Grace & Henry

Grace and Henry lived alone.
Grace preferred it from the bone.
Duck or chicken, broiled or rare,
Grace left not one rib to spare.

Just like clockwork, table set,
Grace beside the quaint dinette.
From the kitchen Henry chopped,
rubbed and sliced, hammered, bopped.

Finally with the perfect spread,
"Dinner's served" so lightly said.
Henry's platter full and wide,
presented for her, placed with pride.

Then, beside her, he would sit.
Candles all around them lit.
From his breast a linen cloth,
around her neck for drops of broth.

Then, a piece he took with care,
tender, juicy, very rare,
placed upon her tiny plate.
He could not bare to make her wait.

With a surgeon's poise and calm,
knife securely in his palm,
Henry cut the choicest part.
It fell just like a work of art.

Then the fork he pressed within
emitting juice so briny thin.
He lifted to her lips in haste,
as to let none go to waste.

Henry watched her bite the meat.
Her smile was his most precious treat.
No sweeter was the richest fruit,
for all was done in its pursuit.

After one she asked for more,
sunk her teeth just like before.
Henry watched her chew so well.
He was defenseless to her spell.

Ate, she did, but hunger small,
Grace would swallow at a crawl.
Henry patient, at her will,
gave her time to get her fill.

But with every single bite
in a manner so polite,
Grace did not refuse his hand,
and soon consumed with full command.

Juices dribbled down her chin,
pleasure beaming from within.
Washed with gulps of cherry wine.
It was not in her to decline.

To share was proper, and was right.
Grace proposed he take a bite.
But of this he would have none.
"No, my dear, not till you're done."

Henry fed her in a trance.
An irresistible romance.
Giddy with her stark delight,
He fed her late into the night.

Then, as Grace was craving more
his eyes turned sour, face was sore.
All the meat had been consumed.
Dinner could not be resumed!

But her pout was so intense.
He watched her in the saddest sense.
No, he must regain the smile.
She must eat more, just for a while.

But what was he to prepare?
All the cupboards now were bare.
There was no food, not ev'n a scone.
And surely nothing on a bone.

Then, he watched her eyes were stern,
looking with such desperate yearn.
Then he saw what caught her gaze,
his eyes burned with fiery craze.

Yes, there was more meat in stow!
Upon the table's shadowy glow.
The cut, the highest in demand.
It was the meat upon his hand.

Then her eyes grew bright and glad.
Henry's wild, obsessed and mad.
Yet tonight her smile he'd see.
A bargain for his misery.

First the pinky, small and fine.
Red and raw, she took her time.
Next the middle, skip the ring,
Oh, such flavor did it bring.

Through his tears he watched her grin.
High and wide as ever's been.
Appetite now full and large,
she had taken total charge.

Next the index, then the thumb,
Red and tender, like a plumb.
On the fifth he left a stub,
his ring required just a nub.

Each was savored ever more.
She groaned and sighed and kicked the floor.
Begged with all her strength of mind.
She never knew he was so kind.

Digits somewhat undercooked,
it did not matter, she was hooked.
All the treasure in the land
could not beat his delicious hand.

Bandaged up to stop the squirt,
the others now would be dessert.
But, he could not have his druthers
with no hand to slice the others.

Since those fingers now were goners
might she shrink to do the honors?
But he could not ask a dame.
Such a thing would be a shame.

So he sadly bowed his head.
He felt so hopeless, filled with dread.
Had he given wee too much?
Would she take him with a crutch?

Then he gazed with eyes so sad.
He would need her help a tad.
Given to his puppy eyes,
she agreed to sooth his cries.

So, her touch caressed his fist.
He looked at her and got the gist,
dropped the knife and felt a tear.
So joyous, gone was all his fear.

Then she raised him to her lips.
Against them brushed his calloused tips.
She seemed to savor every inch,
and clenched her teeth, a lovely pinch.

"What greater pleasure could there be!"
he thought, his smile filled with glee.
"How better could my love be shown,
than my flesh torn from the bone."

But Henry felt her jaw relent.
"Grace, you have my full consent."
But she paused in resignation
or perhaps in contemplation.

Henry shook his head with worry.
Thoughts so wild and in a flurry.
"Won't she take my finest gift?
Will she reject me?" Henry sniffed.

But then he saw her placid gaze
was focused on the candle's blaze.
Yes she would take him, she was hooked,
and only asked her meal be cooked.

He was relieved, and all the same,
she held his flesh above the flame.
A meal Henry would present her,
juicy, hot, pink in the center.

Just three minutes on a side
She marveled at his yummy hide.
Then deep within his index slid.
Sheered with one decisive bid.

When all ten had been consumed,
meal over, he assumed.
But she was only getting started.
Her taste for blood had not departed.

First his ears befell her teeth.
Next, his toes, and then beneath.
Every bite, her smile grew wider,
wrapped around him like a spider.

Then, as Henry's legs grew weak,
tongue so parched and breathing meek,
he saw young Grace remove his liver,
chomp a bite and with lust, shiver.

The cloth around her neck was small.
The blood seeped through onto her shawl.
Henry thought himself a fool.
The tiny napkin, something cruel.

Then she reached deep in his chest
Removed his beating heart in jest.
Asked him if he'd take a taste.
"No, my love, it's yours to waste."

Hommids

They look and act exactly like humans. If you saw one on the street you would not be able to tell the difference. Appearance, language, stupidity, it's all there. Only last week DNA tests revealed these guys are not homo sapiens at all according to science, but a completely different humanoid species. Hommids branched off from ancient primates hundreds of thousands of years ago along a thick humanoid branch of the evolutionary tree. They have lived in isolation for hundreds of thousands of years inside a single caldera in Africa.

Does he like White Castle?

His favorite. He's eying your chicken rings, and doesn't care that they are a highly processed synthetic food-like substance that will shorten your life. He would break through the safety glass for a taste if he wasn't restrained. We feed them nothing but foods found in their native environment...mostly root vegetables.

Why is he restrained?

They don't respond well to captivity. And, his death clock is almost up. There is one specific genetic difference between humans and hommids. Hommids live to be exactly 65 years old...to the minute. It's programmed in their DNA.

Always 65, huh?

Well, 65 is their maximum age. They usually get there unless they have a heart attack or something. But, at age 65 they don't just die...they explode.

Explode?

In a horrific display of bone, blood, and guts. It's bad. Moments before the explosion, the mutation turns their blood into a powerful acid which eats through flesh, maiming or killing everyone in proximity. One of these guys went off in Times Square the other day...killed 5. We covered it up as a blown gas pipe. Their whole society has moved from their native caldera to New York city. We have been trying to round them up.

He doesn't look a day older than 40.

Hommids appear to be middle-aged for 98% of their lives. I assure you, this one's about to blow. You can tell because he is willing to do physical harm to himself in order to approach us. He knows what's up, and wants to take us down with him. That's the problem...

