DaddyBear the Minivandian settled into his throne, a flagon of cold ale in his hand, to watch the gladiatorial match between the Beasts of the City of Winds and the Young Herders of the city of the Lone Star.  His day had been long and grueling, and he wished to finish it and rest.  As he considered the merits of both hordes, his mate, the Lady of Eire, came unto him.

“My love,” she purred, “the mage who instructs our son, the Young Prince, at the temple of learning, hath sent with him a scroll of questioning.  He wishes to know how we perceive our son’s progress.  Please, give unto me your undivided attention so that we may give this matter our full effort.”

With a sigh, the Minivandian muttered the spell to dismiss the images upon the box of talking heads, put down his flagon of ale, and took up a quill to fill out the answers as he and his wife read the questions.

• Question – Can thine child count unto twenty, without the aid of his toes?
  • Answer – Yes, but occasionally he shall lose his way and begin to count backwards into the evil region where numbers are less than zero, and then his toes start to disappear until he counts forwards again.
• Question – Hast thine child an imaginary friend?
  • Answer – Yes, if thou shalt count the demon he summoned in the cellar last Candlemas, which yet still lurks in the darkness.
• Question – Dost thine child enjoy having a tome read aloud to him?
  • Answer – Yes.  He especially enjoys hearing passages from the grimoire he found buried in our courtyard.
• Question – Doth thine child enjoy playing with his pets?
  • Answer – Yes.  He hath trained our hounds to defend him while he rests.  However, the cats become as if possessed with a foul spirit when he enters the room.
• Question – Dost thine child try to hurt other people?
  • Answer – Yes, but the neighborhood is a better place now that those orcish children no longer walk the earth.

Upon finishing these questions and others, the Minivandian and the Lady of Eire found a page with activities the Young Prince was to perform.  My lord DaddyBear called his son to his chamber of entertainment, so that he could fulfill the instructions of the master mage of learning.

First, the Young Prince was asked to describe his pet dragon.  With a lilting voice that reminded the Minivandian of the accent of his mother’s ancestors, the Prince described the glittering of its scales, the heat of its breath, and the sharpness of its teeth and claws.  DaddyBear marked upon the scroll the success of this endeavor.  The Minivandian made a mental note to take the drake to the master of beasts for a check-up and claw-clipping.

Next, the Young Prince was asked to stand upon one leg for a time.  At first, the Young Prince was confused about what was being asked, but eventually found the correct way to accomplish this.  Pleased by the praise heaped upon him by the Lady of Eire, he smiled and pulled up his other leg and hung in the air until his father told him to put his feet back upon the ground.

Last, the Young Prince was tested on his ability to handle quill and paper.  As the Lady of Eire told him to make different runes, the Young Prince marked the scroll.  As he made the last mark, a clap of thunder shook the manor of the Minivandian.  A cold wind blew down through the chimney, and the scroll of questions burst into flames.

Bellowing a counter curse, my lord DaddyBear used his mighty hand to smother the flames before they could consume the entire scroll.  Looking down upon the paper, the countenance of a mighty balrog, its head wreathed in flame, looked back at him.

“Minivandian!  I pledge that I shall never bother your realm again, so long as you pledge to place upon this young terror a leash!  He hath called upon me four times this fortnight alone!  Even I, a creature who relishes the suffering of your race, have no wish to be ripped across the threshold between our realms so often!”

Nodding his agreement, the Minivandian finished patting out the smoldering remnants of the page.  A smell of burning parchment and brimstone hung in the air.  After ensuring that the hellfire produced by his son had been extinguished, he fixed upon him a baleful glare.

“Princeling!  Harken unto me!  From this moment forward, I forbid you to summon unto this realm any creature, be it of flesh or fire or spirit, without my permission.  You shall only do this when I, or your mother, or the mage of learning instruct you to do so, and then only in a manner that keeps the creature within a place of safety.  Dost thou understand?”  rumbled the Minivandian, trying to look as stern and fierce as he could.

