Word Count: 8,487
dstang@usc.edu
                           Fantasy, Medium Rare 			
By Douglas Stang 	

The gaunt wizard Ronurlogazan (Joe) picked his way up the thorny, barely discernible path leading to the dark tower of AncientObscureWizardStuff (AOWS). Even before he had left the fair meadows of PristineCountrysideYetUntouchedByEvilBarbarianHordes (PCYUBEBH) and started the long, dreary ascent, his thoughts had cast a shadow over his face. Looking up at the blazing noonday sun, he wondered, "Why is there a shadow on my face?" Then he remembered the daunting task ahead of him. "Oh. No wonder."
Ever since the GreatWarALongTimeAgoWhereLotsOfPeopleDied (GWALTAWLOPD), the high council of AOWS had been known as wise and powerful protectors of Vaturo. But in recent years they had begun to forsake the old magic, blaming it for the GWALTAWLOPD and dedicating themselves exclusively to natural sciences like agriculture, meteorology, and chicken flight mechanics. Although these sciences were beneficial to the people of Vaturo, their exclusive study weakened
the council. As time passed, and the power of the council decreased, the threat of EvilDruidWhoGotKilledALongTimeAgoButCameBack (EDWGKALTABCB) became ever greater. Knowing that even in its weakened condition, the council's aid was vital to the defense of Vaturo, Joe prayed to TheShadowyGodYouDon'tHearMuchAbout (TSGYDHMA) that his words would not fall on deaf ears. But as he neared the base of the soaring structure, a chilling thought suddenly crowded out his other concerns. In his haste to reach the tower, he knew he had forgotten something: His cable bill was overdue. 

						*********************************

Seknor, regent of the high council of AOWS, sat in silence at the head of the massive, fantastically ornate council table. In the few minutes of solitude before the council assembled, he moodily kneaded his brows. Before his recent promotion to regent, he had been a baker in a nearby village for many decades. Now, in his new post, cut off from his routine of many years, he found himself compulsively performing baking motions. Not only were his eyes suffering, but he had almost lost his position when he had been found flattening a page's face with a rolling pin. Thus, it was only with great effort that he stilled his forehead at the appearance of Bob ("Ed"), the herald of AOWS. Ed had once been regent, but had resigned in pursuit of more vacation time.
"The council awaits, my lord. Ronurlogazan brings dark tidings from Trograd."
"You mean Joe?"
"Yes."
"Send them in." As the council slowly, somberly filed in and fought over the best seats, Seknor smiled ironically. To say that Joe brought dark tidings was redundant. Indeed, even saying, "Joe brings dark tidings from Trograd" was redundant. The word "Joe" conveyed the same information. For, strangely enough, no one ever really noticed him leaving. He seemed only to be noticed when returning from Trograd, and always with dark tidings. Once, when he had brought good news from Dargort, the council had wasted half a day of deliberations thinking that he had returned from Trograd with dark tidings. 
 Jim ("Harry"), the tower's animal warden, wordlessly placed a caged but lively chicken in the center of the grand table. The meeting began.
 "Joe, the council welcomes you back to AOWS. What news do you bring from Trograd?" Seknor put on his brightest face but braced himself for dark tidings. The worst part about Joe's intelligence was that it usually demanded urgent action; action the council had, in recent years, been increasingly unwilling and unable to perform.
"Joe? Hello?" 
Facing a third cable shutoff due to a late bill, Joe was seriously considering getting eBills and/or switching to satellite. The trouble was, he did not even know what cable, bills, or satellites were. And, somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice was saying that switching to satellite would not solve his problem.
But a louder, more insistent voice was cutting through his malaise. Looking up at the chicken, then Seknor, and finally the council, and then once more at the chicken, he cleared his throat. "My friends, I--"
"BRING DARK TIDINGS FROM TROGRAD." In unison, the council and the chicken cut him off midsentence.
"By the way, I can fly," the chicken added with a sneer.
"Hey, can we hurry this up?" asked a harried wizard at Joe's end of the table. "If we finish this meeting sometime before midnight, I might actually get some work done.  Of course, that's assuming my meeting with my functional manager doesn't take forever and that the guys down the hall don't talk about their latest hiking trip at the top of their lungs."
"Indeed." Clearing his throat once more, Joe forged ahead. It would be an even tougher struggle than anticipated.
"Although EDWGKALTABCB was defeated in the GWALTAWLOPD so many ages ago, and was even killed in the Second Dawn, he has never been completely destroyed, as you all know. What you don't know is that, in the mountains of Trograd, he is slowly assuming a humanoid form that dwarfs his former manifestations in size and strength. Hordes of orcs, trolls, and smurfs are massing around him, forming a MandatoryHordeOfBigIncompetentCreatures (MHOBIC). There cannot be much time left before the assault that I, and the alert among you, have feared for a long time. Their first target will undoubtedly be PCYUBEBH, which is completely undefended. Not only would its loss be devastating to the people of Vaturo, but we would have to change its name, resulting in huge costs to change all the travel brochures." At this latter warning, he cast a sidelong glance toward Dunhorg, the AOWS's accountant. The short, bespectacled wizard's shudder told Joe he was making progress. He continued forcefully. "Next, they will strike Dargort and Teladra in a merciless, two-pronged attack, overwhelming the few village guards who aren't scarfing donuts at the time. Then,--"
"How do you know all this, Joe? I'm forced to wonder if you're in league with the vermin!" Ed had kept a suspicious eye on Joe through the whole speech.
"Surely I have served the council long enough to be exempt from arbitrary distrust by people not even dedicated enough to maintain their post, Bob!" Joe used Ed's formal name to express his indignation. "But if you must know, I read ahead. In any case, the council's action should be clear: Resume the study of the old magic immediately, keep a vigilant watch on the mountains of Trograd, summon the Friends of AOWS, and, if possible, launch a preemptive strike. And stop dabbling with chickens."
The chicken, meanwhile, had been throwing itself against the bars of its cage, slowly scooting the cage closer and closer to Seknor. As Joe completed his recommendations, the chicken stuck its beak as far through the bars as it would go and began whispering rapidly to the listening regent. Joe knew the chicken was not a friend of Vaturo, and saw with dismay the grave attention it received from Seknor. This was one obstacle he had foreseen. And, fortunately, he was ready. He pointed his staff at the chicken and it burst into flames.
"I think Joe's recommendations are great," said Harry, with arms outstretched. "And, personally, I would like to thank Joe for always warning us when danger is near." His wink in Joe's direction sent a clear message: Thanks, buddy!
"I think so, too," Dunhorg chimed in. "Let's learn the old magic again. If you think about it, it makes us more powerful, which gives us a better chance of keeping the evil hordes from killing and eating us." As grave nods around the table registered assent, Joe breathed a sigh of relief. Even Ed and Seknor seemed to have warmed to his counsel. Seknor was especially warmed by the smoldering chicken carcass. Roasting a marshmallow on the end his staff, he glanced slowly around the table, looking each wizard in the eye. "EDWGKALTABCB's number is up. The people of Vaturo, AOWS included, are not going stand for widespread destruction and looting anymore!"
A rousing cry shook the hall. "Ok, let's go!"