He looks pretty angry.

He is. Very angry. We are keeping him from his death ritual. In the caldera, all Hommids lived their 65 years under a very strict set of guidelines. They did everything according to a planned series of events designed over thousands of years to ensure every one lived to age 65. Then, on their 65th birthday, they would walk deep inside a sacred cavern to explode safely, so that they did not harm others. It was a celebration of sorts.

Doesn't sound like much of a life.

Right, sounds pretty boring. But, nowadays these guys have no sacred cavern to enter on their ol' sixty-fiver. Instead, they tend to walk into executive's offices or board rooms. Some have even run for political office, just to gain access to a political figure.

So, they are esentially choosing murder as their final act?

Well, only the very few who are angry enough. The thing is, hommids are extremely cheerful and friendly people by nature. If you met one, you would experience the most meek and humble figure, impossible of even the slightest insult. They go about their lives in almost complete obscurity, happy to be trampled on by just about everyone they meet in modern society. They are clerks, secretaries, middle management...normal people. Usually they walk out into the woods or something to explode. But, they are obsessed with justice and freedom...especially to practice their rituals. It is what kept them so peaceful in their caldera. If they feel a moral obligation to take down someone they believe is corrupt, nothing can stop them. Only they know the moment they will explode. One hommid was embracing a well-known drug lord while he detonated. Another was standing at a urinal adjacent to a serial killer outside of US jurisdiction.

BOOM!

Whoa...well. There he went. That was quite a show. It took down the brick wall next to him and shattered two panes of saftey glass. I wouldn't have wanted to be sitting next to that guy at a congressional session.

Nope.

Tale of the Twin Wizards

The tale regarding the blue-footed mandrake hunting prairie dog is completely nonsensical, and not worthy of repetition except at the end of a long evening after much wine, and only then when all other proper tales have been told. Now that half of you are asleep, and the wine is gone, you shall hear it...but, only so that you may drift into slumber more quickly, as these dead words drone even myself to laziness.

First, for those of you not acquainted with the mandrake plant, I must recount to you its specific properties, one-by-one, so that I do not leave some of you questioning these details as I move forward. The mandrake plant, Mandragora Officinarum, is a leafy green perennial that generally grows near the forest floor. In springtime, it bears a purple flower and orange berries. You have seen this plant many times before. So often, in fact, that you may never have given it a second thought, as it is blended so commonly into the landscape. And, now that I see that the less attentive of you are snoring, I will begin the substantive portion of this tale, which must only be repeated to the most curious of your brethren.

The tale of the mandrake hunting prairie dog is seldom told, and for good reason: The few who are aware of the dangers of the mandrake speak of them little, and always envy those blessed with ignorance of their terrible powers. I invite you now to close your ears or leave the room, as I wish I had many years ago, on a late evening much like this one. For those who cannot bear to allow yourselves this comfort, open your ears fully, and allow the complete tale of the blue-footed prairie dog entrance into your cache of terrors, as it will surely smolder there for the rest of your days.

Let our real story begin with dangers of the mandrake. The mandrake is a poisonous plant, to be feared and avoided at all costs. A deadly nightshade, its leafy greens are fatal when eaten, its berries are corrosive, and its purple flower blinding to one who looks too closely. In no way should the mandrake plant be approached, much less eaten, and certainly never uprooted, for below the green shroud of awful leaves rests the most sinister part...the root.

Encased in black dirt, resting just beneath the surface, the mandrake root is the most pernicious article of all plant life. Safe in the dark recesses of the ground, its forked appendages are legendary for their wrath...for upon pulling this root from the earth, it will cast a blood curdling shriek, inflicting madness and death upon all who hear it. If one's ears are not blocked entirely, the slightest hint of this terrifying sound can drive one into convulsions, sickness, and dementia permanently. Some say it is better to suffer the fatal minutes of horrifying pain delivered by the full force of the shriek than endure a lifetime of misery from its muffled whisper.

My friends, you now know that this danger looms beneath your feet. It has always been there, inches away. As you walk along the side of the forest, any one of your naive companions may, through novelty or plain boredom, decide to yank one of these roots from the ground. You must now, and for the rest of your lives, decide whether it is better to keep quiet, and grace them with ignorance of these plants, so that attention is not drawn to them. Or, you may trust them with this fatal knowledge. Guard this secret well, and tell it only to one who trusts you completely. If they do not trust, and decide to satisfy their curiosity by extracting the root, they will suffer a certain and horrifying death as a result. If you are nearby, you will be killed as well. The slightest breath from your lips is now more deadly than your swords. Yes, you would rather have left the room. Perhaps you would rather be sleeping. But, now that you know this secret, you must hear the tale of the blue-footed mandrake hunting prairie dog. Listen closely, for all who learn of the immanent dangers of the mandrake must also hear this story, for your very lives depend on it.

The Twin Wizards
Our story begins at the remote foothills of the Darshu mountains in the village of Tinsley. Tinsley was a municipality much like our own. At night the hardworking farmers and shopkeepers would gather in a cottage much like this one to drink wine and listen to stories. One particular story was told often...The Tale of the Twin Wizards. It was a local legend, sworn to be true by the elders of the village. I was at this cottage one evening long, long ago, and heard this story with my own ears. And now, I recount to you what I can remember of it...

At the edge of the village of Tinsley stood a humble chateau built of stone and brick. In this chateau lived identical twin brothers who happened to be wizards. One brother's name was Anastican. Anastican's hair was as white and plentiful as his virtue, and his appetite for purple stew was matched only by his generosity, as he was always delighted to share it. He lived a life of service to the people of Tinsley and never denied its inhabitants his powers as his abilities allowed.

The other brother's name was Balthizan. Balthizan's hair was also white, and as plentiful as his honor. He was known far and wide for his formidable incantations, and offered protection from all enemies of Tinsley with his powerful spells. He also lived a life of service to the people of Tinsley and never denied its inhabitants his powers as his abilities allowed.

Anastican and Balthizan were contentious, having sparred with each other their whole lives. As children they would summon giant owls to swoop down and lift the other high into the air, or spike the other's porridge with love potion. What many considered a bitter duel between the two was actually a contest in good humor. In the evenings, for example, each brother would ascend opposing mountain peaks. There, they would converse with one another. It was usually just kind-hearted conversation, and no one could hear what was going on. Sometimes, however, their words grew terse. When this happened the people of Tinsley would shuffle in their beds to press their ears against their open widows to listen. All were anxious to hear a continuation of the everlasting debate they were known for having. Anastican might roar something like:

Do you suggest we dim the sun, my brother, for the sake of more light?

Balthizan would respond...

Do you suggest we yield the switch, my brother, for the sake of complete darkness?

During these arguments, if you listened very closely, you could hear them continue their discussion. Sometimes the words would grow loud enough to hear plainly, and it was said each would glow brightly as their passion grew stronger. On rare occasions, if they both had their wits about them, they would begin launching lighting bolts at one another, attempting to knock the other off his perch. On these occasions, you might hear something like this...