“Aye, father, I do.” chirped the Young Prince.  “I shall refrain from summoning such creatures.  Such a task has become childs play to me.  May I begin to learn to tame the beasts of the forest and of the fen and of the mountain crag instead?”

“Yes, my son, you may.  Just remember to not bring them into your mother’s house until she has told you that she will allow it.” answered DaddyBear. “You are too young to remember the trouble your sister got into when she brought a small creature, foul of countenance and aroma, into the house on the day of Thanksgiving.  I would wish that you not have to endure the trial of your mother’s tears and wrath.”

The Young Prince skipped off to inquire of his sister, Listens to Stories, as to where he might find such a creature.   The Lady of Eire scooped up the charred scroll, placed her hand upon the Minivandian’s shoulder, and then left to renew the spells of warding which she had placed upon the manor after the incident with the basilisk.

DaddyBear uttered the spell to energize the box of talking heads, finding that he still had much of the match of gladiators to enjoy.  His flagon of beer in hand, he settled back.  While he watched the mighty titans clash against each other, he thought of the terror that had sprung from his loins and was at that very moment plotting to do something that was probably quite offensive and sticky.  After much thought, he realized that the boy took after his father, and his father, and his father before him.  Such a tradition was honorable, and a smile broke across his face as he recalled the trouble he had gotten when his grandmother had discovered his own pet dragon.  Such memories are what make life worth living, and DaddyBear hoped that his progeny would also have such things to reflect upon when his own children tried to burn down the family abode.

The Young Prince did indeed learn to tame the beasts of the forest and of the fen and of the mountain crag.  Many times did the Lady of Eire have to mutter strong spells to drive off these beasts, who occasionally lost their tameness once they were no longer in the grasp of the Young Prince.  The Minivandian grew happy as he watched the young barbarian grow, and in so doing, he knew that the honor of his family would continue with the next generation.

DaddyBear the Minivandian returned to his home.  A long period of toil was finished, and he looked forward to a night of joy and entertainment with his mate and their progeny.  As he came in, Lady of Eire told him that a minion of the pizza gnomes would be delivering Italian pies for their dinner.

While waiting for the good delivery gnome to arrive with his food, the Minivandian bid his magic elf box to tell him of the events of the day.

“My Lord,” said MacElven, the box of elven sorcery, “I regret to tell you that my vial of blue smoke is leaking, and that I shall soon fail you.  I shall decant my essence into my magic flask of spinning disks so that I may return from the grave to serve you once again.  Once I have done this, I bid you to return me to the temple of my makers, who may be able to resurrect me.”

The Minivandian watched as his servant copied its soul to the flask of spinning disks, then closed its eyes as if in sleep.  After contemplating the fleeting nature of this world and the inevitability of all things passing on to the land of their ancestors, he summoned his other minion, the small box of elven witchcraft.

“Go, my servant, and find the closest temple of the Cult of Fruit Worshippers.  Once found, arrange with the chief monk of customer support so that I may render unto them this husk of my most worthy servant, along with the flask of spinning disks, so that they may craft a spell to return him to his proper state.” ordered DaddyBear.

The small servant, whose name was Eye of the Jobsian, did as bidden, and duly reported that the monks of customer service would be ready for the Minivandian the next evening at the hour of a late dinner.

The next evening, after bidding his son, the Young Prince, and his daughter, Listens to Stories, to refrain from putting his abode to the torch and summoning a horde of young barbarians to rend it from its foundation, the Minivandian and the Lady of Eire ventured forth in his mighty war steed, CreakyTurn, to the temple of the Cult of Fruit.  In his bag, he carried MacElven along with the flask of spinning disks.

Upon his approach to the temple, the Minivandian noticed the evidence of a great battle.  Paper was plastered to the walls, extolling the virtues of the Eye of the Jobsian.  The local population walked about with them, and the two monks of customer service who guarded the entry portal, though smiling, had the look of a happy warrior who had just fought his saga-battle. 

“My Lord, how may we serve you this evening?  Hast thou come to us to seek out the new generation of our Eye of the Jobsian, which will allow you to complete your life’s work in a rather cool and smart fashion?” intoned the first guardian.