						*********************************

NaiveFarmBoySomehowVitalToTheSalvationOfAllMankind (NFBSVTTSOAM) got the extractor into the proper position and yanked the cord as hard as he could. With a piteous cry and a rush of birthing fluid, the slimy calf came flying out its groaning mother's womb. NFBSVTTSOAM grinned with complete satisfaction. His new machine not only saved him a lot of time and sweat, it was also flashy. His next calving would be a public event, complete with a hefty admission fee. He would become a millionaire. In time, he would take over the world! 
As he cleaned off the calf, he chided himself for indulging in wild fantasies. Then again, he thought, at least they made farm life semi-bearable. He was beginning to tire of the daily routine he had followed all his life: Feeding the pigs, combing the horses, bathing, etc. Although he tried to learn as much as he could about the world from travelers who stopped in the nearby village of Bolhedge, they were often too wiped out from horse lag to tell of their journeys. To make things worse, the farmhouse stank of death ever since his family had mysteriously died while sitting around the dinner table. It must have been an evil wizard. Or the cooking. He had been meaning to remove the corpses for a long time, but kept getting sidetracked.
After the calf was clean, he threw it up on the roof. His farm's fence had been vandalized so many times that he had finally put a fence on the roof and started putting the calves up there. Before had built up enough strength to get them all the way up there, a few had been impaled on the fence. But, this was ok because it scared people away. In fact, he had had so few visitors of late that he almost jumped up on the roof himself when a commanding voice addressed him.
"NFBSVTTSOAM, I am Ronurlogazan." Turning around, he saw a gaunt, emaciated wizard leaning on his staff. His heart leapt; mostly with excitement, but some apprehension, and a touch of heartburn from those seven chilidogs.  
"How do you know my name?" The scariest thing was not how the stranger knew his name, but the chilling possibility that his family's murderer had returned to finish the job.
"The protectors of Vaturo have learned many things in their travels throughout the ages, and all their knowledge is catalogued in the tomes of AOWS. We even know who killed your family."
"Brussels sprouts?"
"Bingo. But what remains a mystery to you is how I know your name and why I have come for you. NFBSVTTSOAM, you are, although a naive farm boy, somehow vital to the salvation of all mankind. You must come with me and join in the fight against the hordes of EDWGKALTABCB."
"What makes me so important?" NFBSVTTSOAM would need a few more details before being recruited by a perfect stranger to embark on a quest against an enemy he was only vaguely familiar with. He was also harboring the suspicion that it was just another multi-level scam, something so notorious that even he had heard about it. 
"Um, hold on. Lemme think." I know this one! Joe thought furiously. He must be getting old. The last eight farm boys he had recruited had left the farm almost immediately. Joe's delivery would need review. Finally, after a long silence, it clicked.
"NFBSVTTSOAM, you are descended from Bud, the farmer,"
"You're kidding!" The stranger did indeed bring mysterious tidings. To think that he was descended from a farmer! Named Bud! Then the distrust crept back in. "Wait. I still don't see why I'm so important. " 
This time Joe was ready. "Toward the end of the GWALTAWLOPD, the forces of Vaturo were being driven back, pressed on all sides by the MHOBIC of EDWGKALTABCB. Many heroes of the Friends of AOWS had already fallen. Some had simply tripped and fallen, but many actually had arrows and knives buried in their skulls, and fell because they were dead. The last of them, Durk, had been cut off from his army. He knew if he was killed, the forces of Vaturo would flee like rabbits, and all would be lost. At least, that’s what the announcers were saying...
'Al, I think if Vaturo wants to win this, they're really going to have to get out there!'
'I couldn't agree more, John. To win, they've gotta be out there, fighting.'
'But, Al, there's more to it than that. I really think they need to stop getting killed!' 
'That's right John. As more of them die, there's less of'em. Which makes it harder to win.'
'Well said, Al. But if you want to win at the Super Cauldron, you've gotta go even further. I'm telling you, I've watched dozens of these things, and if there's one thing I've noticed, its that the side that kills more guys on the other side wins.'
Durk knew he would have to act fast. Swinging his sword around him and summoning all his courage, he charged the orcs' line and began cutting a swath straight towards EDWGKALTABCB. Finally, he reached his goal, thanking TSGYDHMA that there was an 'I' in MHOBIC. But just as he came near, the dark druid pointed his staff at him and he burst into flames. That's where Bud comes in. Still protected by the quickly crumbling Vaturo line, he picked up a rock and carefully threw it at EDWGKALTABCB, knocking him out. The forces of Vaturo took heart and sallied forth with a hearty cheer, hoisting their banners high and making one last charge, carrying the day and the field by cutting a swath of destruction all through the disintegrating enemy ranks. And files. Forgetting, unfortunately, to actually kill EDWGKALTABCB. So, NFBSVTTSOAM, that's why, assuming good aim is hereditary, the preservation of Vaturo depends on you. Will you join us or no? You're in or you're out, right now." There would actually be a big party later with turkey legs and mead at which NFBSVTTSOAM would really have to make his final decision. But Joe wanted to get this wrapped up as soon as possible.    
For NFBSVTTSOAM, it was a cherished, lifelong dream come true. He would leave the farm, see new lands, and win fame, glory and endorsement contracts by saving the world. There remained one final issue to be cleared up. When the critical moment came, would he be able to deliver for Vaturo? Better to know now and not later. Picking up a round, smooth stone, he turned around, walked ten feet, then turned around and hurled it at Joe's forehead. One bleeding, unconscious (dead?) wizard. One farm boy ready to fulfill his destiny.