You filthy beggar! Try this on for size!

Ka-BOOM!!!

You heartless monster! What comes around...

Ka-RRrrrACK!!!

These wizards were so evenly matched that one could never truly inflict much harm upon the other. Anastican's bolt was weak, but his shield was impenetrable. Balthizan's shield was fragile, but his bolt was thunderous. Because of this their battles, though spectacular, always ended in a draw. Exhausted, both would descend the mountain the following morning unharmed. The most damage witnessed was an occasional charred portion of Anastican's beard, which did not seem to bother him.

As powerful as they both were, Balthizan's fierce bolt made him the hero and protector of Tinsley, an honor he relished. He had defended the village on many occasions. All in town assumed that Balthizan, with his mighty bolt, could destroy Anastican in a true brawl if he really needed to. They even praised Balthizan for going easy on Anastican in their duels. While Anastican's pathetic bolt made him a bit of a joke around town, he was the only one who could make purple stew.

The Purple Stew
For many years Anastican had been improving his recipe for purple stew. Through great experiments with exotic ingredients, Anastican's stew gradually achieved more and more favor among the residents of Tinsley. At some point it was recognized that Purple stew satisfied their hunger like no other food in all the land. People came from miles around to taste Anastican's purple stew, and all who consumed it were lifted to good spirits from its delicious flavor. In the evenings all would gather in Tinsley's public house, and Anastican would pass a single bowl of purple stew to be consumed by all who hungered for it. Drank directly from the bowl, there was always enough to satisfy everyone who had gathered, and not one drop more. After eating purple stew in the public house, the angry grew content, the content grew cheerful, and the cheerful grew outright silly. In fact, it was well known that no two people with bellies full of purple stew were capable of fighting with one another. Oh sure, they may argue and bicker as Balthizan and Anastican would on the mountain top, but blood was never spilled after a meal including Anastican's purple stew. As much as Anastican was dismissed and ridiculed for his many inadequacies, no one with the characteristic purple lips could deny the delightful tastiness of his stew.

Balthizan enjoyed Anastican's purple stew as much as anyone in Tinsley village, but he also grew to despise it. Oh, yes, it was the one thing Anastican had that he did not, but, this alone did not trouble Balthizan. Balthizan, like all in Tinsley, had nothing but the highest regard for the talents of others, particularly those talents that he did not have himself. No, Balthizan's sorrow was great for another, much more unenviable reason: With all his might and love for his fellow villagers, he wanted nothing more than to help Tinsley...to protect them from danger of every kind. But, because of Anastican, he feared that Tinsley no longer required his protection...

You see, before Anastican had perfected his recipe for purple stew, the Village of Tinsley was afflicted by a persistent and awful terror. It was a scourge so horrific that all who remember it wish they did not. Well, almost all...

In those days, the tranquil peace of Tinsley would frequently be interrupted by a faint and disruptive sound. While hardly noticeable at first, it instantly sent shivers down the spine of every villager. Harsh and distinctive, the coo-cooing gradually increased in volume until it echoed off the tall mountain slopes; an intense and desperate wailing. All would look to the horizon with trepidation, wishing their ears had deceived them. But, all such hopes would be squashed as they watched the ominous, majestic, gray wings slowly materialize, flapping against the distant sky. They were Gridgeons...great pigeons...and they were quite unwelcome. While their marvelous feathery plumage might have deceived the casual observer, make no mistake, the Gridgeon was no dove. Yet, for all its ill-repute, the bird would be of mere annoyance if not for the whip of its infamous rider, the hideous, warty, MEGAtoad. Mounted upon the Gridgeon, the MEGAtoad was a toad of terror so nefarious, so unsavory, that saintly kings and ruthless barbarians alike still shiver upon their mention.

While I could describe the nature and characteristics of this foul creature, there is no better way illustrate its sinister awfulness than recounting the MEGAtoad's first, surprise assault on the village of Tinsley.

In that first invasion, the town of Tinsley was completely unaware a creature such as a MEGAtoad could exist, much less the fact the unsightly Gridgeon could be trained as a bird of burden. That day was calm, and pleasant, and the first faint coo-coos went completely ignored. You see, at the time, Grideons were not an uncommon nuisance, and one would occasionally flutter upon a roof, bending rafters with its great weight. There it would perch, its head poking up above the highest church steeple for all the town to see. Generally one of the school children would be summoned to pelt it with rocks from a slingshot. The Gridgeon was easily annoyed by this, and would quickly flap away. They were silly birds. All and all they weren't so bad, and might even be tolerated if not for their enormous and unpredictable droppings. (It is well known an evacuation from one Gridgeon is sufficient in size to bury an unsuspecting man alive.)

Anyway, the villagers were so busy that morning they did not hear the coo-cooing even as it grew very near. Most did not see, even at the last moment, that there was not one Gridgeon, but hundreds, floating over their humble village. Witnesses who did observe their arrival report a MEGAtoad one quarter the size of a man was saddled upon each one, and they swooped from the clouds as these MEGAtoads leaped to the rooftops below, wreaking havoc of all kinds on the carefully placed shingles. But, roof damage was only the beginning. Their fireproof reptilian flesh allowed them to hop down chimneys, which they did with great enthusiasm. The MEGAtoad's arrival in a house was marked by a shower of sparks as it crashed into the burning embers of the fireplace. This first assault quite startled unsuspecting children who happened to be warming themselves, particularly as they observed a plump, wart-laden MEGAtoad suddenly staring at them from the flames.

Stunned, the roasting Megatoad would sit upon the burning log for several minutes as the household gathered to observe this incredible manifestation. Recalling that first invasion makes one shudder, as none could have possibly known the impending carnage. Heated to a glowing red, the tempered toad would awaken and leap from the flames with lightning speed.

Then, its rampage would begin.

The MEGAtoad would hop through the house, ingesting one valuable after another with imperceptibly fast lashes of its long, adhesive tongue. Vases, cookware, and even drapery would be snatched so fast one could hardly imagine the MEGAtoad was responsible. Families would watch the MEGAtoad pilfer entire estates without the slightest knowledge a thieving MEGAtoad was in their midst. They simply thought their property was disappearing!

Within the hour, the Gridgeon would return to pick up the bloated MEGAtoads. They would gather them from the streets with their distinctive claws, lifting them into the sky. But, their assault was not complete. Stuffed with property, the MEGAtoad was not easy to carry, and Gridgeons would need to remove excessive weight in any way they could. As the birds ascended, screaming villagers fled for cover as dozens of Gridgeons emptied their bowels in a bombardment of avian excrement. By the time all of the MEGAtoads were recouped, the town was relieved if its possessions and left trudging knee-deep in a thick slurry of Gidgeon waste. It was a fate so sudden and dramatic that all villagers were left in a state of stunned confusion, waiting to awaken from their terrifying nightmare.