“No,” replied the Minivandian, “I bring to you the earthly remains of my worthy servant, who was created by your sorcery.  He bade me to return him to this temple, so that you might resurrect him.”

“My deepest sympathy on the loss of your servant, my lord.” said the monk.  “If thou wishest, we can make an appointment with the elves of our Wizard’s Bar on the morrow.  They will be able to find the cause of your servant’s troubles and correct them.”

“My other servant has made such an appointment for me this very evening, which is why I and my mate have ventured here.”

“I am sorry, oh might warrior and carrier of an older example of the Eye of the Jobsian, but this evening there can be no appointments at the Wizard’s Bar, for they are all busy assisting our customers who have purchased the newest breed of the Eye of the Jobsian this day.  Allow me to find out what is to be done for you.” said the monk, his eyes widening as the Minivandian’s eyes narrowed.

As the friar went to consult his Eye of the Padwan, the Lady of Eire placed her delicate hand upon the rough arm of the Minivandian.  “My love,” she purred, “I do not wish to tarry here while you dicker with these skralings.  I shall be off now, to peruse the wares at the Shoppe of the Giant Rat.  Our son has told me that he wishes a raiment of their manufacture, and I noticed that their prices are low this day.” 

As his mate walked to the Shoppe of the Giant Rat and the monk continued his animated conversation with the magic elf box, the Minivandian considered the cost of a new Eye of the Jobsian, but decided that his faithful servant yet had the means to serve him.

After consulting with his Eye of the Padwan, the monk returned with a pained and fearful expression.  “My lord,” he said, showing the whites of his eyes, “I have found the problem with your appointment.  Your servant has made it for tomorrow, not this evening.  If you wish to return then, I am sure that we can correct the issue with your fallen servant.”

“Nay, my master!” squawked the Eye of the Jobsian, resting in his place in the Minivandian’s pocket, “I made this appointment for this eventide.  Harken to the missive of confirmation that I am showing unto you!”.

After consulting the missive of confirmation and affirming that the appointment was to be that evening rather than the next, the monk again went off, this time to consult with his abbot.  The abbot, an elven mage of great power and prestige, was regal in his flowing black robes as he approached the agitated barbarian.

“Minivandian,” he rumbled, “I offer my apologies for the mix-up.  Our imps of scheduling appear to have made the mistake of scheduling our sorcerers to assist you on a day in which a mighty host of our followers descended upon us.  Fear not, for I have summoned Christophotus, our most skilled sorcerer, to assist you.”

The Minivandian took his hand off the hilt of Gnarlthing, his magic blade of +5 disemboweling, and followed the abbot to the inner sanctum of the temple.  At the Bar of Sorcerers, a tall elven warrior-monk sat upon a stool, studs of gold and silver dotting his body, images of skulls and eagles adorning his arms, and his brow clear as he mumbled a prayer to the gods of tech support.

Upon noticing the arrival of the abbot and the barbarian, the elvish sorcerer opened his eyes and a smile crossed his countenance. 

“All the blessings of the Jobsian be upon you, Minivandian. I have been in commune with the spirit of MacElven, your most loyal servant, and I am prepared to assist you in returning him to this plain of existence.” he said in a lilting, musical voice. 

Seeing that the Minivandian was in good hands, the abbot took his leave.  As he walked away, DaddyBear could hear him ordering his monks to continue their work of completing the rite of commerce with as many adherents to the faith as possible before the doors to the temple closed in 30 minutes time.

Satisfied that he was speaking with the correct being, my lord DaddyBear handed over the body of his servant, along with the flask of spinning disks, which housed Macelven’s spirit.  Upon seeing the flask, the monk’s eyes lit up.

“Rare is it that such a thing is brought to us unbidden.  With it, we can restore the essence of your servant to life in the event that his body requires complete replacement.  Normally, we must ask that its keeper return to the temple with it, but having it now will make things easier.”