						*********************************
 
Gomag picked a squirrel out of his teeth, examined it pensively for a moment, then swallowed it. He lay back in his bogbasket, satiated. Or, he would have been satiated, if his table manners had not earned a scowl and a lecture from Hag Gomag, his wife. Although all eight versions of the lecture, including the nodding points, were embedded into his brain, the invectives still robbed him of his R&R. He was beginning to sink into a foul mood of his own when, thank TSGYDHMA, Krud showed up in with urgent but good news.
"Gomag! Gomag! The trolls, smurfs and us are massing at Trograd!"
"Why? And which DiabolicallyHeinousNegobreffianWarlord (DHNW) lives at Trograd?”
Confusion replaced Krud's elation. "Uh, er..." For Krud, the question had come out of nowhere.
After a moment, Gomag smacked a huge, green, hairy hand against his forehead. "Oh. Sorry, stupid question." Why had he cared?
"Ok great! I'm going to say goodbye to Hag Krud. We'll be off in a few minutes." He lumbered off, all of his excitement restored. It had also spread to Gomag. Chuckling, he gathered his war axe, his armor, and his sunscreen. Hag Gomag (fuming silently) made some sandwiches. Soon, the two orcs were on the road from Hofurst to Trograd, fully armed and ready to join the MHOBIC. Standing seven feet tall and sporting slimy, rippling biceps, they struck an imposing figure on the deserted road.. Hit by two orcs at once, he collapsed in a bloody heap. The orcs growled menacingly and plodded on. Which warlord's MHOBIC would they join? They had forgotten. Why would they cross the mountains and probably get killed? No clue, really.  	
And yet, there was sense in their stupidity. Because for orcs, goblins and trolls, the point of massing into a MHOBIC had nothing to do with bloodlust, sheer evil, or conquest. From experience, they knew that although the MHOBIC always outnumbered the enemy 20:1, it would be decimated by a small, brave, multiracial group of heroes. The prospect of getting skewered and impaled by shrimps half their size did not bother them--much. For in the few, ever so brief months leading up to their annihilation, they would be away from their wives. They would eat how they wanted, dress how they wanted, and, if they got bored, kill each other. Some of them, of course, would have second thoughts just when an eight-foot, bloodstained halberd decapitated them. This hesitation would last, often, for several nanoseconds.
And so it was that Gomag and Krud finished the two-day, northward trek to Trograd in high spirits, despite a heavy thunderstorm. As they rounded the last bend in the road, they saw a sight that warmed their hearts, foreshadowing the great adventure they were about to embark upon: the registration table. Behind it, sprawled over hundreds of acres, was encamped the MHOBIC of EDWGKALTABCB. The beat of drums, raucous shouts, screams of pain, the Smurf theme, and a Chopin nocturne blended with the forest's murmurings, the thunder, and the pitter-patter of rain to create one big, musical thing. The newcomers sighed contentedly, moved to the table and were handed waivers. A standard waiver, it outlined the terms and conditions of their membership in the MHOBIC:

1. You will receive little compensation and will probably be horribly dismembered, then killed

2. In case the writer gets distracted and we actually win, EDWGKALTABCB has dibs on all plunder. Especially those pointy wizard hats. They're phat. 

3. You will NOT get veterans' benefits

4. Rent shall be due on the--Oh, sorry, wrong form

Since they had not mastered writing, they signed the waiver by slamming their foreheads onto the paper. As they lay in a heap on the ground, unconscious, the registration wench made their nametags. The earthshaking MHOBIC of EDWGKALTABCB had just added two warriors. Its roar grew stronger. Time was running out for Vaturo. Time was also running out on Vern's 24-hour broadsword blowout. Hurry in for the best deals in Troklama.      

