At the end of a long day, most of the village, well the adults anyway, end up in the tavern for a cup or two of the local ale, to help them relax before bed.

  Today, however, was different, just after the last of the night's villagers arrived, another man entered. Brown hair, a small beard, plain clothes, someone you could pass on the street and not even acknowledge.

  With him he had a simple gittern, he bought a cup of ale then sat down by the room's hearth and started playing, the music light and his voice soft. It didn't take long till he had the whole room's attention.

  —----

  Many people get called legends,

  Who defeat what Fate sends,

  But what is so much more impressive,

  Is of those that history is dismissive,

  Some of them are worthy of recognition,

  So allow this song to change your definition,

  Our hero, doesn't start out all that great,

  But yet he hasn't fought against Fate,

  The hard difficulties and just rewards,

  Are more than battles and good swords,

  So here he stands upon a farm,

  Looking across the natural calm,

  Until he spots the postal cart,

  And off he sets, like a dart,

  Being the first to ask for letters,

  From his family and his betters,

  But today the only thing he will receive,

  Is a message sent to confuse and deceive,

  “Here is gift, I'm sure you'll approve,

  Used properly it will make mountains move”

  Accompanying the letter was a small stick,

  Two inches long and not rather thick,

  As he picked it up his whole world shuddered,

  His recognising magic, it quickly stuttered,

  The activation words appeared in his mind,

  Exact pronunciation was difficult, I think you'll find,

  He was compelled to give it a try,

  Pointing it at the dirt, not the sky,

  He muddled the words of Power,

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The air froze and the earth did cower,

  Seconds became minutes, and minutes lasted longer,

  Yet the unnatural quiet kept growing stronger,

  Until the pressure made his head sore,

  He wasn't sure if he could take much more,

  His vision started spinning and then he fell,

  He wondered what was this infernal spell,

  With a final shake a door appeared,

  Nothing cataclysmic as he had feared,

  A door made of oak and as plain as could be,

  No engravings or decorations that he could see,

  He walked around it, once, twice, thrice,

  After all that, all he could say was it was nice,

  Summoning his courage he opened the door

  Unsure what madness, Fate had in store,

  Through the door he could see nothing,

  Even pure blackness would have been something,

  Into the door the wind started flowing,

  Then from within it all started glowing,

  The glowing was pretty, all spirals and curls,

  Constantly moving as the energy unfurls,

  Slowly it spread beyond the frame,

  Whispering quietly that it knew his name,

  Entranced by the voice that had called,

  With speed the energy grabbed him and pulled,

  Without grace, or dignity, through the door he fell,

  How long he floated he couldn't tell,

  But quickly the door shrunk to a dot,

  Leaving him feeling neither cold nor hot,

  Be it hours or days, he was not sure,

  But he would survive, he would endure,

  Then all around him, wooden planks did swarm,

  Together a nice shack, they assembled to form,

  Every wall had an oak door in it,

  He was confused no other way to spin it,

  So picking one at random he gave it a shove,

  What he saw once it had opened was a Dove,

  The biggest, fattest, dove ever,

  A more horrifying sight he had seen, never,

  It just sat there looking and waiting,

  The look in it's said it was contemplating,

  Then with a voice worse than fingernails on chalkboard,

  What kind of weapon do you want, milord.