Milk?

(A Mighty Wizard depicted above)

Woody, Rossaroni and Little Lord Turnipsaroy had arrived at their usual gathering spot beneath the ancient oak near the ruined stables beside the rotted remains of the old church spire nearby the mystic stone slabs, remnants of an even more ancient race, the druids. As was there custom, one of the trio was to tell a true story of the distant past in hopes of inspiring that night's adventure.

Rossaroni, the most garrulous, befitting his ancestry, spun a tale for the other two as follows:

“There before us stands the house of the great wizard Crestoloon, Your Majesty,” said the pimple faced page.

“Excellent.”

Sitting at the top the hill was a rather smallish, pink split-level. The king had expected something more along the lines of an imposing castle, or even a menacing hovel.

“I suppose even wizards have to keep with the times,” the king muttered, and he led his party of courtiers and knights to the door. The door was lime green, and ornately carved with a relief of a wizard battling creatures that looked to be half-man, half-wolverine, with some bat thrown in.

“Ugh,” groaned Jeremy the page boy, rolling his eyes at the overdone door. The king ignored him and squinted at the handwritten sign taped to the door.

“Doorbell broken, knock loudly.” He grasped the beard of the brass demon head that served as the knocker and gave three hard raps of the door. Knock-Knock-Knock

The door swung open to reveal an old man with a long white beard and a bald head. He was dressed in a purple robe with white stars and matching slippers that curved up at the toes to a point.

“What’s up Kingy?” The wizard’s thick eyebrows rose with his greeting.

“I have come seeking assistance,” intoned the king in his most royal voice. “My kingdom is beset by the hordes of the evil Count Krishnack; only with your aid can we defeat him. Mind if we step in?”

“Well, uh, now is not really the best time,” said Crestoloon, glancing back into his home. “Perhaps some other time.” And with that he attempted to shut the door, but the king’s foot was in the way.

“Nonsense, Crestoloon,” said the king in rather a haughty tone. “Now is the only time.” The king, who was shorter but far wider that the old wizard, pushed through into the house, followed closely by Jeremy the page boy, leaving the knights and courtiers in the front yard.

They strode to the living room, followed closely by Crestoloon, who was shuffling along, all the while wringing his hands.

“We need to buckle down and put our heads together if we want to defeat, OH!” The king had cut himself off in midsentence, for there sitting on the sofa with a cup of coffee halfway to his lips was evil Count Krishnack!

“Well, this is awkward,” muttered Crestoloon.


Woody spoke, pausing a minute in awe after the story was concluded, "Do you really think that this could be true and that old musty keepe on the outside of town belonged to the mighty wizard Crestoloon? Maybe we'll find the secret to defeating the town bullies there!"

"Or maybe not and maybe, just maybe Rossaroni is full of baloney as per usual!" exclaimed Little Lord Turnipsaroy, "Remember the last time he had us off on a wild goose chase after Wyverns!"