						*********************************

The Drackleg mountain range began in the middle of the northern coasts of Troklama, the known world. Running straight south until it reached the sea again, it divided Troklama into Vaturo, in the West, and Negobreff, in the East. A small section of Vaturo was reserved as a home for the mentally ill, and was called Malibu. Throughout the Second Dawn, the Dracklegs had been the only dividing line on Troklama, and had kept life simple. The good guys (humans, elves, dwarves, most wizards, and aerobics instructors) stayed in Vaturo, while bad guys (orcs, trolls, goblins, and trial lawyers) and a few villagers stayed in Negobreff, unless they were attacking Vaturo. And the basket cases went to Malibu. 
But after the GWALTAWLOPD and the widespread destruction that it brought, the wizards of AOWS decided to stall or minimize the next great conflict using an ethically questionable, but very effective tactic. Promising the trial attorneys finely crafted suits and gorgeous offices with real wood paneling, they lured scores of them across the mountains. As soon as they were across, they were taken, bound and gagged, to the tower of AOWS. There, the wizards labored many dark nights, delving into the darkest, most forbidden areas of their art as they molded the writhing attorneys. Finally, on a beautiful spring morning, their terrible creation was ready. But, when the regent looked out the tower window, he decided to wait for a dark, winter thunderstorm for effect. 
Thus it was that on a dark, stormy, winter night complete with lightning, a long train of shadowy figures emerged from the tower's dungeon. As they began the eastward trek back across the mountains, bent on havoc, the regent felt both the banana of hope and the avocado of remorse. The banana because the Vaturans had scored a great strategic victory; the avocado because he had unleashed something even more dastardly than trial attorneys on Troklama. In the deepest, darkest, dungeons of AOWS, unbeknownst to the peacefully sleeping world, he and his colleagues had created regulators.
In no time, the life of DHNW's got much more complicated. Zoning regulations limited potential locations for evil strongholds, and even in approved areas, piles of scrollwork had to be filled out. An socioeconomic impact report was required, which included, among many other things, estimates of the number of nearby villagers who would be killed. Environmental regulations limited the acreage of BogsOfEternalDeathPerilAndDismembement (BOEDPAD) surrounding a stronghold. BOEDPAD's were soon renamed wetlands.
Crippling restrictions were also placed on the recruitment and maintenance of MHOBIC's. A minimum wage was established ($6/hr), and fair recruitment policies were enforced vigilantly. Countless DHNW's were debilitated after a single visit from a dreaded regulator. Many large, strong, stupid orcs would be kicked out of the horde and replaced with small, stringy, stupid ones. DHNW repeat offenders had their monthly maximum number of villager deaths lowered.
For Vaturo, it was a masterstroke. Less than six months after the GWALTAWLOPD (in which EDWGKALTABCB had been aided by many fellow DHNWs), new and reviving DHNW's had begun popping up again all across Negobreff. But with advent of regulators, many DHNW's simply shut down due to migraines, fines and penalties. Only a clever few managed to adapt to the changing circumstances; the most devious of these was EDWGKALTABCB. Although he used generous bribes and spies that warned of inspections, his most effective move was to quickly recruit the few trial lawyers who had not been lured across the mountains. The most cunning of their breed, they collected hefty fees as they skillfully negotiated with the regulators and allowed EDWGKALTABCB to establish a formidable stronghold and slowly grow his MHOBIC to a respectable size and strength (if the druid had only known that the regulators were getting a cut of the lawyer's fees, his wrath would have been unspeakable. He would have immediately filed a complaint). Still, although he was a force to be reckoned with, the Negobreffian threat was greatly reduced and more easily pinpointed.
Thus it was that the main danger from Negobreff was Trograd, EDWGKALTABCB's stronghold. Long ago, when the world was young and the First Dawn was bright, Trograd had been a magnificent Dwarven city, great in song and legend, and wrought of the finest jewels from the deepest recesses of the earth. But that was like a bazillion years ago. Now it was a blackened, charred wasteland overrun by the MHOBIC of EDWGKALTABCB and his trial lawyers. Located just east of the Dracklegs in northern Negobreff, it provided a perfect staging point for forays into Vaturo. Protected by its own, small, north-south mountain range, it also hindered Vaturan preemptive strikes. 
Passing travelers were struck by the ominous majesty of the mountains, and the feelings of fear and frenzied hatred that possessed them as they passed. They were also struck by the famous Top Secret Entrance to EDWGKALTABCB's Lair, a wide cave mouth located right next to a giant sign that said, "Top Secret Entrance to EDWGKALTABCB's Lair". A Negobreffian must-see for tourists, it was always patrolled by countless peddlers, hawking "Secret Entrance" jerkins, mugs, etc. It was also a weakness that AOWS hoped against hope to exploit in the next conflict; according to their latest intelligence, EDWGKALTABCB still did not know of its existence. He was usually busy killing the mountain climbers that incessantly showed up at Trograd with, tents, backpacks and supplies. The same day that Gomag and Krud had joined the MHOBIC, he had come upon a large, pesky group of them. After incinerating all but one, he perplexedly asked the last one, "Why do you attempt to climb the Trogradians?"
Looking EDWGKALTABCB full in his black, lifeless eye, he replied, "Because they are there. And because they're guarded by an evil wizard. Which makes it more difficult, which makes it more satisfying when you actually make it."    
"Oh, ok." At least now I understand them, he thought to himself as he incinerated the climber. In a way, he respected the alpinists' fearlessness in the face of great danger and evil, and their love of a worthy challenge. In another way, he thought they were stupid. Of course, he would be freed from such trivialities once his assault on Vaturo began. Looking west with a hungry eye, he remembered a great place for ribs near AOWS. After he crushed the forces of good, and the entire world was submerged in eternal darkness, he would treat the gang to baby-backs and a cold one.

