WELCOME TO FANTASY SECTOR 911. GOOD LUCK CREW!

Oreh Cigart thought he was an ordinary, every-day, super handsome guy with muscles to beat Arnold Schwarzenegger's, incredible hair, magical powers, dark and broody leave-me-alone attitude, a Twagic Past (Alas the poor fellow: his mother refused to give him Double Chocolate Super-Frosted Chocolate Marble Cereal before she died. The cruelty!), and really cool fight scenes. That was, until a messenger arrived bearing a message. Oreh, called Ory by his many friends and drinking buddies, flexed his muscles, and was allowed to read the message first. The message was in a beautiful, early medieval script – no spaces between words and no punctuation at all.

CIGOL

Of course, no one can read that stuff any longer so, below it was the same message in modern script. It read:


Ai! An enemy is come! The enemy is a dark and evil lord who lives in a dark and evil tower with a dark and evil name! It bears this odd, undecipherable symbol: CIGOL. Any person knowing its meaning should tell the Great Council right away. The Great Council of (the following were hastily crossed out: –Fantastica-, -Fantasia-, -Fantastique-) Fantasticallidismulia hath decided that a lone, courageous warrior should conquer this dark and evil tower and bring back this dark and evil lord's head back on a silver platter! This warrior must have a random series of… er… characteristics that will make him destined to be this warrior!

must have a little itty-bitty brown spot on his ear.
must have a zigzagged scar on his forhea… wait, that's been taken already.
must be an orphan.
must have a Twagic Past.
must be a young adult.
must have a wart on his left foot. (Council Member Patsy wanted it to be a zit on his right hand, but my idea won the vote. Na-na-na-na-boo-boo!)

Sincerely,
The Great Council of Fantasticallidismulia


As Ory finished reading, he had an epiphany. He was that destined warrior! Holding the message to his chest, he cried, "Alas! 'tis me that must go and sacrifice myself…"

"Knock it off!" yelled the reader, several hours into the speech. The poor reader's cries were in vain, for Ory couldn't hear them. He was in the story, and the reader was not.

Finally, after Ory pulled out the flow charts and diagrams that proved only he could be The One, and everyone had conveniently gotten themselves killed by their evil but vague enemy, sans the town drunk who drank socially until he passed out, thus appearing already dead. The plot whimpered and threw Ory into the next chapter.