Fergus was never really an important individual anytime in his life. Never did he slay a dragon, never did he save a beautiful damsel in distress, and he never, in his whole life, had a lunch with any deity. But his life was somewhat remarkable. That is to say that he's the type of person who sits at an inn and annoys tenants with stories of his life, meets a couple of people who find his stories interesting, and then promptly dies of a terminal disease either before or instantaneously after his story is complete.

Fergus was one of those old men.

"Did you know that I met the famous warlord Vinn Manblender?" He would ask regularly. "He is as bloodthirsty as they say, and he's at least twice as tall as the tales go. I served with him in the War of Goblins." he would recount, "I myself single-handedly held off a battalion of the stupid creatures and won a medal!" He would showed a dirty, rusted medallion with an indentation that might have once been the royal crest of some far off king. Either that or a chunk of metal had gone through a stampede of buffalo.

On one of my many travels, I heard of this man's stories, when a young couple passed by me, laughing about the old man and the imitation trinket that he so proudly wore. I asked where this man could be found, and the couple pointed me in the direction of the inn. I walked quickly to the inn and opened the door letting the warm cozy air sink into my skin.

"Come in!" a fat man with a heavy mustache and beard bellowed. "Welcome to my inn! Would you like a room or would you rather a hot meal and be on your way?"

I smiled thankfully to the innkeeper and asked "I have heard of an old man who went into war of goblins and received a medal for hi bravery/. Is he here?"

The man's warm smile faded until a disgusted frown was worn in it's place. "Yeah. He's here. Fergus! This man wants to talk to you!" The innkeeper roared. A small man poked his head over a large chair. To me, an adventurer should look tough, well worn, tired, yet thoughtful. Not this man. He had the physique of a twig. He looked jolly, wrinkly, and much too happy to have had heart-wrenching adventures. He had a long pipe dangling from his grinning mouth and a twinkle in his dark, childish eyes. "Talk to me? Well, what do you know! Where are you from, sonny?" He asked, taking the pipe from his mouth and locking his eyes on me.

"I come from the city Sloann. I traveled hear in hopes to catch a winning tale or two and publish them." I explained.

"Oh! So your a scribe of sorts I see. Well, son, if it's tales you want I can surely oblige you! My life has had more adventures than a mammoth skin has fur!" He laughed. I walked quickly to the seat offered me by the old man. I quickly got out my writing kit; a pack of parchment, a dozen quills and several bottles of ink.

I was about to unhitch the lid of one of the bottles when I froze. "Pardon my manners. I am Vergo Hindge. Scholar." I reached out my arm in welcome.

"No, pardon me!" He smiled, "I am Fergus Duddleltrouf. Adventurer, storyteller, and avid reader of The Kinsman Chronicle." He took my arm with his scraggly hand and shook excitedly. "I bet news of my adventures have stretched far and wide by now! Where did you first hear of my extraordinary tales? Your great city perhaps?"

I smiled. "No. I heard a young couple joking of an old coot who stank of old fruit and whose stories were brought on by inhaling to much exotic herbs." The old man's smile wavered a bit, and his pipe dangled a bit more off his jaw.

"Old fruit, did they say?" He asked.

"Well, either that or something much ruder. I didn't really hear well; they were a far distance from me." I tried to cover up.

"Hmph. Well, I didn't like those two young people in the first place. That's this generation for you. Totally deaf and stupid. They wouldn't know a good story if it gave them cakes and then summoned the father demon Gradl'thon to eat their souls. I tell stories that could change the very outlook on their lives and all they remember is that there was a babbling old man who smelled of ols rotten fruit. There's the appreciation and respect for the elderly! I hope they get their bowels slurped up by a giant spider!" The old man rambled

I nodded my head slowly in agreement. I took my ink and quill and quickly scribbled out his name.

"That's with an 'F' at the end. Not 'GH'." he corrected me. I quickly sorted out my mistake and looked up at the man. "SO what would you like to hear? My adventures in the deserted peninsula? My encounter with the In'tghuuna tribe on the forgotten isle of ZZy'bopu'watta? Or how about-"

"How about you start at the beginning?" I interrupted. "I think the beginning's the best place to start."

The old man thought this over. "Nah. My beginnings no good. I had a rotten life before my days of having a magic sword on my hip and my sharp wit as my true weapon. How about that time I-"

"Please, Mr. Duddletrouf. The beginning." I interrupted again.