						*********************************

A crudely made throwing axe whizzed out of the bushes, burying itself in Bazniel's unprotected shoulder. With a stentorian growl of pain, he grasped the axe he had been sharpening and scanned the undergrowth frantically. Another axe whizzed past him, lodging itself in a nearby oak with a twang. As blood flowed from his wound, his vision dimmed and his hold on the axe became weaker. His unseen foe would finish him soon. Either that, or his medical bills would sink him--a "crudely made throwing axe" exclusion had recently been added to his policy. 
Cursing, he turned around and started for Teladra, the nearest town. A good two miles away, he knew it was pointless, but had to try something. His short stocky, form ran clumsily across the meadow. Hearing soft footfalls behind him, he tried to quicken his pace. But after a minute, he could go no farther; he stopped, breathing heavily, and made his peace with TSGYDHMA with closed eyes. Out of the shadows, a goblin axe thrower bounded towards him, brandishing a long, ugly knife and a look of fiendish glee. He raised the knife over the motionless dwarf, holding it high in the air. He held the pose for a few seconds, but his arm got tired and he sheathed the knife again. 
After a moment, Bazniel opened his eyes, saw the goblin, and finally remembered what to do, having been on the verge of death many times before. He mumbled an apology and the goblin raised the knife once more. Just as the goblin brought the knife down in a sweeping arc, Bazniel summoned up the last reserves of his waning strength and rolled out of the way, simultaneously decapitating the goblin with a Herculean effort. Sitting on a tree stump and putting an Ouchless Band-Aid on his shoulder, he thanked TSGYDHMA for the power and toughness that had gotten him through decades of border skirmishes, especially after that potion from AOWS had given him +2/+2. 
But as he got up and headed once more towards Teladra, he decided that a random kill here and there would no longer be enough to protect PCYUBEBH. It had recently been suffering an increased number of vermin forays. A beautiful region filled with natural splendor, it afforded the hordes special pleasure each time they wasted it. The verdant meadows would be blackened, the stately forests felled, and the conveniently located outhouses razed. Once, Bazniel had suggested to the Friends that they defend PCYUBEBH, but he had been told to shut up. Now, however, he counted on better results, given his wound and the throwing axe he had collected for evidence.
In minutes, he emerged from the westernmost woods of PCYUBEBH, and looked down on Teladra in the valley below. It was deserted. Its empty streets and desolate marketplaces gave no hint of the fate of the inhabitants. Bazniel's mind raced him down the slopes to the town's gates. There was no Super Cauldron going on. Vern's 24-hour broadsword blowout was over. He feared the worst: Regulators had slipped over the mountains, turned on their creators, and declared Teladra an environmentally sensitive zone. When he finally reached the gates, the message on the hanging whiteboard replaced his fears with nervous anticipation::

All the Teladrans, plus the Heroes of the Friends of AOWS, are having a really important council in the HallReservedForReallyImportantCouncils...LikePickingTheThemeForThisYear'sHarvestHootinanny...StuffLikeThat (HRFRIC...LPTTFTYHH...SLT) 

The HRFRIC...LPTTFTYHH...SLT must have been new...Bazniel had never heard of it. The map on the whiteboard indicated that the HRFRIC...LPTTFTYHH...SLT was in the next valley west. A warning at the bottom reminded the reader to make sure the directions were actually valid by figuring them out all over again using his own map. But time was short, like Bazniel. He headed west, wondering what matter was important enough to summon the Friends of AOWS. The greatest warriors in Troklama, they were comprised of elves, dwarves, and humans and lived scattered throughout Vaturo. They had rallied to Vaturo's defense countless times, and had saved it every one of those times except in the GWALTAWLOPD, in which they had been upstaged by Bud, the Farmer.
For revenge, they had killed him, all of his kids that they could find, and his pet weasel.
But a three thousand-year-old prophecy spoke of an heir of Bud, one who would once more save Vaturo from utter destruction. Of course, since it had been made by an inebriated Bud on the night of his triumph, nobody believed it. Since the war, the Friends had continued to train and grow stronger (dabbling in origami on the side), complementing with brute force the dark arts of AOWS. Bazniel was proud to call himself a Friend. One of the stalwart dwarves, he had killed many a MHOBIC member with his mighty axe, hoping all his life for a great conflict in which he could truly prove his worth. As he reached the ridge that divided the two valleys and saw the council hall, he wondered if his opportunity had finally come.
The great council hall HRFRIC...LPTTFTYHH...SLT, a massive marble cylinder with a rounded dome, was surrounded by hundreds of horses, a bucket next to each one. The buckets, especially the ones closest to the hall, overflowed with parking money. Kolshy, the half-elf owner of the land surrounding the hall, beamed with satisfaction from his vantage point on the roof. In the last few councils, people waving flags for other nearby parking fields had detracted severely from his business. But after he had had them killed, profits had picked right up. Now, if only they had more councils here, he thought to himself greedily. He would campaign to rename the hall. He would also try to get horsepools banned, and start charging pedestrians for crossing his field, like the dwarf he was watching descend from the ridge and make for the door. 
Bazniel entered the hall and surveyed the council. Hundreds of dwarves, elves and humans sat on long, wooden benches, facing the dais at the other end, while the townspeople stood near the door. Light flowed in from a skylight in the center of the dome. A large, noisy human walked along the benches, selling turkey legs, chain mail, peanuts, and term life insurance. The council's attention was focused on the speaker, Seknor of AOWS, but Bazniel, along with the other dwarves, was casting sidelong glances at the elves, murmuring restlessly. AOWS should have known not to convene a council with all of the Friends; it was common knowledge that dwarves and elves bore small love for each other. 
Ever since the GWALTAWLOPD (before which, as the reader may have guessed by now, life was excruciatingly boring and pretty much nothing interesting ever happened), elves and dwarves had bickered over standards. Both races had shown up to that final battle with the same shade of blue flags. Both had insisted that the other change its standard, insults had been flung, and many had gone home to sulk. The rest had fought EDWGKALTABCB bravely, albeit using the same standards. Tension had remained ever since, along with a common Vaturan fear that in the next war, their differences would cause even greater harm. Bazniel slowly, moodily walked to an empty seat among his kin, trying to calm himself and focus on Seknor. But just as he sat down, an arrow took him in the back. Roaring, he whirled around and saw a nearby elf, Elberendalerandilwengolas son of Herb, chuckling evilly.
"Heh heh heh."
Bazniel summoned the last reserv---actually, Bazniel was totally out of his last reserves of waning strength. He fell into his chair dead. A childhood friend, Thurgold, leapt to his feet in a rage. He swung his huge battleaxe around and cut off the elf's legs. Seknor continued speaking, but he sighed inwardly. Although the ancient racism was greatly suppressed, one familiar with the two cultures could still detect its subtle expressions; an arrow in the back was a traditional elven gesture which basically meant, "I hate you." And dwarves wishing to avoid a scene but still convey scorn frequently cut people in half. Steeling himself, Seknor pressed on.
"...so, if you add the flour before the eggs, the cake will come out mushy. But there is a quick fix: add water, make it into a cake drink, and pretend that's what you meant to do all along. After a few tankards, they'll forget all about the cake. Unless they kill you first. And, that, Friends of AOWS, is why we must all put aside our differences and unite against EDWGKALTABCB for the good of Vaturo! Are you with me?!!?"
The council exchanged approving glances. They had no idea what he was talking about, except that it involved killing. 
A rousing cheered shook the hall, causing it to collapse. Ten dwarves (Thurgold among them), twenty elves (Elberenduindalerandilwengolas among them), one human, and Kolshy escaped the hall. They gathered where the door had been. The human, Hank, looked them in the eyes, slowly, one by one.
"The fate of Vaturo rests on us. Though a small, multiracial band of heroes, aided only by AOWS, we must do our best in the face of impossible odds."
"Ok."

