Froggin' Fantasy

“I chose the path of magic.”

“Remember, Hero, the choice can't be undone. Is this your destiny?”

"Yep.”

"I didn't quite catch that, Hero.”

"I said I want to be…"

“Speak up, you're mumbling. Do you want to be a mage or not?"

"Can we do this another time? I think I left the stove on. I should get going. I'll catch you later, Great One.”

"Don't bother coming back if you're not serious, or next time I'll turn you into a frog, you get me?"

“Loud and clear."

Our hero fled the Grand Wizard’s borrow, not stopping until he reached The Dangling Scepter, a tavern at a crossroad.The place was packed tighter than an elven ass. Everywhere you looked all sorts of rouges, clerics, barbarians, druids, you name it, were screaming their lungs out. Everyone had a quest to conquer: dragons to slay, treasure to plunder, maidens to kiss, power to steal. The goblins struck a mean tune while shady gnomes passed magic dust through the crowd. Melvin nervously shook his head when offered a line of the stuff of a she-orc’s shredded midsection. He sat at the bar and ordered an ale. The table behind him erupted in a heated argument.

“We’ll be dead before we set foot inside the tomb. Have you been paying attention to anything I've said?” A grizzled dwarf with fist the size of dogs (wtf?) perched on his tippy toes, shoved a sausage-like finger into a ranger's face.

“I know it's risky, but it's the only thing close to a plan we have,” the ranger said, his tone serious and dignified. “I'm not eager to die, but if we don't get that artefact, you can kiss your fortress goodbye. If Gloria falls–”

"It's Morria, you idiot, the city’s called Morria. It stands unconquered for hundreds of years," the warrior-dwarf spat.

“We're trailing off. How do we plunder that tomb?” A rogue, draped in black from head to toe, wearing a Korn tunic, twiddled a dagger between her slender fingers. They had a goth baddie in the party, nice.

“Isn't this your area of expertise?" a bard said, fingering his flute. "Can't you crawl through the ventilation shaft or something?”

"It's the tomb of an ancient Lich King. It doesn't need any ventilation,” she said, making the knife pop in and out of reality, shifting from left to right. “Don't you have a spell to shrink us like ants? Ants can't set off traps."

A wizard puffed smoke from his gnarly pipe and said “Nah, sorry brah, don't know that spell. That's like a higher level than what I'm currently at." His blood shot eyes said it all: he suffered from conjunctivitis. "There's this one guy, I don't remember his name, but he's like a super powerful mage, a Grand Wizard even. I bet he knows a spell that can get us in the tomb.”

Melvin choked on his drink hearing about the Grand Wizard. All five party members fixed him with their gaze. He wanted to leave but the dwarf and ranger flanked Melvin.

"I haven't seen you around here, friend. We dwarfs are a friendly bunch. Why don't you take a seat? I bet we'll get along just fine. Don't you think so?" He gestured to the ranger, whose hand shot to Melvin's shirt, lifting him high above the bar stools. They plopped him down beside the rogue. She winked.

"Look, all I know is that the Grand Wizard can turn people into critters,” Melvin said, sweating his socks off.

“And how would you know that, buddy?" the ranger asked, his hand firmly on Melvin's shoulder.

“Guys, relax, let him breathe a little. What's your name, adventurer?" she asked in a soft voice.

“I'm Melvin. I'm not an adventurer, I haven't decided yet what I want to be. I thought a mage would suit me but… that's why I went to see the Grand Wizard. To ask him if I could be a mage, but then I panicked and well, ran out on the guy."

“Nice story. Let's kill him," the bard said, blowing a cheerful tune through his flute.

“Wait! He said if I go back there and bother him again, he'll turn me into a frog!”

The rogue glanced at the dwarf, who in turn looked at the baked wizard, whose bloodshot eyes rolled towards the ranger, whose gaze burned holes in the rogue's cleavage. That didn't go unnoticed by the bard who poured a full measure of ale into Melvin's cup.

“Melvin, I think you would make a fantastic mage. Why don't we see the Grand Fucker and tell him your exciting new outlook on life?”

“But I don't want to be a wizard, " Melvin said, sinking into his chair.

"You don't have to, darling. All we need from you is to take us to him and just tell a little white lie.” The bard smirked, his blue feather lashes twitching like a bumblebee taking off.

“But, like, it takes years of practice to learn a spell,” the party's magician said, choking on a fat blunt. “I mean I'm a wizard and can't turn people into anything.”

“Oh you simple creatures… we don't need our new friend to be a wizard,” the bard purred. "He just has to be convincing enough to earn an internship with the Grand Butthole. A simple scroll with the spell will suffice. As proof of his true intentions to become–no, surpass his tutor–the old mage will gladly send his new apprentice on a grand adventure, eh?"

“Sorry guys I don't think I can help you,” Melvin said, trying to slip away.

“Wait, don't leave,” the rogue cried, grabbing his hand. “If we don't get inside that tomb thousands of innocent people might die. Help us, Melvin, help us destroy the evil lurking in that tomb, and we'll be forever in your debt.”

“But what if I get you the scroll and the Grand Wizard finds out he's been duped? He'll turn all of us into frogs," Melvin gulped.

“I trust you, Melvin. You're destined for great things, I can feel it,” she said, placing a soft hand on his cheek.