Foolquest

Chapter 1
Imagine a world identical to ours, identical but still different in many ways. This world is a world of magic, a world we share with fantastic creatures, a world rich with the promise of adventure and a world where even the biggest of fools can be the greatest of heroes, because all he needs is the will to defy the impossible, and to a fool: nothing is impossible.

This is the tale of such a fool, a gnome jester by the name of Malvolio Noogs; he is as precocious a prankster as he is small –about two feet in height-, and just as insane. As part of his daily routine, the mad jester would run around the streets garbed in his outlandish attire –complete with bells- perpetrating all sorts of mischief; from hurling prophylactic water balloons at passersby, to dressing up and Santa Claus and giving children plush dolls which speak profanities and lewd comments whenever you hug them.
Aside from his reputation as a public nuisance the diminutive harlequin is also known for running all sorts of idiotic scams to fuel his peanut butter addiction and once a month he would formulate a plan hobbled together from random ideas pulled from his unhinged mind.
Today is such a day, and the tiny trickster barricaded himself inside the dumpster of a local abortion clinic, the stench was unbearable but Malvolio prepared by taking swig of a potion that filters out such odors. There was rubbish everywhere but thankfully, there was no sign of medical waste, Malvolio merely cringed at the thought of being pricked by a stray needle and become infected by some sort of malady, he then began giggling uncontrollably at the thought of “tricking” himself into hiding in a dumpster
.
Malvolio is an individual who enjoys the concept of improvisation; every one of his schemes are planned without any foresight, he would just arrive at a random location, evaluate his surroundings and formulate a completely haphazard plan that relies more on dumb luck rather than a tactical approach. He is not careless however; the gnome is a competent fighter and is armed to the teeth with a vast array of semi-useful magical items which he keeps hidden in his magical “trousers of hefty capacity”.

Within the confines of his improvised fortress his twisted mind began to contemplate the possibilities regarding his current endeavors. With Christmas fast approaching he conjured up a brilliant –to him at least- idea; he would sneak inside the clinic and attempt to pilfer the pickled infants, after that task is done he will then market them as this season’s hottest selling toy. Malvolio imagined children rushing into toystores; begging their parents to buy them an ultra realistic “Fetus Fighter” action figure with realistic gradual decomposition action, the thought brought a twisted grin on his face.

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Night time came and Malvolio passed the time by building a small city out of beercans, he then donned a lizard costume and began to knock them over while making high pitched monster noises.
Still wearing the lizard costume, the gnome climbed out of the dumpster and activated the costume’s innate chameleon-like ability in order to sneak inside the building undetected.
The clinic’s sterilized environment was a welcome change from the filthy dumpster; he took a deep breath savoring the sweet scent of Lysol, but as he stepped into the waiting room he was nearly knocked out by the sickly sweet stench of rotting fish, the overpowering scent seemed to climb up into his nose and making its way down to his stomach. It looks like the potion was wearing off, he immediately reached into his pants for the potion but his movement was interrupted as he began to undergo violent fits of vomiting.

After discharging a wide puddle of partially digested food unto the floor, the gnome commented on how he remembered not eating corn that day. His reverie was suddenly interrupted by flapping footsteps emanating from the stock room. Malvolio knew that whoever –or whatever- is in the stockroom has beaten him to his prize and he’ll force them to reimburse his loses.

Malvolio pulled out a hatchet and a battleaxe from his magical trousers and meld into the surrounding with the lizard suite’s ability. His hand tensed around the shaft of his weapons as the door swung open to reveal two fish-like humanoids roughly about the same size as the gnome, they had large bulbous eyes and long gangly arms, their short stubby legs -which gave them a comical appearance while they walk- and a foul smell of rotting fish emanate from their warty hide.

“Cod-people” Malvolio whispered to himself. He had heard several stories about these fishmen; how they set up nurseries on the surface to breed, and their habit of feeding the flesh of sentient beings to their young by chewing it all up and regurgitating the half digested remains into the birthing pool. There are only two of them and they don’t seem to be very skilled fighters so dealing with them won’t be a problem, or so he thought.

