "Thank you, Iven! You're the best man in Holfort!"

He held out his hand for Iven to shake, but got an odd response. The suffering man looked startled, then looked down at the floor in apparent shame. Leon looked at his hand and quickly pulled it back.

"Sorry!" he blurted. "I shouldn't have done that!"

"Mmmnn!" Iven said, waving his hands in a panic. "Mm mmm mnah!" Leon looked into his eyes, somehow getting the feeling that he was saying it wasn't his fault.

Leon looked down at the upended cobblestone, kneeling down to replace it. In the game, Iven's story didn't end with any kind of resolution; the quest ended when the player found a certain magic item, whose location was encrypted in his gibberish. There was no happy ending for him. There was no cure. No magic bullet.

…

Ah, well.

"Iven," said Leon eventually. "Can you please repeat what you were saying earlier?"

He blinked and thought for a moment, but did as he asked.

"Arg burffle durple there sdedum redobedo."

"There," Leon repeated back to him. Iven's eyes widened to a yet more impossible degree, and he almost seemed to smile as he continued.

"Is itn berbat jokte reveime oxcart?"

"Is."

"Lolo anrema treasure tlortle hinwe fawdee drinkable."

"Treasure."

"A pawfaw quedeg the havoy a choodeedo?"

"The."

"Big delicious!"

"Big."

"Irt birt bird, in oo loo too."

"Bird."

"Mish kish fish!"

"Fish."

Leon slowly stood up as Iven and the child looked at him in awe, turning on his heel and advancing on the merchant with the gigantic fish.

"Excuse me, sir?" Leon smiled politely. "Can I ask you what kind of fish that is?"

"This?" grunted the fishmonger. "This is a bird fish, on account of how it leaps from the river to bite at passersby. They taste revolting but it's good luck to hang them in your stalls, on account of how they never rot. Why do you ask?"

Leon began rifling through his pockets. "I will give you… this much money if you give me everything in that fish's belly."

For a long moment the man just looked at him. "…What?"

"I said I'll give you this much money if you-"

"I heard what you said!" the man interrupted. "Why would you- You know there's probably only undigested food in there, right? Bird fish may not rot but their stomach contents sure do! Why would you even ask this?"

"Crazy Iven told me too!" Leon smiled brightly. The fishmonger's mouth worked uselessly for a few seconds. He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled deeply.

"Sure," he said eventually. "Fine. Fuck it. Whatever. It's your money not mine. I don't care."

"Thanks," grinned Leon, and paid the man. He pulled out his pocket knife and positioned it over the fish's belly, giving Iven and the kid a quick smile. "Cross your fingers boys and girls!"

Iven dutifully crossed his fingers, while the boy was too busy gaping and generally doing his best goldfish impression. With a grunt Leon split the bird fish down the middle, sending a flood of organs and foul smelling juices across the cobbles. He stepped back and avoided the worst of it, ignoring the general noise of disgust from everyone around him. When the coast was clear he shoved his hand in the slit, quickly landing on a piece of hot metal.

The onlookers fell silent as Leon pulled the sword from the fish's belly. It was a falchion - a one-handed, single-edged blade of middling length - with a polished gold hilt and a gleaming blade. In the game it was referred to as the Fiery Falchion, and Leon had found it useful for its ability to shoot fireballs.

In fact…

Leon swung the Fiery Falchion through the air, his Strongarm ability making the movement lightning fast. A fireball exploded from the tip of the blade, hitting an unsuspecting seagull and blasting it into little bits. The crowd ducked and screamed, while the fishmonger stared at him with mouth agape.

"I didn't mean to hit that," Leon admitted sheepishly. "I aimed for the sky and missed."

"How?" he croaked. "How… How did you know…"

"You know that you can make money off this, right?" Leon interrupted, instantly snapping him out of his funk. "Have people bid on a bird fish and cut it open. Whoever bids the highest gets the contents. Make sure they sign a form stating that you have no responsibility for what they find and you'll be set!"

It should be noted that Leon was an avid watcher of Storage Wars in his past life.

The fishmonger went temporarily mute, then sprinted off to buy as many bird fish as he could. The crowd waited a moment before following suit, leaving Leon to hop down and approach Crazy Iven with the sword in hand.

"How did you know about this sword, Iven?" asked Leon softly. He knelt at his feet as the suffering man's chest rose and fell rapidly, his eyes flickering between Leon and the Fiery Falchion. "Does it have anything to do with whatever messes up your ability to communicate?"

"Mm!" Iven moaned. His lips were pressed tightly together, as if he didn't trust himself to speak. "Mm!"

"It's okay, Iven," said Leon gently. He took Iven by the hand; he tried to pull away, but Leon didn't let him. "It's okay. I understand. Just talk to me, and I'll listen."

"Mm!" Iven's eyes welled up with tears, what was left of his lip wobbling dangerously. In fact his whole body was beginning to tremble; Leon wondered what it must have been like, to understand but not be understood. He wondered what other curses Iven had been placed under to reduce him to such a state. "Mnmuh!"

