From: cbnorman@cayley.uwaterloo.ca (Bruce Norman)
Subject: STORY: D&D: The Wizard of Smaug (chapter 4)
Followup-To: rec.games.frp.dnd
Organization: University of Waterloo
Date: Mon, 23 Nov 1992 18:36:43 GMT

                         Copyright Bruce Norman, 1992

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                              The Wizard of Smaug

                                   Chapter 4 

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    "Well if it isn't master wizard Perrywinkle come to bless his father 
with a visit!" raged Toluene. 
    "Please dad" said Perrywinkle.  "Don't get into a huff.  You were 
right about Teflour! He's completly batty! He's got a melon for a head! I 
want back in dad, I want to sell dung, I really want to sell dung!" 
    "Oh do you now Perrywinkle?" said Toluene in a nasty voice.  "Well 
let me tell you, it hasn't been easy since you left.  No it hasn't.  For 
a long time I had to work day and night just to shovel all the dung, no 
sleep for me Perrywinkle while you were off dozing with old Teflour and 
looking at his dirty elf-books.  I thought I would die Perrywinkle, my 
old back can't take much of this you know.  There I was, shovelling away, 
about to pass out in the sun and a familiar face suddenly appeared before 
my eyes.  It was the face of a loyal friend, one who took my shovel and 
took care of the dung.  I was saved! And do you know who saved me, 
Perrywinkle? Mark! He's come home!" 
    A face peeked through the kitchen window at Perrywinkle.  It was the 
cold cruel face of Perrywinkle's older brother Mark.  Unlike Perrywinkle, 
who's stature measured a mere five feet, Mark massive body was a towring 
six foot seven (just like his father).  Also like Toluene, Mark's hair 
was a mop of dirty curls which (if scrubbed for a fortnight or two) would 
probably have been red.  Mark looked like a dung farmer.  His entire body 
called out "dung, we are one!".  He could shovel a ton of goose dung in 
the blink of an eye.  He could sort dung by smell at a breathtaking rate.  
He was a born dung farmer, and had always been father's favorite, until 
the day he beat Molly Ringwald to death because she didn't want to go 
smooching in the dung heap with him. 
    "Mark...." asked Perrywinkle, "I thought you were sentenced to life 
imprisonment for killing," Mark's eyes flared in warning, "I mean, 
patting Molly a little bit too hard." 
    "Naw, its ok now" drawled Mark in his semi-moronic way.  "Lord 
Bluetspur's let us all go.  He says that we're not worth the money to 
keep us in prison, so I'm back!" 
    "Yes he's back Perrywinkle" snarled Toluene, "and there's been a 
noticeable improvement in our production since then, so you can just go 
back to your wizard friend.  We don't want you anymore!" 
    "But, dad!" whined Perrywinkle desperately. 
    "Don't call me dad!" yelled Toluene.  "I sweated, I toiled, I 
suffered without you, and then Mark delivered me from my hell, and I was 
finally given blessed rest.  I havn't had to lift a finger since! How are 
you going to make up for the endless pain I endured Perrywinkle? How are 
you!" 
    "But dad, I only left this morning!" 
    "Don't tell me you only left this morning!" yelled Toluene.  "I know 
you left this morning!"  He bent over to look at more closely at 
Perrywinkle.  "Look at you! You've already burnt off your eyebrows you 
little moron!" 
    "It was Teflour father!  He's completely insane, don't send me back, 
I beg you! I'm your son!" 
    "I have only one son" said Toluene, gazing fondly at Mark.  "Now be 
off with you, or I'll set the dung-hounds on you!" 
    Perrywinkle turned and ran, sobbing desperately.  To be cast out from 
the beloved dung heap, to have the dung hounds set on him, what was to 
become of him? He fumbled through the pockets of his filthy, charred, 
robes.  His hand closed on soft leather.  He pulled the object out of his 
pocket: it was a small black book. 
    The Wizard's Manual. 
    "I must have snitched it by accident" mumbled Perrywinkle. *Good*
*lord, in my hands are the secrets of wizardry: all 193 pages of them.*  
Desperately Perrywinkle opened the book to a random page.  The ample 
moonlight gave him all the illumination he required to read. 

    Thy begyners speyl oft fyre.  Rayse thy ryte hande and speyk thy word 
'fooble-fyre'.  Then kast ye thy ball oft fyre. 

    Perrywinkle looked at the book in amazement, how could this be? He 
had seen wizards cast spells.  They always had incense, and bat dung, and 
they chanted for hours on end before the spell would finally be done.  
How could any spell be so simple.  He shrugged and raised his right hand.  
"Fooble-fire" he intoned.  
    In his cupped palm there appeared a spark.  As Perrywinkle watched in 
awe it began to twinkle, twirl, and grow.  Soon in Perrywinkle's hand 
there was ball of twisting, rolling, burning flame. 
    "Oh Hell!" screamed Perrywinkle and dropped to the ground.  He beat 
his burning hand desperately on the ground.  The sleeve of his shirt had 
also been set ablaze.  He desperately rolled his body into a watery 
ditch, dousing the flames in soft mud.  Perrywinkle nursed his charred 
hand, and began to sob.  "Great, oh just great, I'll make a*fine* wizard 
won't I? Oh God, why couldn't I have been happy shoveling dung?" 
    Sucking on his fingers, Perrywinkle rose to his feet.  He prepared to 
kick the book into the ditch, but then hesitated; the book was all he had 
now.  Perhaps he could use it to become a rogue wizard? He'd be hunted 
down and killed by the church as a witch, which didn't like much fun, but 
it would be better than taking the rollof Teflour's exploding apprentice.  
Sobbing to himeslf, and bemoaning his fate, Perrywinkle rolled into a 
not-so-watery ditch to spend a pitiful sleepless night. 


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