The fishmen began sniffing the air, catching the scent of fresh live meat; they started pacing around tracking the smell to its source.

Malvolio stood beside a labcoat hanging from a rack, the coat’s rumpled surface would help offset the distortion of the costume’s chameleon ability. It’s just too bad that the fishmen are tracking him by scent, he could see them walking closer to his direction sniffing about. The gnome knew that moving away would reveal his presence; the fish men have keen eyes and would likely notice a distorted shape moving about, if he only had a distraction.

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Sir Christian has modeled himself in the image of knights of old; his improvised armor composed of green football padding covered with nettles and mistletoe was resplendent.
“Champion of the Lake” the fey called himself, and his magnificent form stood out like a lone emerald in clear stream, he would be an intimidating sight if not for the fact that he wasn’t heralding a lake, for due to his lack of common sense he stood guard in front of a small duck pond in a local park.
Many strangers have brought the pond issue to his attention, notions that he merely dismissed by stating that “’tis not a pond kind stranger, ‘tis a lake, a very small one but a lake nonetheless, and I am its champion!”. Yes he was magnificent… a magnificent dolt.

The Fey Knight would claim that he had guarded this “lake” for centuries slaying all those who dare defile it, truth is; he had just arrived last month with an entourage of “green men”; two of which carried a large chest made of carved gold and obsidian.
The mock knight swore an oath to defend the chest from anyone who would dare to take it and use its vile power to serve their needs.

More than once, he had often found himself face to face with ambitious “adventurers” looking to use the power of the vile artifact. Today there were three; the one on the middle was a tall man dressed in enchanted body armor and wielding a large machete which emits a faint blue light on one hand and a Mac-10 with grotesque designs engraved to its surface, two more men flank the large warrior; on the left was a fat mage –according to his clothes-, wearing a myriad of magical items around his body and on the right was a hooded man holding an M16 with a grenade launcher, judging by his companions, his rifle also possessed a degree of magical properties.
Sir Christian brought forth a great axe with a single broad edge; he uttered a command word which caused the weapon to be surrounded with a corona of tiny lightning bolts, and blue flame.

“Have at thee!” he bellowed. The large warrior charged and spun around, his blade flash in a vertical arc while he let loose a hail of bullets, the knight ducked low and drove the shaft of his axe into the warrior’s gut pushing him back a few feet away. The fat mage began to wave his hands and uttering a command word to summon a swarm of floating daggers, with a single gesture he sent those daggers flying towards the knight. Sir Christian reeled from the pain of having a hundred tiny daggers embedded all over his body, barely making it to his feet; he was met by another volley of bullets from the hooded man, followed by a machete across his chest.

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Malvolio was frozen to in place waiting for a miracle, the two fishmen still lurked about sniffing the air shuffling closer and closer to where the jester stood… and then stopped, what would count as a smile began forming on their faces as they noticed a transparent humanoid shape standing where the scent was coming from.