He squinted his eyes at me. "Oh... fine. Since you said please. I suppose I could stretch this tires old brain of mine all that way back in time. The beginning..." He started. My pen scratched the parchment with much anticipation.

2: The Contest

Fergus lived most of his early life on a small farm. A farm so small, that once his father had been fined for trespassing on another man's land when he tripped over the doormat. The most fun that Fergus ever had there, as he recalled, was when a one legged dog scooted into the house and he adopted it for a while, calling it Petey McJones the Third. The dog eventually ran away from the embarrassment caused by his lovingly gained nickname.

His life did not lift off until he was kicked out of the house at age eighteen, being called a bum and told not to return until he had found something better to do.

So, Fergus began his journey into the big wide world, full of danger and damsels and dragons and large amounts of alcohol. But Fergus wouldn't stop. He walked and walked until he found that walking was a tiring affair and settled down in a cave that was recently lived in by a fat giant who had an acne problem and a green beard, whose name was Robbie. Fergus decided that the cave would make a nice home and at that moment decided to be a hermit for the rest of his life. However, in one day, his entire fate changed.

It all began on a bright, warm summer morning when Fergus was out and about collection leaves for a very bed he was making for himself. His arms full of the wet, brown things, he barely noticed a sigh posted on a great oak tree that had annoyingly grown in the middle of the path to the nearby city. Fergus stared closely at the poster gazing at the crimson words.

"Contest!" He read aloud. "Enter now and you may just win the hand of the beautiful Princess Celia!" His eyes widened, his jaw dropped, and his heart skipped a beat.

Princess Cilia was, without a doubt in any's mind, one of the most beautiful women in the land. She was the wet-dream of every young boy who had any access to Medieval Teen magazine. She had long, blonde hair and soul-scarring eyes with a smile that had teeth that could have been sold to pearl growers who needed an example for all the other pearls. In fact, word had it the Tooth Fairy took her baby teeth and left diamonds the size of coconuts under her pillow. This might have caused her a headache but it was a huge source of income for the royal family. Fergus, like any other male, zombiefied at the thought of winning her hand in marriage. Minutes afterward, Fergus awoke form his day-dream and looked at the poster again. He ran over to the tree and ripped off the poster and started running back to his cave, laughing with glee. He ran to his leaf bed and looked at the poster again, smiling wildly.

Enter Now... and you may just win the hand of the beautiful Princess Cilia! The poster advertised. However, Fergus's eyes drifted down to the fine print of the page. Dueling and sparring will take place to decide the best husband for the princess. If you do not have a sword, you may not enter into the contest. Only participants eighteen or older may enter. Offer not valid in some territories.

Fergus's smile grew limp and turned quickly into a frown. "Oh..." he whispered to no one in particular. He put down the poster and looked around him. Nothing in his cave could be considered a weapon. Everything before he moved into the cave had been sucked up by Robbie the Giant's awe-inspiring rolls of fat. The only thing that might have been thought of as a weapon that Fergus possessed was an old rusted spoon with half the handle missing, and the only way it could have been thought of as a weapon was at the security department of Griffin Airlines, where anything duller then an old gnomes speeches was considered as dangerous as a rabid rattlesnake that didn't have it's coffee that morning. Fergus hung his head in his hands and started to cry.

"Why do I have all the bad luck?" Fergus whimpered. He lifted his head sadly and looked at the other side of his cave. Another poster was stuck on that wall. It had on it a beautiful painting of a night being dragged down a pit by evil looking half naked demon women. Below it were bold captions that stated boldly "Hang in there!"

Fergus almost smiled. Then looked at the poster in his hands. This poster too, had a knight but this knight had a bloody sword in his hand, and many more monsters and other knights lying dead at his feet.

Fergus looked back at the inspirational poster, than back to the one in his hand. He noticed something. The knight on the inspirational poster seemed to be almost an exact copy of the one in the contest poster. Was this a sign? or was it just a strange coincidence? Fergus examined the knight on both posters carefully.

"Maybe... I can do this..." he said to himself. "Maybe... all I need is...hope! Yes that's it! Hope! And Courage! Those are the ingredients to a hero! And maybe... just maybe... I can be that hero." He looked at the poster in his hand once more, except the knight had turned into Fergus, and the sword had turned into a spoon. "Yes!" He yelled triumphantly, "This is that day!" He quickly scooped up his spoon and started to run down the path to the city, where the contest was being held.