Placing his hands upon the husk of MacElven, the monk closed his eyes and began to chant a prayer of diagnostics.  He knotted his brow as the depth of the problem became apparent.  After a long period of prayer and note taking, he opened his eyes with a troubled look.

“My brother, I am sad to tell you that your servant is much aggrieved.  In order to return him to health, we must keep him here at the temple for several days, so that we may plumb the depths of the failures and remedy them.  Perchance we may even have to send him to the temple of hardware overhaul, which will require that a messenger take him far for healing.   Please, leave with me the manner by which I may contact your servant, the Eye of the Jobsian, and I shall inform you of our progress.  I pray that we can return him to full function soon, but as you have brought with you a copy of his essence, in the worst case we shall be able to replace him completely and place him in his new body.”

The Minivandian bid the Eye of the Jobsian to give his information to the monk and thanked the friar for his time.  Leaving the temple, he sought out the Shoppe of the Giant Rat.  Just as he was coming to its door, the Lady of Eire emerged with a packet of clothing in her hand.  Apparently the prices of the Giant Rat had been enchanting enough to entice her into buying not only a tunic for the Young Prince, but also one for Listens to Stories.  

The Minivandian noted his hunger, and confirming with his mate that she too wished to sup, strode down the wide boulevard to a public house.   There, both he and the Lady of Eire ordered meat of the hoofed beast, hers charred in the manner of her people and his served as raw as the local magistrate would allow, along with flagons of golden ale.  My lord DaddyBear then sat with his wife, chatting about the days events and her plans for improvements upon their dwelling. 

In time, Macelven returned to the Minivandian, and he served his master faithfully on many adventures, but those are stories for another time.  Now let me tell you tales of high adventure!

DaddyBear the Minivandian settled back into his work stool, a cup of hot witches brew in one hand and the latest scroll of knowledge in his other.  As he began reading the new incantation it contained, his magic elf box rang softly, telling him that he had a new missive awaiting his attention.

Knotting his mighty brow, the Minivandian bid the box of elven sorcery to display the message.  It appeared to be from his leader.

Minivandian, our mighty Khan, may his path be made wide and flat, has decreed that I must speak with you about your performance as the office barbarian and as a keeper of the magic elf boxes.  I desire that you should reply to this message with a listing of your mighty achievements since the day where sunlight equaled the night.  I also require that you list the goals you shall try to accomplish before the snows melt and waters run clear and cold again.   I shall expect to see you in my chamber two hours after midday.

DaddyBear thought long and hard about this, for it had been a long and contentious summer.  Finally, he breathed deep, placed his hands upon the elven board of keys, and began to list out his many adventures:

• Exercised Exorcised many imps from magic elf boxes, including some rather ugly ones that crept in with new hardware.
• Slayed mighty dragons on multiple occasions, which always seemed to begin their attacks during a period of rest.
• Negotiated a treaty of good will with the masters of the flying beasts on how they will and will not utilize the magic elven boxes.
• Refrained from defenestrating the gnomes of the middle lands when they were caught opening the magic elf boxes to evil incantations.
• Taught the gnomes the proper incantations to prevent future danger to the magic elf boxes from such evil spells.
• Successfully instructed a cohort of companions on the proper care and use of bladed weapons while working around the flying beasts.

The Minivandian leaned back on his stool and thought about these good times.  His summer had indeed been interesting.  Looking further into himself, he began to think of those things he wished to do and improve:

• Refrain from cursing the ancestors of co-workers in the common tongue.
  • Cursing their ancestors in orcish, however, will be acceptable and probably more effective.
  • Current score – 2, Goal  – 1
• Refrain from skinning vendors who sell him the wrong vials of magic blue smoke for the mystical elven boxes and using their hides to decorate the room of meeting.
  • Current score – 10, Goal – 5
• Complete four quests with the wizards of continuing education.
  • These should be in areas outside of the ordinary, so no classes on the use of massed Berserkers or siegecraft.
  • Current score – 1, Goal – 4
• Refrain from arguing with the guardian of the portal to the place of the flying beasts that a two-handed battle-axe is simply a necessary tool for work.
  • Current score  – 10, Goal – 7.
• Work on people skills.  Smile more, and not the “Skin Poncho” smile either.
  • Current score  – 0, Goal  – 5

