It was a rather simple enterprise, actually.  Bjorn having barely survived his last adventure, concluded that there had to be a better way of making a living than traipsing through dungeons.  He then had the brilliant idea of setting up adventures for others.  He went to the last site and carefully mapped it.  He then sold the quest map to others.  How could it be his fault that someone had robbed it already?




It was a moment historic

Dignitaries arriving a queen to proclaim

The moment proved quite hysteric

I really don’t know who’s to blame

For when the great and good were gathered

And it really was a shame

Someone had a misstep

And trod upon her train

This caused her to stumble

Not an auspicious start to a reign



Danny from his treetop perch

scanned the landscape far below.

“I think it’s gone,” he announced.

“Now’s our chance to go.”

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Tommy asked.

“I didn’t see it leave.”

“No, a bear’s too big for me the miss,”

Dan replied with confident ease.

The pair descended from their sanctuary high

to the patient bear hiding behind a bush nearby.



King Alfor III had died two years before. His son had been off exploring far off lands, and had just recently returned to find out about his father’s demise. In his absence, the land had been watched over by an uneasy coalition of nobles, but rivalries had put Pandia at the brink of civil war. Now, perhaps, that could be averted and the country returned to its former greatness.

“Alfor will now make his profession, and be anointed our leader,” Halifin the Mage announced.

Eight thousand eager eyes locked onto the tall, slender man who now took to the platform.

“I, Alfor son of Alfor, do profess and declare that I am of true blood of the Pandian people, and rightful heir to Alfor, the son of Alfor, the son of Alfor.”

With that Halifin poured oil on the head of the man, and placed a bronze crown upon his head. “All hail Alfor the Fourth, Lord of Pandia.”

There was a mighty cheer from the crowd.

Alfor, or should I say Anfwin son of Orry, leaned over to the mage and whispered, “Can I have that sandwich you promised me, now?”

“Soon, Lord,” the new chief advisor said with a grin. “Soon.”



Henry tossed and turned.  For the life of him, he could not settle.  It wasn’t that there were urgent issues on his mind, nor was he overly stressed.  It was purely that he could not get to sleep, despite being tired.

It was then that the first inklings of stress began to creep it.  How, I going to function at work tomorrow if I don’t get some rest?  

He rolled over again and glanced at the clock on the bedside table.  Nine-o’-five.  That’s like midnight, he thought.  Well, the middle of the night, anyway.


I often assert to my wife that 9pm is “midnight,” especially for those that have to wake up for work while it’s still dark.

The Return

Arn and Talbit emerged from the treeline and glanced across the fallow fields. The old watchtower of their village seemed to gleam with its new coat of whitewash.

“Home at last,” Arn said.

“If it is still that,” his companion replied.

“Home is home.”

“Even after three years?” Talbit questioned.

“We aren’t the first ones back I can see,” Arn observed.

“Yes, the ploughings done and the tower’s painted.”

As they approached the boundary gate they could see that flags had been placed on either side of the entry.

“Looks like Anders or Wint made it here first, those are Lancer flags,” Arn commented.

“Makes sense, I guess,” Talbit reflected. “Horsemen getting here ahead of infantry men.”

“Well, we aren’t infantrymen any longer. I’m a farmer again and you’re a cooper.”

“Speaking of barrels, I wonder if they have reopened the ale house yet,” Talbit said licking his lips.

“I guess we will just need to go and find out,” Arn said. “Farming can wait.”



Garn was said to be a man without equal. He was tall and muscular, as well as ruggedly handsome. He was in most every way a symbol of his nation. He, himself, saw such talk as worthless, however, for Garn was a man of action and not words.

As he strode down the corridors of the palace, the various guards and attendants smarted themselves in his presence. Reaching the throne room he waited for not introduction or summons, but walked right in. He stopped and gave a courteous nod to the king; no bow or bent knee, for such was not in Garn’s character.

“Ah, Captain Garn,” the king said. “It is good of you to come on such short notice.”

“Always at your disposal, Majesty,” the hero replied.

“I have a matter of the utmost sensitivity for you. There seems to have been an incursion on the northwest border.”

“What is sensitive in that, I can deal with it straight away, and make an example of the Helians.”

“”Well, that’s just the thing,” the king said clearing his throat. “It seems it is we who have crossed the border, and now the officer who crossed over is trapped alongside thirty of his men. I am afraid that I will need your special skill-set to find them and lead them back to this side of the frontier without alerting the Helians to your, or their presence beyond the border.”

“Can we not deal with this diplomatically, and state is was a foolish act of a minor officer?”

“Well, here again it’s a bit tricky,” the king said. “The officer in question is Prince Talbo.”

“I see,” the hero said with no attempt to disguise his distaste for the situation. “I will leave immediately.”

“I knew I could count on you,” the monarch said with a weak smile.

“Always, Majesty.”



The Dinning brothers tarried at the fork in the road. Eventually Jack reached into his pocket and took out a coin.

“Crest or eagle?” he queried.

“Don’t you mean heads or tails?” Ernst replied.

“It doesn’t have a head,” Jack retorted. “It’s a Saq. It has a crest on the obverse and an eagle on the back.”

“Yes it does,” Ernst challenged.

“Yes it does – what?”

“Yes it has a head. The eagle has one,” Ernst observed.

“Okay, in that case heads or tales?” Jack asked in an annoyed tone.

“Wait, the eagle has a tail too. Maybe it should be crest or eagle.”

“Skip it,” Jack snapped. “I’m going to the left.”


The Warning

Hugh Carter stood at the door of the tavern. He was thirsty and road-weary and scanned the packed room for any sign of a seat. It was then that he spied a small table in a far corner. He maneuvered himself through the throng and slid into one of the three vacant seats and set his travelling bag in one of the others. He then slung his cloak on the back of the chair he was sitting in before making his way to the bar and ordering a pint and a pie.

When he returned to the table he saw a neatly folded piece of paper tucked into the wicker back of the chair opposite. He leaned over and retrieved it and opened it to see what it might be.

It read, My friend, if you are reading this, you are in grave danger. As I would would not wish any misfortune to befall you, please move to the far side of the tavern. I trust you will be thankful for this warning.

Hugh looked around but no one seemed to be taking any particular notice of him, but he did get an uneasy feeling from a large cloaked man two tables over. Taking a wide berth of the man he gathered his drink and belongings and went and stood near the bar. As soon as he made the move, three rather weedy-looking youths sped to the now vacant table. A particularly spotty lad with bad teeth gave him a wave and shouted, “Thanks mate.”