Malvolio could see the fishmen’s large gills vibrate as they prepared to charge, his knuckles flash white underneath his gloves as he gripped the shaft of his axe. The two fishmen bared their teeth and claws as they rushed towards their target with unimaginable speed, but their momentum was turned against them when they stepped on a pool of gnome vomit making them dive -face first- into the tiled floor. Malvolio saw the opportunity and sent his hatchet flying into the air, the hatchet’s magical abilities triggered and it began its deadly “dance”; spinning around the room in crisscrossing pattern until it found itself embedded on the side of a fishman’s head.
After watching his kin fall to the blade of a flying axe, the second fishman quickly staggered to his feet and lunged at the gnome, his webbed fists came in a flurry of motion as done only by a skilled martial artist. The gnome managed to dodge a couple of blows before receiving a fist to his chest, sending him flying into the wall and sprawled to the floor gasping for air. The fish man was relentless and came at him with a masterful routine of kicks and punches; first was a kick which sent him flying into the air, followed by more blows which caught him in midair. Before the gnome fell once again to the floor, the fishman caught him and wrapped its long arms around his small body, what followed was flash of motion as his assailant jumped up and snapped its body backwards; driving Malvolio’s head into the tile.
Malvolio reeled from the pain of receiving a devastating suplex, his head throbbed with pain as he tried to regain balance, despite his blurry vision, he could see the fishman standing before him taunting him while motioning for him to stand back up and fight.
It was his turn now, after a moment of regaining his composure, Malvolio picked up his axe with his left hand and summoning his hatchet to return to his right hand. The gnome lunged at the fishman, but he did not attack; instead he ducked low followed by a quick roll straight into the creature’s legs causing it to lose balance and trip over him.  
Ever the opportunist, the deft gnome rolled farther away and stopping with both feet buckled underneath his chest, poised to strike he then lunged forward at the fishman who had just gotten to its feet. Two axes flashed around the jester’s spinning form; he spun faster like a mad dervish as the fishman ducked and weave to avoid the lightning quick blades, waiting for an opening.
The lethal gnome adapted to the momentum of his spin, his attacks now came at the fishman in all direction; left, right, high and low, the blade dancing jester was a whirlwind of devastation. However the fishman’s grotesque appearance belies its cunning nature; the creature deduced that his opponent could only maintain his momentum for so long, he would eventually need to stop, and he’ll be exhausted when he does. The sly fishman used his powerful legs and jumped back out the spinning gnome’s reach only to be surprised by a flying hatchet hurtling towards its chest.

It worked! His opponent was obviously a martial artist, and such fighters have an obvious weakness: predictability. The fishman’s offensive and defensive stances were designed for specific situations, and by tricking it into assuming a stance designed to effectively deflect melee attacks; it left itself vulnerable in range. Malvolio was never a skilled fighter; he just uses clever deceptions to make his opponents think that he is.
The gnome stared at the corpses of two fishmen, and thought how two masters of unarmed combat were bested by a clown.
Short giggling sounds began escaping from his lips slowly escalating into a loud hideous laughter.

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Sir Christian was down within a matter of seconds, these three men were obviously veterans, and with all three attacking at the same time; he never had the chance. But wisdom was also a mark of a good knight, and since his might failed him, he only had his wits to rely on.