But, it was no nightmare. It was real, and it happened so fast that Balthizan had not even awoken from his nap. Finally, he emerged from his cottage and was shocked to discover the moaning of distressed villagers shoveling each other out of the unpleasant white bog that had replaced the streets. Some were buried up to their shoulders, struggling to break free before their prison hardened around them. He looked into the distance and saw the flock of Gridgeons flapping over the mountains. He returned to his cottage and began studying spells, determined to stop the scourge of the MEGAtoad from ever happening again. This is when he found spell 101: "Lightning Bolt." He would not stop studying until he got it right.

One year later, just as Tinsley had finally been cleaned and the buildings had finally been repaired, the flock of Gridgeons returned. All in town panicked at the first sign of coo-cooing, and ran for cover, but Balthizan jumped to action. He ran to the bell tower and climbed to the very top. He waited until he could see the MEGAtoad's warts and then began blasting them with powerful bolts. The birds scattered in a flurry of cooing and giant feathers showered the land just outside the city walls. All watched the impressive spectacle as Balthizan became Tinsley's hero and savior. Not one MEGAtoad pilfered one piece of property. A great feast was thrown in Balthizan's honor and he was showered with many gifts. After all, if Balthizan had not warded off the MEGAtoads, the town would have nothing left at all.

Balthizan kept the MEGAtoads at bay for many years, and discouraged, their raids became less frequent.

Then one day there was a knock at the village gate. When the guard looked through the tiny window he saw something very unexpected...a MEGAtoad! He was startled at first, but decided there was no reason to be rude.

"I'm sorry, I cannot let you in. MEGAtoads are not permitted within the walls of Tinsley."

"Please, my family and I have lost our Gridgeon, and we have nowhere to go. Please help us. We promise not to steal anything."

To make a long story short, this particular MEGAtoad entered the village, and immediately began plotting to snatch as many valuable things as he could stuff inside himself. (He was a MEGAtoad, a toad of terror, what's he gonna do?) But, before he began looting, he decided to eat a meal at the public house. And, there, he was passed a bowl of Anastican's purple stew.

The MEGAtoad took the bowl, put it to his lips, and began drinking it. He slurped and gulped it down ravenously, pouring the stew down his very large throat. He tipped the bowl up, intending to finish it, but he could not. Even though his belly was of an incredible capacity, capable of holding a household-worth of plunder, the capacity of the bowl was greater. He continued to eat, spreading purple all over himself and the villagers next to him, who cheerfully encouraged him.

Finally, the MEGAtoad tilted the bowl down and sat still in what appeared to be slight intoxication. A moment later, BbbbBBBEEELCH! He, shook his head and everyone in the public house cheered. He passed the bowl to everyone in his family, who followed suit, and then all four MEGAtoads hopped out the door.

They proceeded down the street and found a nice little house that would be perfect for looting. But, they were too full. They all knew they could not fit enough stuff down their bellies. The small amount that could fit simply wouldn't be worth the trip. So, they stayed at the inn and decided to postpone their thievery until the next morning. When they awoke, they were hungry, and decided it was time to pillage, but they all agreed a light breakfast was in order first. Again, they were passed the bowl, and couldn't help but engorge themselves completely with the delicious purple stew.

This scenario continued for the next several days, until the family of MEGAtoads finally decided they would rather live in Tinsley than loot it. They wanted to be close to the purple stew. Before long, they invited all their friends to visit Tinsley, and they all were all able to consume enough purple stew to keep themselves bloated, happy, and uninterested in thievery of any kind.

No one in Tinsley minded the arrival of the peaceful MEGAtoads. Everyone knew that the bowl could never be depleted until everyone in the public house was satisfied. And, the people of Tinsley very much enjoyed exchange and companionship with these strange MEGAtoads. All the people of Tinsley, that is, except Balthizan...

Balthizan grew very sad...for he was so powerful and capable with his lightning bolt, and he felt that his great talents were being wasted. Sure, he danced and sang during his meals of purple stew in the public house with the villagers and MEGAtoads, but in the mornings he would awaken with anger and spite. He secretly wished more than anything for an enemy to raid the village. Then, he would be able to prove his might once more and assure all that he was the most famous and honorable wizard in all the land. After all, why did Anastican deserve such glory? All he did was cook dinner. Balthizan decided that Anastican was not really the one responsible for the peace of Tinsley village. He was. After all, he figured it was the fear of his lightning bolt that kept other invaders away anyway. He thought all of these things in silence, and knew they could not be mentioned. After all, he was still honored in the village far more than anyone else, and certainly more than Anastican.

Anastican's Folly
One evening on the mountain peaks Balthizan's despair could not be hidden. As they were bickering back and forth, Balthizan drooped with the shortest moment of weakness...something he had never done. As such, the tiniest spark from Anastican's finger crossed the mountain valley and zapped Balthizan in the mustache. Amazed, Anastican ran to Balthizan in horror, for none of his blows had ever hit home. He saw Balthizan laying on the rock, stunned, and carefully knelt beside him. A trick was always up Balthizan's sleeve, and Anastican had learned to keep his wits about him.

"Balthizan, brother, are you okay!?"

"Yes, brother, I seem to have let my guard down for a moment."

This was very much unlike Balthizan. He was never the least bit vulnerable to these trivial attacks, and a trick as obvious as this was beneath him. Neither brother would cry wolf. Anastican looked at the cinged mustache and couldn't help but chuckle just a tiny bit. Balthizan looked up at Anastican for a moment, smiled and spoke...

"But so did you..."

A giant dragon suddenly grappled Anastican in his claws and lifted him into the air. He had prepared himself for lightning, perhaps, but not a surprise dragon. It was clever...a spell so easy he hadn't expected it. Anastican wrestled with the dragon, and finally climbed to its back, taking charge of it before swooping down to return the favor to Balthizan. To Anastican's surprise, Balthizan did not attack the dragon with lightning, or even cast a shield. He fled the mountain top and hid behind a giant boulder. Anastican realized he had done more damage to Balthizan than he realized and felt ashamed of himself for being so thoughtless. He landed the dragon and dismounted onto the mountain peak. Balthizan reported that nature had suddenly called him to the other side of the boulder. Anastican knew this wasn't true, but that Balthizan was trying to save face. He slapped Balthizan on the back, said he was tired, and suggested it was time to return to the chateau. They walked down the mountain together.

The next day, Balthizan looked at his mustache in the mirror and was horrified. The middle had been burnt off entirely. He became filled with shame and embarrassment. He looked at Anastican with anger, stirring his purple stew. Anastican spoke...

"Relax, Balthizan, my beard has been cinged many times, and I'm none the lesser for it."

But he was the great Balthizan, not the meek Anastican. Balthizan could not walk with a burnt mustache...everyone in Tinsley village would know what had happened. Neither he nor his brother knew a spell for regrowing a white mustache...