DaddyBear the Minivandian looked upon these lists, and saw that they were worthy of his leader’s review.  Just then, he heard the high-pitched keening of a co-worker who had just been tasked with slaying a wyrm.  Grabbing Gnarlthing, his mighty blade, the Minivandian strode down the corridor to help, a smile upon his mighty countenance.  He fought valiantly against the wyrm, and came back for his personnel review covered in both glory and wyrm blood.

My lord the Minivandian went on to have many quests and adventures, and when he finally laid down his sword and shield, he could look back on a good life.  But those are stories for another time.  Now, let me tell you tales of high adventure…..

Now let me tell you tales of high adventure…..

DaddyBear the Minivandian leaned back into the cushion upon which he sat, reflecting on the events of the past few days.  He had travelled with Jack the Mad Holy Man across Mordor to meet with other members of the Guild of Armaments.  Together with his compatriots Jay the Maroune, The Ancient Mariner, and AyDee the Lifesaver, he had gazed upon and tested many items of both stabbiness and blasting.  He had met Kathy the Feline Warrior, with whom he had conversed many times on the magic elf box, and whose writings he hoped would be good guidance to his wife and daughter.  He had even met and hailed Mas the Ayoob, Oliver of the North, and The Gunny, honored warriors who had also gathered in the City of The Saint.

He had considered the merits of the latest wares from many craftsmen, as well as admiring the work of John of Ogden, may he enjoy his time in the hall of heroes.  Of particular interest to him had been the throwers of pellets and the wizards who made devices that made distant items seem to be directly in front of the warrior.  Many artisans of cloth and leather were also there, showing off the fruits of their labor.  DaddyBear had purchased several small tunics emblazoned with subtle symbols that signified his membership in the Guild and an owner of weapons.  Some of these he would wear himself, some were gifts for friends, and one special one would be given to his daughter, Listener of the Firetales.  She had remained at home to assist the Woman of Eire with the Young Prince, as he was having to learn to master the great strength and energy that came with his heritage of the North Men and could be a handful.

He had also listened to the utterances of leaders and those who wished to lead, and his heart was heavy with dread for the future.  Those who wished to lead after the revolution of voices in the coming autumn all lacked anything that made the Minivandian want to gird his loins and wade into conflict against those who wished to oppress the free people.

He had watched Oleg the Wizard work his particular brand of magic upon the young women who came into contact with him.  The Minivandian had come to believe that Oleg had more of an innate magic of enchantment, such as can be found among the elves, instead of a learned skill.  When he had seen women held in thrall by the wizard, he had seen no evidence of a charm, incantation, or potion in use.

DaddyBear was at that time surrounded by friends, both old and new.  Mistress Squeaky was seated across from him, and she was singing songs of both joy and sadness with Mistress Fatale of the Phlegmoix.  Canis the Lawman, Mistress Fatale’s mate, sat and discussed the issues of the day with Jay the Maroune, Matt the Giant, and Rick the Brave.  Awelowynt the Wookie sat among the group also, offering drinks of his elixir from the bottom of the world, which went well with the liquor of corn that DaddyBear had brought with him.

The Minivandian drank deeply from his glass of amber liquor and smiled to himself.  He was far from home and hearth, but he was among fellow believers in freedom and truth, and that was almost as good.  In all his quests, he had never known such good company.  Even though he was far from the lands of his family, he was with his tribe.

Tomorrow he would travel back across Mordor to the land of blue grass, fast horses, and strong drink.  But tonight, he could bask in the warmth of good companionship.

As he grew grayer and age began to rob him of his strength, he would often look back on that evening and remember the talk of his companions and their friendship, and that would bring a smile to his lined face.  But before he reached that state, he had many quests and adventures, sometimes with other members of his tribe, and sometimes as a lone warrior.  But those are tales for another day.