3: Bob the Unfathomably Awesome

Fergus, renewed with hope and happiness, dashed along the long road to the city where the contest was being held. He took lengthy strides and it seemed as though he danced along the road, like a schoolboy who had just found the school was burned by a dragon. Along he went, gleefully, not paying one bit of attention to his surroundings.

However, as he was strolling along, he heard a noise uncommon in the forest. The shrill, joyful sound of whistling. Fergus stopped and tried to decide where the sound originated. He followed his ears and scanned the shrubberies for any type of whistling-capable life. Finally, his eyes rested on one point. It was a dense part along the path, with many bushes. Fergus crept slowly and silently to the bushes, his heart pounding with anxiety. He was no fool, whenever things whistled in a forest, it was either robbers, or the ever rare man-eating death tree of Holdintide.

Fergus gazed over the large bush and looked within.

"Oy! Can ye not see I'm tryin' ta conduct business over here?!" A ruff voice screamed at Fergus, making him jump up several feet and fall fight on his bottom. "What type o' sick individual watches someone end the cycle?" The voice angrily cried from the woods. Fergus herd a quick zipping noise.

"Stay right there!" Fergus yelped, "I... I have a knife!" He said as he took out his old spoon.

A figure jumped out from behind the foliage, his face red with anger.

"By the powers, what type a idiot are ye?!" It screamed. It was at most a meter high, with a beard so silvery, light bounced off it as if it were a mirror. "Sneakin' up on a man while he's-" The little man stopped and stared. "I thought ye had a knife with ya?" He asked. Fergus looked at his old fork. "Ye surely are one mixed up pup. Maybe I'll just put you outta yer misery?" The dwarf said. He reached behind his back and returned his hand with a large hatchet inside it. "Hold still..." he instructed. "It's less bloody that way, an there ain't no reason to go bloodyin' up a nice, clean forest, ammiright?"

Fergus's eyebrows raised uncontrollably as a whimper escaped from his lips. "Please, don't kill me sir... I was just on my way and I heard whistling and I-"

"And so ye decided te investigate further? Ye dumb cluck, do ye not know that whistlin' in the deep dark forest means untold danger?" The dwarf asked haughtily.

"I was just walking to the tournament!" Pleaded Fergus. The dwarf raised one silver eyebrow.

"A contest?" He repeated to himself. " What contest would that be then, boy?"

"A contest to win the heart of the most beautiful princess in the land! I go because I know that she is my true love, and I will win her, because true love always prevails!" Fergus testified.

The dwarf rested his eyebrows and pursed his lips, as if in deep thought. He raised his blue eyes to Fergus. "Boy," he said, "Ye are lucky ye found me today. Dwarves are a bunch of romantics, and what ye said there touched my big heart and almost made me teary eyed." He gave a slight smile and looked at the sky. "I suppose I can spare yer life fer now."

Fergus let out a slow sigh of relief. "Thank you." He said. He stood himself up and dusted off his clothes. "Would you like to accompany me, friend dwarf? I am sure you will find the contest amusing, at least."

The dwarf looked behind him, something seeming to press on his mind. "Well, I don't have much else ta do at the moment, so... sure! I love me-self a good show!" He said happily. Fergus started down the path again, with the dwarf trailing along behind, almost jogging, trying to keep up with him.

"By the way," the dwarf interrupted, "What be yer name, boy?"

"Oh!" Fergus exclaimed, "Pardon my manners. I am Fergus Duddletrouf. What is yours, good dwarf?"

The little man smiled with pride. "Bob." He sang triumphantly (as triumphant as you can make Bob sound.)

Fergus felt a smirk forcing itself on his mouth. "Bob? Bob the Dwarf?"

"Aye, that be me name. What ye smirkin' so much fer, boy?"

"I just thought you would have a more remarkable name, like Glorinn of Eastgale, or Gillianish of the Northern Coven."

"So ye don't think me name is remarkable?"

"Well, no, I just-"

"Would ye rather I just stick jolly ole Mr. Choppy in yer face and be done with ye?" Bob threatened as he reached behind his back.