Anastican felt quite sorry for striking Balthizan. He did not mean to do such a thing, and would never have done so intentionally. Anastican was feeling particularly healthy these days, and could feel his powers growing for some reason, but still couldn't imagine how his little spark could do such a thing. Hearing Balthizan's crying, he decided he could not bear the guilt. In order to repay Balthizan, he invited him outside to the small clearing behind their chateau.

"Balthizan, my brother, I am sorry for what I have done. Please accept this gift as my apology."

Anastican raised his staff and chanted loudly...louder than Balthizan had ever heard him speak. He chuckled slightly, expecting a goat or rabbit to appear with a bow tied to his head. But no, as Anastican continued chanting Balthizan saw that he was focused and serious. He felt something shaking his feet and began to look around. Everything was shaking. A great earthquake trembled from deep within the earth beneath them. Balthizan had never imagined his brother could invoke such a thing. In the distance, Balthizan was shocked to see a whole new mountain rising from the valley. It crept higher and higher to Balthizan's complete amazement. When the bright gray rocks had risen taller than any other, a tower began to rise from its summit, and then another. Before long, a giant palace had appeared, more impressive than anything either brother had ever seen.

When the highest tower touched a cloud, Anastican fell to the ground, completely exhausted. He lowered his staff over his legs and his eyes were wide with astonishment. He looked as confused as Balthizan at what he had just created. He spoke softly...

"Balthizan, I...well...here ya go. A palace! It's all yours! My gift for cinging your mustache."

Anastican had underestimated his own powers. He intended to build nothing more than a small cottage for his brother...nothing like this. He was not trying to show off or anything like that. It just appeared...almost by accident.

Balthizan was puzzled. He didn't know exactly what to think, but he was very skeptical. His brother was surely playing a trick on him, as such a feat was greatly beyond anything either had ever seen with their own eyes. He decided that Anastican must have hired another wizard who had cast the spell from the other side of the mountain valley. He must have done this to make it look as if he had cast it himself. Balthizan would not be fooled. And, he could not allow the people of the village to think Anastican was capable of such a thing. Anastican spoke softly...

"I'll be honest, brother, I didn't mean to build you a palace, obviously. Let's say you built it yourself, and we'll be even, fair enough?"

"I don't know what wizard you hired to conjure this, or where he is hiding, but I assure you I am not fooled. You might as well tell the villagers I did this. I will dismiss the possibility, but they will believe you nonetheless. If the real wizard is too shy to show his face they certainly won't believe you built it."

"Come on, Balthizan, let's have some purple stew."

Balthizan could not abandon his frustration. Either his brother was playing tricks on him, or he was too powerful for his own good. But, none of that mattered, he thought. His mustache was cinged, and everyone would know that it was Anastican who had done it the night before with his tiny spark of lightning. He thought to himself...what would people think? "If Anastican could cinge the great Balthizan's mustache, just maybe he was powerful enough to conjure a mountain palace. What if the villagers thought his stew-cooking brother had such powers? My status would be in question. No, this is not acceptable. I cannot accept the shame my brother has always endured. I will not shrink to such a thing over a silly trick like this..."

Balthizan looked at Anastican stumble back to the chateau, weak and depleted of strength. Anastican was acting as if he had expended all of his powers to conjure the palace. Balthizan knew he must be faking, but decided he would stage a test to be sure. If it was true...if Anastican had the powers to do such a thing, he would be extremely vulnerable to one specific spell...a transportation spell. If he was faking his weakness, Balthizan's spell would have no effect, and he would know with complete certainty that Anastican's palace was a trick. He needed to be sure. Now was his chance to know once and for all...

Balthizan stopped and raised his staff. He closed his eyes and bellowed a spell in the loudest voice his brother had ever heard.

"Brother Balthizan, what are you doing?"

Balthizan waved his hand and watched Anastican disappear. He dropped his staff in astonishment. "No, it can't be!" He immediately realized that he had greatly underestimated Anastican. His teleportation spell worked, which meant there was no doubt that Anastican had actually conjured the palace under his own power. His skepticism immediately changed to excitement and joy.

This was a wonderful creative feat and he was suddenly very excited and happy for his brother's new found talent. He imagined the wonderful possibilities for both of them, and was no longer the least bit envious of Anastican's stew. This would mean fantastic things for themselves and all of Tinsley village! Balthizan had not seriously considered this extremely unlikely possibility. He called out for his brother, who must have reappeared nearby. Still dazed with amazement, Balthizan began to feel the faintest tingle of concern. He called out again: "Anastican, brother, come back to join me over some stew. We have so much to talk about." He waited, but there was no response.

Balthizan felt anxiety begin to well from deep within. He vaguely remembered that there were some minor issues related to his teleportation spell. Thinking over the exact syntax of the spell, he discovered some notable flaws related to animate objects that he had not considered prior to casting. Piecing together these flaws, he was horrified to confirm how extremely unpredictable his spell actually was. He realized that he had no idea where he had sent his brother. He may be thousands of miles away. He may have suddenly appeared high in the sky, or at the molten center of the earth. By dismissing the seemingly impossible, he may have accidentally injured or even killed his own brother! He knelt and bowed his head in grief. He had never felt so remorseful in all his life, and wished desperately that he had the power to turn back time...a skill not possible for even the greatest wizards.

After many failed attempts to un-teleport Anastican, Balthizan became exhausted and walked back to the chateau in deep despair. He saw Anastican's servant, Marigold, stirring the bubbling pot and grew sick with grief. By now he knew how disastrous his spell actually was. He remembered that Anasican had never really threatened him or anyone, and that all he seemed to care for was to perfect his most unorthodox stew that was loved by so many.

Balthizan breathed deeply and found the scent of the stew more enticing than ever before. It was well known that purple stew especially comforts the most weak and desperate. Balthizan needed his spirits lifted now more than ever, and found the lure of the aroma completely irresistible. He knew the soup was only to be eaten in the public house, and only among all the other villagers. But, he could not resist. He was so sad that he was certain Anastican would offer him some if he were there. Believing this, Balthizan approached Marigold and grasped her large wooden stirring spoon.

"My lord, Balthizan," said Marigold. "Anastican insists that the stew be saved for this evening."

Balthizan dipped the spoon into the bubbling cauldron and lifted it to his lips. It was so close to his nose that he could not help but steal a small taste. After he did, he immediately began to feel better...much, much better.

"Please, lord Balthizan," said Marigold, "I must finish stirring Anastican's stew. May I please have the spoon back?"

She was as gracious and considerate as always, but Balthizan was not listening. He was so completely purged of his grief that he looked back into the stew. He saw his own purple reflection, and sighed with relief. A tiny smile appeared on his face. What would he have done without the delectable stew, he thought. It was beautiful and extremely tempting. He considered his next moments very carefully, and decided that he should not have another taste until later in the evening when all the others had arrived. More before then would definitely be against Anastican's wishes.