"Think about what you want to say, then say it. Take as long as you need. I'm not going anywhere."

Iven licked his lips and took a deep breath. "Murgle gurgle fluffle flat flee flim-flam friend fey fee fly fee fi fee fi fpho fum."

"Friend?" Iven pointed at the Fiery Falchion, then at himself. "Wait, the sword is your friend? Is the sword alive?" Iven hesitated. "Is it a yes but no sort of situation?"

"Mmn!"

"I see," frowned Leon. He sat down on the ground and laid the Fiery Falchion across his lap, turning it carefully in his hands. "So were you… were the two of you cursed?"

"Not a knot a got a trot." This made Leon do a double take.

"Wait, it's not a curse? Was it even magical?"

"Mmn!"

"So it was…" Leon placed his elbow on his knee and his chin on his hand, frowning as he lapsed into thought. A few people had stayed to watch, curious to see where this was going. "If it's not a curse," he said slowly. "But it's still magical, then it was… a kind of transformation? Were the spells affecting you and the sword separate? Or did both effects come from the same source?"

"Malebleglame fame same."

"Same… so then you both… Can you slap the ground right here if you mean no?"

"Mmn!"

"Did you touch a magical object?"

Iven slapped the ground.

"Did you break a magical object?"

Iven slapped the ground.

"Was this caused by a sapient creature?"

Iven slapped the ground.

"Was this caused by something that could speak but who you couldn't understand?"

Iven slapped the ground.

"Was this caused by anything recognisably alive?"

Iven slapped the ground.

"Did you do this to yourself?"

Iven slapped the ground.

"Was it the sword?"

"Mmn!"

"Was it… Wait, really?" Leon blinked, but quickly absorbed the new information. "Did the sword look any different before?"

"Shaxa maxa maca axe."

"It was an axe? Really?"

"Youl moul coul cold dolololo load."

"Cold… So it couldn't shoot fireballs? It had cold effects instead?"

"Mmn!"

"But why do this?" Leon couldn't figure this out. If the sword… if the axe was Iven's friend, why would he leave him in this living hell? "Why change yourselves like this?" Iven dramatically hid behind his hands, then made a show of peeping out and cautiously looking around. "You were hiding? From what?"

"Bad taste."

"How bad?"

"Bad. Taste."

"Okay. Yikes." A thought suddenly occurred to him, making him lower his voice nervously. "It can't… you know… get to us here, right?" Everyone listening began looking around furtively as paranoia set in, only to sigh in relief as Iven slapped the ground. "Oh thank god. So you said that the axe cast the spell, right?"

"Mmn!"

"So can they reverse it?" Iven hesitated. "You don't know?" Iven slapped the ground. Leon looked down at the Fiery Falchion thoughtfully. "Can it understand you?" Iven hesitated again. "Can it understand me?"

"Mmn!"

"Okay… Okay! Cool!" Leon held up the Fiery Falchion, looking at his reflection in the blade for want of anything else to focus on. "Uh… Hello? Sir?" He turned red when a few people laughed at him, but ignored them. "Now I realise that the… the bad taste, or whatever it is, is looking for you. And I know that you did this to yourself because you didn't want it to find you. And you probably still don't."

Leon paused to lick his lips. He paused to meet Iven's gaze - his eyes shimmering and hopeful - before looking back down at the blade.

"You might remember Iven. He… He's been hiding too. And… And I know you haven't really been in a position to help! I get that! But… Iven's been hiding too. It hasn't been going super well for him. I know you haven't been in a position to do anything about it; that bird fish probably swallowed while Iven was crossing the wrong river, and it was either let it swallow you or lose a hand. But he's really been suffering. He needs… Well, he needs your help. Your friend is in trouble. Your friend needs your help."

Leon reached out and took Iven's hand, gently placing it on the Fiery Falchion's blade.

"Please," he whispered. "Help him."

This was new ground. Nowhere in the original game was this an option; there was no guaranteed happy ending here, no established path to success. Leon had no idea what to do if this didn't work. He imagined what Iven might do if this was just false hope. He felt sick. The people of Holfort watched with bated breath.

Nothing happened.

"I don't think it's working," said Iven. Leon kept staring at the sword, then very slowly raised his gaze.

"Did… Did you just…"

The Falchion abruptly turned into a freezing cold axe, scaring the shit out of them.

"FRICKETY FRACKETY FUCK!"

Quest: Crazy Iven

Summary: one of the first side quests available in Summoner and possibly the easiest to complete in the entire game. It is highly unlikely that anyone playing the game back in the day actually deciphered Iven's gibberish. They most likely did what I did and started clicking on everything in sight until they stumbled onto the Fiery Falchion, then only realised later that the quest had been marked as completed. The Fiery Falchion is a popular starting weapon for Flece - the game's thief character - in that it has impressive firepower while being short enough to be usable for Backstabs.

As stated by Leon, Iven doesn't get much of a happy ending here. When you stop and think about it, it leaves… let's say… a bad taste. Iven deserved better.