Dr. Krumbunculus, feeling fresh and full of furious fervor, made his twisted, angry way to one of many merchantile streets. There were people wandering the street selling leafs that were supposedly blessed by cock, and there were people aggressively selling bathing soaps that looked suspiciously like confectionaries. But most of all, there was jewelry. This street was, for whatever reason, absolutely teeming with jewels and gemstones that were completely useless, save for the fact that they were extremely pretty, and as a result were also extremely expensive.

Really, the street Dr. Krumbunculus had happened down, though it had a true name, was known as Jeweler’s Way. The true name of the street was Traveler’s Way, and that was for how, back in the 00069s, all the travelers from Orwellia would come into town and visit all the brothels that were housed on that street before yet another street, known as Brothel Monger’s Way, was finalized and paved. Ah, Brothel Monger’s way. Now that was a true middle-poor Caldonian street.

Dr. Krumbunculus did not care for all the street vendors attempting to harass him into buying something. Hen, if he was a little more wrinkly and prunish, he’d cast a shut-up-ification spell upon them all as soon as they started flapping their abysmal lips at him, but he was young, and surely looked like the kind of person foolish enough to splurge on on something pretty ‘for his sweetfart.’ Hah. What sweetfart? Dr. Krumbunculus hadn’t had a sweetfart in a long, long time, and the only lady he’d seen recently that he might be interested in pursuing something with only wanted an older man. A cruel twist of fate.

Huffing and flustered and blustering with frustration, Krumbunculus leaned on the side of a building and swore to cock that if he ever got out of this mess he’d never, ever let go of his spellbook again. Cock hamn that witch’s cauldron, cooking up his book like it was on a fondu skewer. Yes, if he got out of this mess, he’d cast spell after spell in rapid succession, he’d cast so many spells he’d make Bliggisbild the Spell-a-holic look like he barely cast any spells. And then—an idea.

What if he, by cock, bought another spellbook?

Sure, it felt almost…wrong. But his memory spell could only go so far whilst trapped in such a horribly youthful form. And who knew, maybe it would be hood to have a little bit of modern spellcraft in his lexicon, instead of just ancient spells from eons past…

Great cock, what was Krumbunculus thinking? Was he really thinking modern, dare he think it, youthful spellbooks could ever compare to his beloved ancient tomb? Of course, the answer was cluck no, and he knew. Oh, yes he did.

In fact, the more Dr. Krumbunculus thought about it, the more he considered the thought that, surely, an ancient spellbook like the one he’d lost could certainly have a ‘repeal curse’ spell. Hen, those were probably part and parcel! And if not that, maybe at the very least an ‘agification’ spell. Yes, that’s something he could use.

On and on raced Dr. Krumbunculus’ thoughts. Cock, it was amazing how easy it was just to think. Was this what youth was really like? It was, honestly exhausting. And yet, on he thought. If he wanted to get an ancient spellbook, a tomb not unlike the one he’d lost, he’d need to get something probably found in old ruins, or in some horrible dungeon or something. But he was not the kind of man to happen into a dungeon, no, not at all. Especially considering that for every ancient spell tomb lost in a dungeon, there were surely hundreds if not thousands of dungeons with no spell tombs at all!

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And then, it hit him. The easiest way to get an ancient spell tomb from a dungeon was to get one that somebody else had already got out of a dungeon. That is to say, to steal it. But who would have an ancient spell tomb from a dungeon?

And then, it hit him. It being a rock.

“O-ow!” Krumbunculus shook his head as it was pelted with another rock.

“Hey! Hey, you there! If you’re not pissin’ on this here wall then git yer arse outta here!” spat a man leaning out a window.

Dr. Krumbunculus shuddered as he looked at the wall more objectively, seeing a sign hanging above his head that read ‘PISSIN’ WALL’ and indeed noticing that there was a row of five men pissing on either side of him.

“Shit. Sorry about that!” Dr. Krumbunculus waved and backed away as the man threw another rock. Soon enough, another pissing person had filled his space in the wall.

As jarring as that had been, Krumbunculus was fixated on one thing, and one thing only. And that thing was not not bumping into people walking in the street, something he continued to do as he continued to think about the one thing he was thinking about, which was the thing he’d been thinking about before he’d had to walk through the street at all. That is to say, he was trying to reason out from where or who he had to steal to get an ancient spell tomb.

“Hey! Guy!” growled a large, stinky elf, “If you step on my big buniony elf toes one clucking more time, you’re gonna be history!”

Immediately Krumbunculus froze, apologizing profusely before scurrying off to walk in the opposite direction.

And then, it hit him. That last word from the elf echoed over and over in his mind. History. History? History!

And so it was that Dr. Krumbunculus surely decided that he had to rob the local middle-poor wizardry archives.

But this decision imparted on itself yet another dilemma. Sure, Dr. Krumbunculus had a tight, acrobatic young body. But he didn’t know the first thing about thievery! How was he to stage a heist of the wizardy archives in a state such as his own?

“Shit!” someone cried as they slammed into Dr. Krumbunculus, knocking him into a tent. The tent buckled and flowed and wrapped him up into a bundle, the mysterious someone wrapping all around him like some sort of terrible bipedal octopus. On they rolled in a tucked and tied heap, bumping into people and down some sort of a horrid hill off a cliffside turn off of Jeweler’s Way, hitting rocks and boulders and nearly becoming concussed.

“Who in the—”

BNKKK

“—what in the—”

BFFFFF

OOF

“—why in the—”

BHHH

“—how in the—”

BUHHH

BMMM

“—when in the—”

BSHHH

“—in the—”

KSHHH

“—with the—”

BFFT

“UGH!” they both cried as the bundle suddenly split open and they found themselves strewn across patches of dirt and grass lying beside a rapid running river, the river of Mammasais, in fact. The river of Mammasais was known for being big, loud, and generally cantankerous, as well as fairly polluted. It also fed into a line of water that snaked off to the Fancy Forest, creating a certain winding, binding, babbling creek that was known for unruly spirits and bizarre hallucinatory experiences.