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In their excitement, the wizards of AOWS had forgotten that to learn the old magic they would need the Hooked on the Old Magic textbooks inside the tower. They had rushed to the door of the council hall en masse, then emerged from the tower scattered, battered, and disoriented. It was going to be a long semester. Fortunately, Joe had been the first to the door and had escaped unscathed. His first errand was to Dargort, to the south, to recruit NFBSVTTSOAM. Then, after recovering from a head injury, he and his new companion had headed northeast to Teladra, where they would join the main Vaturan host. As they journeyed, Joe taught NFBSVTTSOAM the obscure, fantastic knowledge and lore he had craved all his life.
"This is a sword. It has many uses." He whacked NFBSVTTSOAM in the forehead to demonstrate. 
"I think I get it! Can I try?"
"First, I'll teach you to use this." Another whack to the head. "Then, I'll teach you to use this." He pointed at the sword. "Then, I'll teach you to use this." Gripping his staff, delivered a rain of blows to his young student. "Then, I'll teach you to use these." He whipped a pair of nunchuks out of his robe--
"Ok!" The pupil was bleeding, swollen and barely lucid. Joe allowed the lesson to end and they continued on in silence.
They camped beneath a venerable old oak on the banks of a small, bubbling stream. After gazing at the stars from a high tree branch, NFBSVTTSOAM climbed down and settled comfortably onto his bedroll. Too comfortably, Joe thought.
"Can you not feel it?" He stared at his friend intently.
"Feel what?"
He looked around cautiously, then responded in hushed tones. "There is an ancient magic in this forest. It has devoured many, both Vaturans and Negobreffians, who were charmed by the forest's tranquility and let their guard down. I have heard terrible cries of torment in the night, and seen horrified faces pressed against the bark of trees from the inside."
"Then why did we camp here?"  
"Good question." He thought for a moment. "Pack up your things. There is a much safer place to camp a mile away." They switched camping sites and the night passed uneventfully. For NFBSVTTSOAM, at least. Joe could not stop worrying about his company health plan. If he did not select a plan, would he be entered into a default plan or would he be left in the cold? If he just telephoned them, he figured he would get the answers. But what in Troklama was a telephone? What if he never reached them? Worst-case scenarios plagued his mind well into the wee hours.
The next morning, they began the last leg of the journey. Joe continued NFBSVTTSOAM's education.
"Your head is good for more than just thinking. Observe." A Liverpool kiss busted NFBSVTTSOAM's lip wide open.
"Ouch!" Now that his student was fully awake, the real lesson began. He spoke of history, plants and animals, and the cheapest places to buy horse manure. "Manny's Manure is your best bet."
NFBSVTTSOAM soaked it in eagerly. Though he had not experienced combat yet, the lessons alone were making the trip worthwhile. The world was even bigger than he had imagined. The only downside was his new pizza face. The pain had been increasing all day, and he finally stopped to collect some soothing herbs in the adjacent woods. Joe decided to scout ahead, giving him time to carefully examine and select his herbs. Fortunately, his mother had taught him what to look for. If he remembered correctly, the herbs with the "DEADLY POISON, FAVORED BY DARK ASSASSINS" tags on them were bad. After a few minutes, he found the herb he was looking for; the tag read, "Soothing herb for the skin, good for pupils of wizards of AOWS." He had just begun to rub it on his face, releasing a tingling, healing sensation, when a hostile growl and a villainous snicker caught his attention. He stood up and looked around, then almost fainted...three armed, drooling orcs were advancing on him. Having grown up on a farm and only been under Joe's tutelage for a few days, he had absolutely NO idea what to do. Forgetting all about his destiny and his uncanny throwing ability, he turned around and started running and screaming, and got killed. 
Joe's scouting trip did not last long. As he rounded a bend in the road, ten ogre assassins rushed him and axes, stones, bolts and arrows flew at him from the bushes. Nonchalantly, he raised his right hand and redirected the axes mid-flight, cutting down three of the assassins. The rest of the missiles passed through his suddenly intangible form. Just as the remaining assassins got within striking distance, a breath from Joe brought a giant tree trunk crashing down on them. Scooping up a handful of dirt and muttering something, Joe threw it on the fallen tree, causing the tree to ignite in a paroxysm of flame. As the writhing forms underneath slowly became still, he put out the fire and peered into the bushes, but saw no one. Cowards. Before going back for NFBSVTTSOAM, he paused briefly to survey the carnage he had caused; it had been a long time since he had used his magic to such a destructive extent. He smiled as he ran back along the road. Hurling flame at other life forms and felling trees made him feel really good. It made him feel young and alive. Sometimes, right after he used his magic, it even seemed like he could run faster and jump higher.
But today, his satisfaction would be curtailed. He reached the field of herbs and found NFBSVTTSOAM's lifeless form. An axe in the back told the whole story: An axe had been thrown into NFBSVTTSOAM's back, killing him. Oh well, he had no idea how to fight anyway, Joe thought to himself. As he examined the corpse, a brilliant idea occurred to him, one that could still save Vaturo from oblivion, despite the loss of the Prophesied One. He started for the nearest town.       