“You have come for the chest, right?” he asked as he clutched his axe-wielding arm. The three sadistic adventurers took a step closer, not listening to his words. They obviously intend to kill him as quickly a possible as he is the only obstacle standing between then and their prize.
“Only one may open the chest!” he blurted out, “Those are the rules” he continued hoping for them to call his bluff.
“What rules?” the fat mage asked, the notion of rules seemingly interested him.
“Only one can open the chest and take what is inside, the one who can sever my head with a single blow” the knight replied, quietly cursing himself for his own impulsive reply.
Without another word, the fat mage made a gesture with his hand which brought forth gleaming longsword. The knight knelt down and bowed, he was still as the grave as he waited for his executioner let fly his blade and take his head.
The fat mage raised his sword, poised to strike. One blow, one killing blow will bring him closer to the power he craved, he swung his arms low expecting to see his sword slice through the knight’s head; instead he saw two bloody stumps where his hands should be.
“The chest is mine, you double-crossing pig!” the tall warrior said as he showed the mage his bloody machete. “Were sick of you calling ‘dibs’ on all the loot and hogging all the glory.”
“But this is for the good of the group” the fat mage replied in a feeble effort to save his life. “If I were to… Aaugh!”
His words were cut short by the butt of the hooded man’s rifle; he staggered back surprised by another act of treachery from one of his “friends”.
“Treacherous dogs1” he spat. “You’re nothing without the help of my spellcasting! C’mon then, I’ll you both even if I can’t cast spells!”
The fat mage uttered a short command word and breathed a huge cone of flame from his tongue ring on his former comrades. The hooded one’s reacted quickly and rolled to the side and let loose a steam of bullets onto the mage with the tall warrior stood his ground and let his body armor absorb the flaming onslaught.
The bullets found their way into the mage’s corpulent gut, the impact forcing him into the ground. Frustrated he spat out another command word to activate his cloak, the cloak wrapped itself around the mage’s wounded body and began reshaping it into a corpulent troll.
“My troll form will restore my hands, then I’ll be able to feel your innards while I pull them out of your bodies!” the troll-mage bellowed as a new set of hands begin to emerge from the empty stumps.
Fumbling for his pack, the hooded man searched for a magazine clip filled with incendiary bullets as only fire could harm a troll; his warrior friend meanwhile, emptied the contents of his MAC10 into the troll-mage’s leathery hide to no effect. The troll-mage retaliated with a furious swipe of his claws which raked the burly warrior across the chest causing pints of blood to spray from the torn flesh. Then, there was a sudden burst of pain that erupted from the troll-mage’s back, he turned around and saw the hooded traitor glaring at him holding a smoking rifle. He let loose another stream of flaming bullets, this time into the troll-mages face causing it to lunge at him in fit of blind fury and swiping his head clean off his shoulders before he could utter a profanity.
With his former comrades now “indisposed”, the chest is now ready for the troll-mage’s taking, all he needs to do now is to decapitate the so called “champion of the lake” and the prize will be all his along with the equipment of all he has slain.
The effect of the cloak expired a moment later, before his eyes could fully heal. This was a minor inconvenience since he had his hands back; all he needed to do is cast a spell to restore his vision back to the way they were.
With blurry eyes he looked about, catching glimpse of the kneeling knight’s distorted form, to his horror; it stood up brandishing its axe. He realized that while he and his friends were busy killing each other, they gave the fey creature more than enough time to recover.
His strength now restored, Sir Christian made his way toward his chubby prey; the last of the three adventuring menace. The “rule” was obviously a hoax, a hasty ploy fabricated by the knight’s quick wit, in order to use the adventurer’s greed against them. And it worked.
The far from defeated, the mage quickly waved his hands and brought forth three lines of fire which jumped and dance toward the emerald knight setting its body aflame and knocking it back into the pond. With another flourish of his deft hands, the mage conjured a line of flame pointing to the pond’s direction, intending to boil the fey creature alive but just before he could release his spell, the emerald avenger burst forth from the water soaking the mage and putting an abrupt halt to his casting.
All wet and his vision still blurry, the fat mage erected a barrier of pure force around himself, within the safety of this barrier, he can cast a number of spells on himself to gain a significant advantage.
Sir Chistian watched the portly charlatan wave his hands in the air inside a pink sphere, a lot of magic-using cowards do this; raise as many protective spells until they achieve near invulnerability, then let loose as many offensive spells at their assailant until there is nothing but ash and they emerge out of their barrier completely unscathed. The only way to deal with it is to dispel the magic or wait until the spell expires. But he was a fey creature, gifted with the same resilience as nature herself, and if that didn’t work; he still had another trick from his sleeve.
Safe within his barrier, the fat mage cast a fireball and hurled it unto the approaching knight, the creature took the projectile’s full force; causing his leafy body to ignite and burst into flames. But he couldn’t take any chances, he then cast another fireball followed by a horrible spell that causes water within a living creature to evaporate, and the fey knight finally fell on the grass in a smoldering heap. The mage was confident that he had already achieved victory, the remains of his vanquished foe lay smoking on the ground. He dispelled his barrier to allow himself to walk towards his handiwork, he moved closer to the blackened corpse that used to be a knight, then spat and kicked the remains and watched it crumble into a pile ashes.
Only then did he realized that by disintegrating the knight, he is now unable fulfill the conditions regarding the rules. How could you decapitate a pile of ashes? He thought of using one of his “Orbs of Resurrection” to restore the knight, but it is unlikely for it to work on a fey creature. Perhaps he could just take the chest and figure out another way to open it, yes that seems to be the best course of action for now.