It is an idealistic setting, the town of Ipmore. Everyone knows each other. Things are predictable because things move in predictable cycles. People are generally pleasant, and in this town, happiness breeds happiness. Notions of war, the tyranny of the Baron, were familiar, but distant.

As for the population, if there were any skeletons in any of their closets, they have long since crumbled – Mr. Dolson’s father once helped Mr. Linman’s grandfather with his crops and Mrs. Altruda’s nephew helped build ol’ Mr. Halverson’s shed and so on. Besides, very few had much of any value to hide. If there were such a thing as a white-picket fence existence in Ghantra, this is as close as it would come.

As the sun was swallowed into the blue-gray sky, a slight breeze picked up, knocking a pointy hat off of the head of a tallish man in purple robes strolling down the street. As the man bent over to pick up the hat, he thought to himself, I don’t know why I wear this stupid thing anyhow. He placed the hat firmly back on his head and continued along his course.

A cute, young woman clad in her Tuesday(1) best called to the man as he passed. "Off to Distefano’s are ya’ Tyke? You’re later than usual."

"You know me, Ginny, I like my sleep."

"Yes, but I don’t know if Mr. Uzbekistan likes your sleep."

"Thanks for the reminder, you have a good day."

Tyke approached the residence of Mr. Uzbekistan, a modest house located three doors down along Oak Grove Way. Mr. Uzbekistan had lived here for most of his adult life while taking the occasional leaves to the larger cities. As of late, however, it seemed to Tyke that the yard had come into some amount of disrepair, uncommon for his mentor.

As Tyke approached the door to the home, he heard a loud clatter from within the walls. Immediately, Tyke swung open the door to find a rather portly fellow sitting on the ground, surrounded by broken beakers. A thick yellow substance with chunks of green oozed off the side of the table.

The entrance of Tyke immediately diverted Distefano’s attention. "Deluth Tyconderoga Sampsonite! Where have you been? It is nearly 7:30! Do not tell me you were sleeping again." shouted the old wizard.

"Ok, I won’t.," Tyke replied. "Do you need a hand?"

Distefano responded with a smile, "Why yes I do, most generous of you. And while you are cleaning, only use cantrips." Distefano was never good at holding a grudge, part of why Tyke was happy to have him as a mentor. Just the same, Tyke was also careful not to abuse the joviality of his master either.

With a few gestures of Tyke’s fingers, the broken beakers were into the waste bin and the advance of the yellow ooze was halted. "Very good my boy," bellowed Distefano from the other side of the room. "Now for your first lesson today, I need some peppermint. Go collect it along the road outside of town to the west."

Tyke collected his staff and proceeded down the road. Again a woman’s voice called to him. "Does that fat old man have you out doing his errands again?"

"Yes, Ginny, but that is the apprentice’s life," Tyke replied.

"I don’t know how you get any studying done, what with him sending you all over the place during the daytime hours and me taking up your evening hours," said Ginny as a coy grin crossed her face. "So I will see ya for tea?"

"Of course." Tuke said, with a similar grin in response.

The thought of his time together with Ginny tonight occupied Tyke’s mind. Ginny, rather Genevieve Chatham, the daughter of the mayor and an accomplished rider, had always expressed interest in Tyke. It was only a matter of time before he asked her Father’s official permission.



Takhomasak crawled out of his tent and looked up at the morning sky. After the fuzziness of the first morning light faded, he took note of the position of the sun as it ducked in and out of the clouds. "7:30 or so by the looks of it," he said to the air, "looks like I slept in again." He sat down on a nearby log and rifled through his pack. "Standard rations again." The air didn’t respond.

Slowly but surely, he gathered his belongings and struck his tent with a dagger. The tent collapsed with a large tear through one wall. Why did they tell me to strike my tent? It doesn’t help me take it down any easier he thought.

At last packed, he picked up his staff and headed through the brush to the road, the sleeves of his oversize robe occasionally getting caught on the shrubs. As he approached, he looked at his map and took a general survey of his situation for the day. By late morning, it looked like he would reach the town of Ipmore. Perhaps somewhere he could stop for a good meal instead of rations.

The road ahead could barely be called a road. The tracks in the dirt revealed that a horse and cart had recently passed through, but that was about it. Along the sides, the brush intruded in places making it seem more like a path. Nevertheless, the ground was dry and the air was crisp and cool; Takhomasak began his day’s journey.



Tyconderoga, walking towards the village gates, lost in a daydream, was suddenly made alert by a scream in the distance. It was a piercing, repetitive scream coming from a man who sounded tortured. Tyke stopped and listened intently, "Fresh produce from the fields, come get your fresh produce here!"

Tyke breathed a sign of relief. "Mr. Thornapple has had a really scratchy throat lately," Tyke remembered, "maybe he should go see ol’ Doc Sevrenson down the street." He continued down the street. The sight of his favorite local inn, The Wooden Rail, signaled that the end of town was near. Upon reaching the gates of the village, he nodded at Chris Welliker, one of his friends and a recent addition to the town guards, on his way out.

Now beyond the town, Tyke discovered, once more, that the grass really isn’t greener on the other side, it just looks that way. Having recently been assigned to this task before, Tyke knew of a large concentration of peppermint near the road about an hour and a half walk from here. Plus, this would get him some free time away from Distefano’s watchful eye. So Tyke walked down the road for a while, allowing himself to fall into a similar daydream as before, with visions of young Genevieve dancing in his head.

After some time, he believed that he had arrived to the area where he had found the patch of peppermint that he needed. He set his staff down along the ground and went about his task.

The forest west of Ghantra City was usually quiet. Most of the human civilization was to the north; it is suspected that those sorts of creatures that inhabit this area prefer it that way too. Takhomasak was walking along, relaxed by the tranquil happenings this nature around him. His journey was now beginning its fourth day, and to this point, it had been a relatively uneventful one. He encountered only two others in this section of the forest thus far, both of whom had no desire for conversation. Perhaps a few more people would happen along as he approached Ipmore, remembering that he encountered more people on the road earlier, around the village of Secara. Who knows what the new day will bring?

All of a sudden, he felt his foot catch and his legs fall out from under him. He sprawled forward, arms outstretched, reaching for a support that wasn’t there. Within moments, he fell face-first into the ground in front of him, his belongings scattered about.

Upon the racket, a young man in purple robes emerged from the bushes along the road. Takhomasak glanced up. The man stood there motionless, staring for a moment and suddenly burst into laughter, pointing at Takhomasak, as he lay covered in dirt. Finally the man spoke, still half giggling, "Sorry about that, I was over here collecting some peppermint and I must have set my staff partially into the road while looking."

The man helped Takhomasak to his feet and collected the things strewn about the road. Once complete, he went back to scrounging through the brush, this time carefully setting his staff against a tree. Takhomasak brushed himself off and continued along the road. The man in purple robes may have gathered his belongings and helped him to his feet, but he will never forgot the unnecessary, blatantly obnoxious mocking he received at the hands of that stranger that day. The image of that man pointing and laughing, mouth wide open facing the heavens will always be with Takhomasak(2) .

Footnotes:
  1. Tuesday is the holy day of the Plonite church, the dominant religion in the nation of Ghantra.
  2. Indeed it shall. See the biography of Takhomasak Jansport, Justin's "Anti-Tyke," for more details.