This isn’t great.  But I thought I’d wack it up.

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Morgan limped up to the gate.  A huge wooden gate rimmed in shining metal.  It did not seem aged or worn by the elements.  The timber was still bright and the metal, while not polished, still shone afresh.  And yet it still seemed almost a part of the rugged mountainside that it was mounted upon.  While looking like it was erected but days ago, it sitting there barring the way up the narrow chasm looked both natural and ancient.  He felt like pausing and scratching his head in wonderment.  But he’d already done that once, as he rounded the bend and first caught glimpse of it.  He stumbled up to it.  Faint from hunger, weak from thirst and leaned there for a moment trying to catch his breath.  He looked up at it towering 20 feet above him and tried to quell the anxiety he felt.  Then he pounded on the door three times with his gauntleted fist.

After a minute or two a small hatch, so perfectly worked into the massive portal that it was unnoticeable until it opened, opened.  A wizened and wrinkled face with piercing eyes peered through it.

“I am Morgan …” Morgan began.

“Oh, it’s you,” the aged gatekeeper interrupted.  “You’re later than expected.”

“Yes, I have…” Morgan began, as the small hatch slammed shut.

There was a loud echoing *THUNK*, several smaller *clicks* and a rather shrill *SQUEEK*, and the huge gate began to open.  Morgan stepped through and drew breath to speak again.  The short, ancient gatekeeper just held up his hand, pointed further up the gully and said, “Up there.  Don’t dawdle lad.”

Morgan staggered onwards, joyous that he was near his goal at last.  Soon the chasm opened up into a small valley.  Morgan stood there, mildly taken aback.  This was not the luscious, verdant splendour he had expected.  Surely this rather tatty cluster of hovels and a rather dilapidated, what could only really be described as a larger hovel, could not be the fabled valley of the Archenor.  But he had followed the directions on his summons, and they had led him here.  But where was the tower?  Everyone knows powerful mages lived in towers.  And this was the most powerful of the powerful mages.  The most ancient of the wise mystics.  And yet wise mystics are also known for their eccentricities.  And being the most ancient of these, surely he was also the most eccentric.  So, on he went.

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As he staggered between the tatty homesteads he drew looks from all of the peasants going about their labours.  As he was noticed, all stopped to watch his progress and many whispered to each other with looks of awe and anticipation.  Finally he approached the largest of the homes, and unable to stand any more, dropped to all fours panting.

When he looked up a few moments later, he saw a bald man with a wispy white beard in a dark robe standing in the doorway ahead of him.  At least the Archenor looked the part.  Morgan struggled up to one knee, bowed his head and said in the strongest voice he could muster “Oh mighty Archenor, I have answered your summons.”

“What?” barked the Archenor.

“Oh mighty Archenor, I have answered your summons?” repeated Morgan, slightly taken aback.

“Who’s this Archenor fellow?” asked the Archenor with a frown.

“Um... What?”  said Morgan, looking around both confused and mildly alarmed.

The old man burst into fits of wheezing laughter.  “I’m sorry lad,” said the Archenor.  “I’m just messing with you.  I don’t get out as much as I used, so have to get my fun where I can.  You are in the right place.”

Mildly pissed, Morgan scowled at him for a moment, then composed himself and started again.

“Oh mighty Archenor.  Since receiving your summons I have ridden day and night, without rest, for over a month until my best horse collapsed beneath me and died.  I then walked day and night for a week and a half with neither food nor water so as to answer your call in all haste.  What is it you need of me, Morgan of Catelan?”

“What?” asked the Archenor looking a little perplexed.

“Oh mighty Arc…” Morgan began.

“No lad, the last bit.” the Archenor snapped.

“What is it you need of me, Morgan of Catelan?” Morgan repeated.

“Oh bollocks, not again” the old man mumbled.  He then turned and shouted over his shoulder, “Muklin!!!”

Another aged and bent man eventually appeared at the doorway, wearing a similar robe.

“Morgan of Catelan?”  the Archenor asked him.

“No master,”  The newcomer replied.  “It was Morgan Of Carmelyn you wanted, and Eric of Catelan.”

He glanced at Morgan, then back at his master.  “Oh… dear.”  Then rapidly disappeared back inside.

The Archenor turned back to Morgan.  “Terribly sorry lad.  There seems to have been a bit of a mix up.  Please excuse me, I have an apprentice to throttle.”

As the Archenor turned and went after Muklin, sporting a look of pure death. Morgan stood for a moment completely confused.  Finally the truth of the situation dawned upon him.

“Oh crap!” he cursed.  And then turned to start his walk home.

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Like I said, it’s not great.  But for all the epic adventures where heroes are summoned and go on to fell foul beasts, surely there have got to have been some unsung administrative cock-up’s.  This tale is for them.