"No! I mean- it was a round about way of saying how dignified and profound the name Bob is! I mean, look at the way no one can forget it and how regal it sounds, and...er... how it spelled the same way backwards?"

Bob glared at Fergus. "Boy, ye back-pedal pretty good. One day ye might be a pro. But don't press yer luck, boy. Especially with a dwarf."

Fergus sighed at another close encounter with the chunk of metal.

"Tell me a bit about yerself." Bob ordered.

"Oh me?" Fergus responded, "Not much to tell, I'm afraid. I was born on a small farm, grew up and came here."

"And that's it is it?" Bob asked, "Ye didn't have any type of adventure as a young boy?" Fergus shook his shaggy head. "Not even hittin' a tree with its own branch?"

"We didn't have trees."

"What about throwing rocks at cats?"

"We didn't have rocks."

"What? Did ye live on a farm in the desert? No trees? No nothing?"

"We lived in a valley. There was a lot of action not happening there." Fergus admitted. "In fact, the most entertaining thing we did was watch paint dry. That was a good day."

Bob looked at Fergus with dibelief. "And now ye are going ta fight fer the love of a beautiful princess, eh? Without any training, and without any hope for victory?"

"That's just about the short and the long of it." Fergus smiled. HIs memory reversed back to the cave and the posters. "And if I die, at least I'll die looking into the eyes of the love of my life, Princess Cilia."

"Well, boy, either you're a romantic or ye are extremely insane." Bob looked up at Fergus, "But seeing as how there's only a slight margine of difference between the two, you might as well be both." Bob hopped along and continued. "And if there are two things I like about a man its his sense of romance and how insane he is!"

Fergus smiled as he walked casually alonjg the path. "What of you, Bob? Where do you hail from? Tell me a bit of your background."

"Oh, there really idn't that much ta tell. I lived in a nice little place up in the north, on a mountain, with all nine o' me brothers. There was me, and Fogg, Harold, Dingo, Phillipe, and Terrock, Mendalin, Bilth, MacMannishpotfosh, and, of course, Wilma."

"Wilma?" Fergus interrupted, "I thought you only had brothers."

"Well, dear Wilma is a complicated soul. He could be a male, but at the same time, he could also be a female. Do ye understand what I'm sayin'?"

"I... suppose..." Fergus lied.

"Aye, t'were me and me brothers. Minin', smithin', y'know. Dwarf stuff. When all o' the sudden this gnome pops up out a nowhere and tells us that a legendary dragon is headin' o'er our home and would burn the blazes out of it. Well, I want ta make it perfectly clear right now that I never trusted that stinkin' gnome! He told us that on another mountain far into the east there was a whole group ofdwarves and that if we made it their, we would be safe.

"Well, we held a vote, and sadly, I lost. ME brothers aren't exactly the bravest bunch there is in the kingdoms. So we left our wee cottage and started on our journey to this new dwarf kingdom on the mountain. Unfortunatley, on our way there, we were bamboozled by a this tall fella by the name of Landon Jowleford. He got us to give us all our money for a teapot and a pink-polka dotted elephant. Well, now we had no money, our supplies were running low, and we were losin' morale quickly. Finally, however, we found a nice dark netwrok o' caves. What were they called again? Ah, yes. The Devil's Asauphagus. If ye don't know, boy, the Devil's Asauphagus is one of the trickiest networks o' caverns there is. I didn't want ta go through a course, but Fogg said it was the only way. Well, y'know what happened? We went into tha caves, and it was so dark, we lost eachother. Who knows where me brothers are now! All I know is that I popped out o' the caves, and now, well, here I am."

Fergus struggled to take in all the infromation. "So... you're lost." was all he managed to say.

"Aye, that I am. But now I am on me way to the city! Once there, I'll buy me a map and I'll go back to me cottage and take it from that lying little gnome!"

...

Fergus and Bob walked down the path, talking about all the fun times in their lives (Bob more than Fergus), and all the wonders and magic of the world, catching up on the gossip and talking about girls. Finally, however, they hiked over a large hill, and on the other side, found a tall wall, with music billowing over the top.

"The city!" Fergus exclaimed.

"Looks like the contest has already started." Bob added.

"Then there is no time to waste!" Fergus replied.

The two walked down the path to the city, each with a goal set in their mind. Today, they both decided, would be a day when it all changed for them.