In a valley of the Doom Mountains, during a dark and powerful tempest, Sir Maximus Goodman, dragon slaying knight of Kinsfel, hero of the lands, stood with drawn sword to face and destroy the terror of his long-ruined homeland, the dreaded dark wizard.

  “Sorcerer!” Sir Maximus Goodman roared into the storm, his foe clinging to a mere staff of wood for the fight, an evil, excited gleam in his wizened and wicked gaze. “Tonight! You shall fall! In honor of my parents, decorated warriors of our clan!” The wizard nodded, grinning most maliciously. “In honor of my mentor, who trained me day and night for years for this very battle!” The wizard eagerly shifted his stance. “In honor of my eight siblings! Glenda! Bren! Sa-!”

  “Yes, yes, I know, I killed your family,” the wizard interrupted. “We don’t need a whole speech about it, though, right?”

  Sir Maximus Goodman was taken aback by this. “How… dishonorable of you! I shall slay thee tonight!”

  “Yes,” the wizard hissed with glee, his gnarly grip on the staff tightening.

  "Your blood shall spill!"

  "Yes..!" The wizard’s full and wavy white beard nearly bristled with eagerness.

  "Your head shall roll!"

  "Yes!" the wizard cheered, the bent tip of his pointed hat bobbing over its yellow crescent moon insignia, the vile wizard practically bouncing where he stood in the snow on the storming mountaintop.

  “You shall taste my steel, for burning down my village!”

  “Ye-!” The wizard paused. “Wait, which village was yours again?”

  Snowy wind blew cold between them, furls of white curling through the night against flashes of lightning.

  “Renthrow?” the wizard guessed, grotesque nails clacking at the staff in thought. “… No? Hm. Oh! Yanex, right?” The hero stood perplexed. “No, no, you’re far too old for that one. Hm…” Malicious eyes in the wizards gaunt bearded face studied the man before him, looking him up and down. “… Fenwood?”

  “For Delmar!”

  “Oh! Right!” The wizard laughed over his own ridiculousness. “Delmar! How could I forget that quaint little hamlet? Oh, that one broke my hear-” The wizard cleared his throat, assuming a booming and menacing voice. “I mean, it enriched my twisted, dark, evil heart, to burn down.” The voice was forgotten under a nostalgic little smile, the wizard holding his own face with his free hand. “But I do still crave Miss Flevin’s apple pies…” The man’s villainous gaze frowned studiously at the hero. “… You did not maintain their sense of fashion…”

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  “Uh…” Seeming at a loss, but so close to achieving his goal, Sir Maximus Goodman gave up on speech and hoisted his great weapon into the air. It was a blade that legends claimed would give him the strength to take down any foe, the sword passed down through the bloodline of kings of a long-forgotten kingdom. This weapon of great importance was raised high by Sir Maximus Goodman as he let loose an imposing battle cry, charging through the blizzard towards his foe, seeking to slice him down like the villain he was.

  The storm’s lightning, all of it, screamed through the sky to the metal rod. Sir Maximus Goodman was struck, and into the snow he collapsed. Dead.

  “No!” the wizard wailed, hiking up his robes and running with indignant fury to the hero. “No, no, no, no, no!” Reaching the fallen brick wall built entirely of muscles, the wizard thwapped his staff down onto the back of the dead and profusely steaming would-be hero. The man was well and good expired, internally cooked in some places, and the wizard lifted a pained expression up to the skies above. “Gods, why! Why do you hate me so!”

  Lightning streaked down from above, striking the wizard. The energy deflected from him, naturally, but the body splayed face-down in the snow jittered as electricity passed through and into the ground. Sighing over the gods’ latest failed attempt, the wizard bent and rolled the failed hero to his back. It was a shame. This one had shown so much promise as well, over the years.

  Plucking the Ring of Revenge from the man’s pinky, the Belt of Bravery from his waist, the Gauntlets of Giants from his wrists, and the Headband of Hearth’s Heat from his brow, the wizard grumbled to himself while putting the items into his satchel, the thing enchanted for limitless storage. Standing, the wizard stared down at the man who could have defeated him. Maybe. With any luck. Speaking of, the wizard had almost forgotten the Earrings of Everlasting Elixirs, and knelt in the snow to retrieve the items. Heros really weren’t the brightest with figuring out why items were named the way they were, let alone who must have made them.

  Pocketing the jewelry, the wizard stood- Sir Maximus Goodman gasped, a haggard rasping sound. With a shrill shriek the wizard lashed out on impulse, striking the man with magical lightning.

  Dead.

  Again…

  Quite upset, the wizard stamped his curly-toed slipper into the snow, fists at sides and glowering up at the storm. “You did that on purpose!” Light flashed through the bellies of the clouds as though to laugh, the wizard’s bright blue eyes narrowing with a pucker of disapproval. Still glaring, he opened a buzzing purple ring of a portal home, stepping through, the last thing to disappear being his upheld middle finger.

  Seconds passed, the storm tormenting the dead hero’s golden locks, his fur-lined boots and cape fluffing on the winds, barely useful loincloth flapping. The portal opened again, the wizard storming back through, grabbing the sword by its hilt and dragging it with immense effort, the elder’s skinny limbs heaving and churning against the snow until tripping in through the portal with a clatter of the blade. Sword retrieved, the evil monster of a wizard stuck out a middle finger one more time, then the hero was left to rest in frozen peace – soiling itself.