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Before summoning the council of the Friends, Seknor had registered the Friends of AOWS for the 3rd battlefield in the northern Dracklegs for the Monday after the council.. The fields in the northern Dracklegs usually filled up fast in the summer, so Seknor had been especially pleased to get it. He had alerted EDWGKALTABCB, who had, in turn, reserved a space there for his MHOBIC. The 3rd battlefield was located near a mountain lake, had beautiful scenery, and plenty of convenience stores. Seknor had hoped to spend some time relaxing there after the battle. Unfortunately, the fall of the HRFRIC...LPTTFTYHH...SLT had changed his plans.
The survivors knew they would have to reach the field quickly to claim their spot. The first problem was that Elberenduinkusuhdalerandilwengolas had no legs, but was a skilled enough archer to still be useful. He was also witty and would be needed for comic relief. Thurgold was the strongest member of the party, but bore a thinly concealed hatred for the (now) half-elf. It was only after much persuasion from Hank that he agreed to strap the half-elf to his back. 
"I guess we're even, after all," he grunted.
"Not quite, Thurgold! I'm still prettier and smarter!" he sneered as he was strapped on. "To calculate the indefinite integral of the natural logarithm of x, simply--" A fist in the eye silenced him...but not the group's guffaws.
After a stop at Vern's for armament, and a quick burger run, they were on their way. They made good time, and camped in the SpookyCavesInhabitedBySlimyCreaturesThatFeedOnTheMoreExpendableMembersOfTheParty (SCIBSCTFOTMEMOTP), just on the Vaturan side of the Dracklegs. They laid out their bedrolls right beside the cave marking that read "Shipping and Receiving....Actually, just Receiving", and settled down for a good night's sleep. Several unnamed members of the party were eaten during the night, and the small band set out in the morning ready for a new day of challenges. The unnamed members of the group also lost no time in naming themselves: Hero(1), Hero(2), etc. They reached the battlefield by noon and checked in. While the rest of the group checked out the cabins and dropped off their gear, Hank went to the mess hall to meet EDWGKALTABCB's representative. 
As he entered the hall and laid eyes on the druid's envoy, his heart caught in his throat. Choking, he grasped his throat in a panic. Elsewhere, the heart probably would have slid back down. But an alert Gnome Scout noticed his struggling and started the Heimlich on him. After two pumps, there was a new item on the menu. The trial lawyer representative of EDWGKALTABCB, the sight of whom had caused Hank's panic, watched in disgust. He had been planning to trick Hank into agreeing to a pre-written set of conditions, but now that he was dead, there was nothing the lawyer could do. Without Hank's signature, not even he could circumvent the Drackleg Civic Club's GreatFinalBattleAtTheEnd (GFBATE) regulations. The Vaturans would not be blindfolded, and would get to use the weapons they had brought instead of rolling pins. The two sides would meet on the third field at 10:00 the next morning. They would have to clean up the corpses and be gone by eleven since the annual Outdoor Health and Wellness seminar would be starting.
Meanwhile, back in the cabins, the Friends were starting to wonder what had happened to Hank. But then they discovered the seesaws. After Thurgold sent Elberenduinkusuhbonetowndalerandilwengolas 50 feet into the air, they decided the seesaws would make great catapults in the morning, and started launching stones at each other for practice. It was only after it had gotten dark, and the bad light was causing them hit other campers, that they started wondering about Hank again. They were about to send some one after him when Elberenduinkusuhbonetownpokishdalerandilwengolas dropped out of a tree and started strangling Thurgold. After untangling them, they were very tired and went to bed. 
"We'll just show up at the field around ten."