He slowly moved the spoon towards Marigold's hands. Just as it touched her fingers he reconsidered. He would have just one more tiny taste to tide him over. To Marigold's dismay, he dipped the spoon and lifted a generous portion to his lips. He was ashamed to have finished the entire kettle of purple stew by early afternoon.

He did not choose to wait until the stew could be served in the public house from the bowl, where he could have enjoyed an inexhaustible supply.

Balthica Palace
That evening, when the people of Tinsley saw that Anastican was not passing his bowl, they asked Balthizan were he had gone. And, they asked where the purple stew was. The town had not gone one day without purple stew for many, many years. Balthizan had cleaned his lips, and assured the villagers that no stew had been cooked, and that Anastican had abandoned them along with his recipe for purple stew! He immediately regretted what he had said and wondered why he had said it.

The villagers were shocked, and everyone gathered at the public house to discuss why Anastican may have fled. One villager reported: "Well, we did call him a weasel-faced, monkey-butted rhinoceros chaser only yesterday." Another agreed: "Yes, and the day before that, we called him a three-footed horse-eared pollywancher." They all realized that Anastican had much reason to depart long ago. There was no one in town more fun to make fun of than Anastican, and they figured he had probably had enough of their jokes. No one blamed him for leaving. Any one of them might have done the same if treated as Anastican was. But, all were disappointed that he had not left the recipe for purple stew.

Balthizan assured the villagers that he would be able to recreate the recipe, and that he and his brother had no secrets. Again, he wondered why he said that, as he knew it was false. He told the people of the village that they should be ashamed of themselves for making fun of Anastican all these years, and that they should think about weather they deserve the purple stew anyway.

Then, one villager stood and asked Balthizan what happened to his mustache. A few other people in town chuckled.

Balthizan said he cinged his mustache casting the most powerful spell he had ever cast. He said that he tried to persuade Anastican to stay so much that he even conjured a palace for him.

He ushered the crowd around the chateau to show them Anastican's palace. They all gasped in amazement.

And, "he was completely ungrateful," said Balthizan. "Anastican so desired to leave Tinsley, that even my gracious offering of this palace could not persuade him to stay." (He quickly covered his mouth, trying to prevent the lies, but they could not be stopped.)

The crowd gasped again, and all were amazed at Anastican's apparent ingratitude. How could he refuse Balthizan's wonderful gift? How could he simply leave when Balthizan made it so plainly obvious that he was needed and appreciated in Tinsley?

Since Anastican "wouldn't accept his gift," Balthizan invited the entire village to join him in his new palace. "We should call it Balthica," yelled a villager. Others agreed, and Balthizan nodded despite himself. It was settled.

Balthizan and the entire population of Tinsley occupied Balthica palace. Balthizan was somehow delighted, even though he had not meant anything that he said. Purple stew had never had such an effect, but he had also never violated Anasican's strict rules for consumption. He felt as if he would be permanently satisfied with himself no matter what he said or did. Nothing seemed to trouble him, even as he heard such ridiculous things come out of his mouth.

Reign of Balthizan
Balthizan was pleased to offer his closest friends the best rooms in Balthica and became known as a wizard just as generous and virtuous as Anastican ever was, in addition to the formidable reputation he had already enjoyed.

Villagers were satisfied because even the smallest suites in Balthica were bigger than their former cottages. There were large fireplaces in every room and beautiful paintings on the wall. There was an enormous dining hall with a permanent smorgasbord of delicious foods. The homeless of Tinsley happily moved into the abandoned cottages and even became proprietors of those tiny shops and businesses. All of this made Balthizan so popular that many wondered how they managed before Anastican had left. Even the wind seemed to be blowing in the right direction as the cold air escaped over the adjacent mountains in favor of the warm breezes from the east.

As much as Balthizan knew he missed his brother in some sense, he couldn't be troubled by that at all. He realized that with his absence there was no one to contradict him, and this pleased Balthizan more than he expected. He realized how much Anastican had been holding him back all of these years. Before, all of his decisions would have to be defended upon the mountain peaks. Now, there was no such worry. Balthizan grew very pleased with himself indeed without these meetings, and was relieved of even the slightest worry in the comfort of Balthica. Over time he became ever more certain, and less distraught, with the possibility that Anastican would never return.

The Missing Stew
Every day after Anastican's disappearance, all of Tinsley village and the inhabitants of Balthica gathered in the public house to enjoy their evening meal together. No one, not even Balthizan, would indulge in the delicious smorgasbord of Balthica's great dining hall. Instead, Balthizan would pass around a bowl of his best attempt at purple stew. All would await with anticipation, hoping that Balthizan had succeeded in recreating Anastican's famed recipe.

Every evening the villagers were disappointed. While Balthizan's attempts were appreciated, they were far from sufficient. Balthizan did not have Anastican's exact recipe, and did not know the secret ingredient. After several weeks, the stew became increasingly horrid. Some say they spotted Balthizan dumping all sorts of disturbing ingredients into the kettle. Handfulls of grasshoppers, buckets of snails, and even rat tails were reported. The people of Balthica were becoming impatient. Without delicious purple stew, visitors became infrequent.

The conversations in the public house were missing colorful dialogues between various creatures, and had grown heavy with concern. Instead of goblins and ogres, which once enriched Tinsley with rare artifacts in exhange for stew and other goods, there were now only trolls, which had nothing to offer the villagers, and tended to swindle them of property. Many became furious at Anastican for abandoning them without leaving the recipe. One evening all the village could hear a great shouting match erupt within the public house. The next evening a villager had to be thrown out by the well-respected host. Such things were unheard of in the days of purple stew.

Blight of the Great Seal
The next day, half the shopkeepers in Tinsley village approached the gates of Balthica. They were holding signs and banners and chanting. They came to ask Balthizan for help. Their businesses were failing without the commerce afforded to them by the popular purple stew. Many in the town were hungry. They didn't know what to do other than ask Balthizan for help. The blacksmith emerged from the crowd and stamped a large rod into the dirt at the palace gate and shouted...

"We are hard-working people of Tinsley village and no one is buying our stuff! Our families are hungry!"

Balthizan couldn't buy all of their stuff. And, he couldn't give them purple stew. He simply couldn't find the recipe, not if his life depended upon it. He decided to invite them to Balthica's smorgasbord, which was always plentiful. But they did not appreciate the free food, as delicious as it was, and only ate it when absolutely necessary. They wanted to afford their own food and their own livelihood as they did in the days of purple stew.

Balthizan needed to do something or he feared they would revolt. He decided to give all of the villagers who came to the palace The Great Seal of Balthizan to affix to their shops. Then, he decried that all visitors should purchase goods from shops bearing Balthizan's seal.

Sure enough, the shops that were failing before soon acquired enough business to keep operating. But, the businesses that were most successful before, those without The Great Seal of Balthizan, were failing despite their superior merchandise.

The next month, all the shopkeepers who had not approached Balthizan before approached Balthica's gates. They asked why Balthizan demanded that visitors buy stuff from the inferior shops. Balthizan said that it was because their families were hungry and they needed help. A burly cooper slammed a barrel down in front of the gates and stood on top of it.

"Well, Balthizan the Great, because of the seal, my customers can't buy my high-quality barrels, which are the only ones that do not leak in all of Tinsley!"

"Okay," said Balthizan. "Then, I will demand that all barrels produced in my kingdom do not leak, or the cooper's license will be revoked."

The owner of the stables emerged from the crowd and shouted...

"But leaky barrels are half the price, and I depend on them to bring water to my cistern. I don't need them to hold water for long. I will go out of business without those cheap, leaky barrels."

Balthizan responded: "Then we will limit the price on high-quality barrels."

The cooper shouted: "Then I will go out of business and start making battering rams instead for the many people of the village who desire to breach the gates of Balthica."

Balthizan concluded: "I revoke the seal and refuse to endorse any one shop over another! My powers are great enough to see all the movements of the cosmos, but I cannot know the needs and desires of each and every one of you, and therefore cannot tell you what to buy or sell or how much to charge or pay."

Balthizan's lesson was hard-learned, but it was too late. The original shops that had acquired The Great Seal of Balthizan believed that they had rightfully earned the extra business rather than stolen it from others' through Balthizan's folly. Many of the most successful and efficient businesses had gone bankrupt.

Now, most of the villagers were angry with Balthizan and the inhabitants of Balthica palace.

Arrival of the Beaked Recluse Attack Bat
Seeing Balthizan's weakness and lack of judgment, many began to doubt that Anastican left on his own free will. After all, he loved distributing his stew, and always did so for free. He never really seemed to mind being made fun of all that much, anyway. Looking back, they asked questions among themselves about Balthizan's cinged mustache. They wondered how a spell to grow a palace would result in the characteristic pattern caused by Anastican's spark. They considered the possibility Anastican had done it, and that Balthizan had been lying. After all, Anastican had been the only other wizard in town.

Three particular villagers suspected Balthizan of banishing Anastican; Caden, Drake, and Egor. These capable individuals had been put out of business during the month of The Great Seal of Balthizan. They were some of the most successful Finders in all the land. But, without the seal, no one would ask them to find anything. One day, these three walked up the tall staircase to the top of the highest tower. They knocked on the door to Balthizan's room. The doors opened and they walked in.

They asked Balthizan to explain how Anastican's mark had been cinged into his mustache. Unable to answer, Balthizan grew frustrated. Impulsively, he raised his staff and turned all three to stone. He immediately regretted what he had done, but could not answer their questions without revealing the horrible truth...that he had accidentally killed Anastican. The spell he cast was meant to paralyze, not turn to stone. His dangerous spells seemed to have a unusually powerful effect on his friends, and this confused him. Previously, his powers could only harm enemies.

Suddenly he heard commotion far below and approached his window. Looking down, he saw that the villagers were in a hysterical panic, screaming and rushing about in the streets. Balthizan was confused..."Could they somehow know what I have done to Caden, Drake, and Egor?" It was impossible...no one had seen him, he thought. He jumped as pounding rocked the large wooden doors. Balthizan asked who was there.

"Your faithful knights, sire. Please, let us it. It is urgent!"

He stalled and used all of his strength to push the large statues into the corner, and then covered them with a blanket. He lifted the lever and open the doors. Sir Affaglen and Sir Hornsley entered the room to consult Balthizan...

"Balthizan, your majesty, please excuse our intrusion. As you know, everywhere news has spread that one of Tinsley's famed wizards has disappeared. It has emboldened our enemies, as none know that it was the weak Anastican and not the great Balthizan who has departed. They have sent a beaked recluse attack bat, which has been spotted approaching our palace and the Village of Tinsley. We believe we can defeat it. We have assembled the troops, and confidence is high. Your majesty, trust that your faithful servants honor the great Balthizan, and will defend your palace to the last."

Their armor clanked as they hurriedly rushed out of the room. Balthizan grew serious, but was ashamed to admit that he was secretly delighted. He knew all his knights were no match for an attack bat. After all these years his talents would finally be needed again. As in days gone by, the people would see that his great lightning bolt was their only hope...the only thing that could save them. They would see that purple stew is a luxury compared to his protection. He looked out of his window and saw the dreadful attack bat approaching. It was a big one, with enormous black wings that flopped slowly and menacingly. Its gnarled hair was knotted with tufts and its spindley legs hung like a great wasp. Its beak was like a long lance protruding from its dark face. It was not the first time Balthizan had seen an attack bat. It would not be able to challenge him.

He watched as the bat swooped over Tinsley, striking terror throughout the village. His kingdom was vulnerable, but he stood calmly at his window as the bat spit acid onto rooftops and threw men from their horses. He would give his knights a chance to prove their skills, even if they stood little chance against a giant bat.

Finally, Sir Affaglen confronted Balthizan again and pleaded for assistance. They knew they could not hold the bat at bay for much longer. The honorable knight begged on behalf of Tinsley and Balthica palace, insisting they were under a very real and serious threat. Indeed, they were, as they both watched its unsightly beak pierce through the roof of the grainery. Balthizan reluctantly agreed that he had no choice but to risk his own life to defend Balthica from the attack bat. "Yes, there is no other choice," he said to Sir Affaglen, donning his burgundy robe.

Balthizan casually ascended a staircase up to a platform that extended from the highest turret of Balthica. There he could see the bat continue to wreak havoc upon the people below. He stood with imposing force, his hair and robe gracefully flowing in the stiff breeze. His command of the situation appeard so unquestionable that the villagers all turned their eyes from the bat and admired the glory of Balthizan.

After standing proudly and patiently above the battle, Balthizan raised his staff high and began bellowing. His robust voice echoed off the rock cliffs. Villagers folded their hands, desperate for Balthizan's protection. The confident words were piercing to the bat, who instantly became terrified...for it was then that he realized it was Balthizan and not Anastican that still resided in the village. With his giant wings, the attack bat flapped frantically to escape what he believed to be his impending doom. All watched with amazement and relief as the bat fled.

When the last spec of his great wings disappeared over the mountain range, there was a great cheer. Balthica and the village of Tinsley had been saved. Some buildings had been damaged, but there was no loss of life, and Balthizan was a hero once more.

Balthizan's Secret
That evening the servants of Balthica hosted a celebration in honor of Balthizan, and the entire village was invited. Yes, many villagers were still angry with Balthizan for such rampant injustice, but they had to admit that they depended upon him for protection.

Balthizan was gracious but quiet, and did not offer a toast to his knights as he often did. All figured it was the lack of purple stew and the departure of Anastican that troubled Balthizan. But, Balthizan was troubled for a very different reason...