						*********************************
    
The first thing in the morning, the Friends woke up.
"Ok, we got that taken care of."
An hour later, the camp was buzzing with activity. Kolshy screamed at the swarm of bees to let them sleep, but to no avail. They finally got up, ate some energy bars, uprooted the seesaws and marched to the field. When they got within 4 hundred yards, they heard the drums. A steady, ominous beat sounded in their ears, punctuated every few beats by a distant, chilling howl.
"Its goblins," Thurgold explained. "The drums are used to intimidate the enemy. You must not succumb!"
"But I'm already freaked out!" Kolshy whined. "We're about to face a massive, ferocious horde and there are only twenty of us! I don't even know how to fight!" His logic was unassailable and his fear was contagious. Thurgold had to act fast. He grabbed Kolshy by his collar.
"Just because we're outnumbered doesn't mean we don't try! I would rather die fighting than be a slave to EDWGKALTABCB! Twenty orcs for every Friend! What say you, Friends? Death with honor or a life of humiliation?!"
"That first one!" They cried. Thurgold marched on. The pride of Vaturo followed, hoping to win glory for the Friends and inscribe the day in the great legends. And, if possible, not get decapitated. 
	When they finally reached the field, they saw six orcs, a goblin and a smurf lounging around on the other side. The goblin had stopped his drumbeat and was eating a dripping BLT. One of the orcs, glancing up casually, spotted them. He reached for his cutlass and lazily hurled it in their direction.
The Friends looked at each other in astonishment. Where was the MHOBIC? Was this a clever ruse? If so, it was working! Although thunderstruck, they decided to shoot first and ask questions later. They propped up  Elberenduinkusuhbonetownpokishkazarmdalerandilwengolas and he took out his bow. Looking back at the other elves, he said, with a theatrical flourish, "Watch, foolish ones!" Then, he picked off the Negobreffians one by one without wasting an arrow. 
As Gomag breathed out his last, he looked over at his fallen comrades disappointedly. It had not been a typical GFBATE. The MHOBIC usually at least got to completely surround the Vaturans and slaughter hundreds of them before losing. This time, due to the regulators' meddling, the MHOBIC had been decimated by half of an elf. His only hope was that Hag Gomag could sue EDWGKALTABCB for his death. Just last week, a lawyer named Ynnhoj Narhcoc won his clients' (a group of ogre assassins who were crushed and incinerated) families 80 chickens and a cookie in compensation (to be paid over 800 years(your results may vary(this does not constitute legal advice(when you tell us the details of your particular case, we might just start laughing at you)))).
On the other side of the field, the merriment had begun. The day was saved, and the Friends slapped each other on the back and started for the mess hall. But they had not gone ten feet before the ground started shaking, causing them to whirl around. EDWGKALTABCB was bearing down on them. Standing twenty feet tall and enveloped in swirling black robes with several Thug Life patches, he struck fear into the quaking group. Axes and arrows were launched at him, but he brushed them aside. Catching up to them, he grabbed Hero(1) and Hero(2) and pressed them to himself. As they screamed in unseeing terror ("But we had naaaaaaaaaaaaames!!!!!"), their bodies turned black and they were absorbed into the druid, causing him to grow even larger. With one swipe of Hero(1)'s sword, he felled all the dwarves but Thurgold, who cleverly ducked. The last of the group fled, EDWGKALTABCB hard on their heels. His long strides far outstripped theirs, and he was soon only a few feet behind them. Just he reached for Kolshy, a stone sailed out of nowhere, hitting him in the forehead and knocking him out. As he lost his footing and started falling, his body began to move very slowly and he emitted a long, low-pitched roar of defeat. At first, the Friends made a circle around him, their weapons drawn, each one eager to be the first to cut off his head and give him a hickey on his right forearm, thus finally ridding the world of his evil. But after a long time he had only fallen forty-five degrees, and the roar was still coming out. So they played poker for about an hour until he finally hit the ground. Just when he did, Joe came walking up the trail, accompanied by a sling-toting man about 30 years old.
Thurgold's mouth fell open. "So the prophecy is true! The heir of Bud has saved Vaturo!"
"No, friend. NFBSVTTSOAM was killed in an orc raid a few days ago. I found my friend Ned here in a nearby village. He may not be Bud's heir, but he has been a slinger all his life. Plus, having actually fought in countless border skirmishes, he keeps his head a lot better in battle situations. Its a good thing I had him, because EDWGKALTABCB has encountered me before and knows all my tricks."
"But what happened to the MHOBIC?" asked Kolshy. 
"It seems Vaturo is still reaping the benefits of its piece de la resistance thousands of years ago. Just before EDWGKALTABCB left Trograd with his army, regulators showed up at his door, accompanied by hundreds of DHNW's with minion stamps. The regulators said EDWGKALTABCB was hogging all the orcs, creating inequality. The DHNW's redeemed their minion stamps and took almost the whole horde. EDWGKALTABCB's lawyers promised to get them back, but that it would take a long time and cost him a lot of gold. He was short on both."
Thurgold did the honors to EDWGKALTABCB and they went to the mess hall in high spirits. EDWGKALTABCB was vanquished forever and Vaturo was safe. For Joe, there was additional cause to celebrate. As the evil druid was falling, he had telepathically made a desperate offer to Joe of joint rule over Troklama. With their powers combined, they would certainly have been a formidable force; Joe would have gotten all the lands and power he wanted, plus stock options. But, keeping the good of Vaturo and his sacred duty as a wizard in mind, he had rejected the offer. He had passed the test. He would now diminish and become a used wagon salesman. 

THE END