Balthizan had actually tried to unleash his powerful lightning bolt to bring down the bat. Just when his beak had turned toward the mountains, Balthizan triggered his weapon. Instead of lightning, his finger tips released nothing...not even a spark. At that moment he suddenly realized that he and all the villagers were completely defenseless...defenseless other than for the fear he commanded with his presence.

The Ingredient
Balthizan was under quite a bit of stress. Soon the people would notice that Caden, Drake, and Egor were missing. They would begin asking questions. They would grow increasingly angry without any purple stew. Balthizan became obsessed with finding Anastican's recipe. He needed to understand its powers, and he needed to know if his own powers, or lack thereof, were somehow related to the stew. He searched through Anastican's recipe books and journals without success. He searched Anastican's old room in the chateau for secret hiding spots and found nothing.

Finally, frustrated, his eyes turned to an old kettle that Anastican had used in his experiments years earlier. It had been sitting in plain view on a table in the chateau. Balthizan picked it up and was intrigued to notice some dried bits at the bottom. He reached in and carefully tweezed a small piece, holding it to his nose. With the slightest sniff he could identify it. It was an ingredient he had reluctantly suspected, but feared more than any other...mandrake root. He figured it must be the secret ingredient...

Balthizan was not relieved. Mandrake root did not grow on the mountain, or even in the foothills. It required a long journey to a distant valley. He could not assign his knights to fetch the root. He needed to guard the identity of the secret ingredient. He decided to retrieve the mandrake himself. Therefore, Balthizan fled, leaving a note that promised everyone as much purple stew as they could eat upon his return. Then, and only then, would he have restored order in the palace. He descended the mountain in search for the precious mandrake root.

Anastican's Swim
Anastican heard the first words of the teleportation spell and then found himself hovering somewhere mysterious and quiet, surrounded by a black nothingness. He suddenly realized where he was, as a giant squid roved by...he was at the bottom of the ocean! At the last second, and with the last of his strength, Anastican had saved his life by surrounding himself with his shield. He was encased in his own little bubble. If he had not done so, he would have been instantly crushed by the intense pressure. Either his brother was playing a particularly cruel joke, or this was very serious.

Anastican's bubble finally popped to ocean's surface, shooting several meters into the air. He was shocked by his brother's ruthless behavior, but also humored by the extreme ridiculousness of the joke. It would have been awfully hilarious if not for the almost fatal consequences. Anastican knew he had to get back to Tinsley as soon as possible. He knew that the inhabitants would hanker for purple stew, and that Balthizan would not be able to make it for them. He wondered weather he should have kept his secret ingredient so secret. He knew that Tinsley was in far more danger than Balthizan realized. If Balthizan discovered the secret ingredient, he didn't know the exact recipe or cooking instructions...no one did. Purple stew needed to be prepared perfectly, or the mandrake root would be just as poisonous as if it were yanked carelessly from the ground. Upon the first sip Balthizan and all who ate it would die a horrible, painful death. Then, all who touched their corpses would be afflicted likewise. Anastican realized that he needed to get back to the palace as soon as possible.

But, for Anastican, mandrake root was more than an ingredient...it was his life blood. Anastican depended on the mandrake root for all of his powers, and could not live without it. He crafted the recipe for purple stew specifically so that the hazards would be denatured, yet, the ingredient would be necessary for the proper taste. He knew that it was the secret to conjuring the palace. Since he had never attempted to conjure before, he simply had never realized what power the mandrake root actually gave him.

It was essential that purple stew be delicious because he needed the villagers to demand it. Then, as an ingredient in purple stew, he could assign them to harvest the mandrake root for him. No wizard can harvest mandrake root for themselves, as they will be killed instantly by its shriek. It was a difficult and dangerous task, even for a villager, but they always came through. Anastican acquired the root by instructing Caden, Drake, and Egor, who were professional finders, to acquire it for him. Unfortunately, he was far from the finders at the moment. He certainly would never have guessed that Balthizan would turn these faithful friends to stone.

Anastican eventually drifted to shore and traveled the countryside in search of anyone capable of harvesting mandrake root. He was losing his powers every day without the precious root. More importantly, he needed to return to Tinsley village. He knew the town would revolt without his purple stew, and that his brother would be in danger.

At the same time, Balthizan was also combing the countryside for anyone capable of harvesting the root. He was desperate to quell the unrest from the village. He didn't know that in his hands, the root would turn the purple stew to deadly poison.

The Vital Discrimination
Therefore, at this time, two identical wizards were traipsing the countryside looking for mandrake root. Each needed to find a courageous team of finders capable of harvesting it for them. Individuals such as yourselves, my friends, sitting in this cottage, were instructed how to harvest mandrake root in case Anastican required their services. But, they also needed to be sure that the wizard who asks the root is not Balthizan. Both wizards had the most pure intentions, and desired to save the villagers of Tinsley, but one would cause their certain death, and the other will save their life. So, their attention is of the utmost importance, as it is yours.

To Harvest the Mandrake
First, I will explain to you the proper method for harvesting mandrake root. To do this requires the wonders of the blue-footed mandrake eating prairie dog. Now, listen closely, because harvesting the mandrake root is a dangerous and surgical operation. One needs the following...

• A bone
• A long rope
  
• A mobile catapult
• Dog whistle
  
• Courage
  

Even the most adept Mandrake harvester will fail by day. You must harvest the mandrake root at night, and by the smallest sliver of moonlight. Always find the most suitable mandrake plant. There is no sense risking life and limb for a second-rate root. When you have found the right one, do the following:

1. Drag your catapult 100 feet away from the plant.
2. Aim the catapult toward the plant.
   
3. Quietly approach the plant.
4. Wrap the rope around its stalk tightly.
5. Return to the catapult.
6. Blow the whistle. The prairie dogs will pop their heads out of their holes.
7. Wave the bone so the the prairie dogs can see it.
8. Wait until all of the prairie dogs are barking and jumping for the bone.
9. Place the bone in the catapult.
10. Launch the bone over the mandrake plant.
11. Run the other way, toward your destination. The prairie dogs will follow you.
12. Cover your ears.
    
13. Keep running until the mandrake plant is ripped from the ground.
14. Keep running, ears covered.
15. When the dogs catch you, take the bone and throw it back as far as you can.
16. Keep running. The screeching will soon start to fade.
    
17. Arrive at your destination. Destination must include wizard.
    
18. Watch wizard cast a spell to stop the screeching.
    
19. Trade the bone to the wizard for your reward.
    

This is how the mandrake root has been harvested for as long as anyone can remember. Use it wisely, and do not tell anyone that the mandrake has any value whatsoever. The three of you in this room...the three of you who are still awake. You may one day be required to harvest it. But, you must know how to identify Anastican and Balthizan. Both will offer you glorious rewards in the form of riches and power, but you absolutely must not give the mandrake root to Balthizan.

And now, you will learn of the famous race between Balthizan and Anastican to acquire the precious mandrake...