Grembert stumbled out of the witches lair into the bright crowded marketplace, dodging three-headed chickens underfoot and massive dragon tongues for sale on hooks overhead. A goat chewed on his boots, and he kicked it away, irritated. His eyes darted about wildly, checking for guards, but it seemed that he had calculated correctly- everyone of any status at all was away at Princess Twendeline’s Sweet 16 Lip-Syncing performance. It was the perfect time to sneak up to the tower and execute his dark task.
Grembert was just about to make it through the back gate when he heard a deep rich voice. It was Deep Rich the Deafening, and trailing behind him like flies were his wizard entourage, Pifflebert the Passive-Agressive, Mirthimere the Easily-Amused, and Dan The-Constantly-Scratching-Himself-In-Inappropriate-Places-But-Dont-Mention-It-Because-His-Cat-Died-Recently-And-He-Could-Use-A-Break.
“Grembert!” thundered Deep Rich, raising his walking stick in delight, and causing everyone in earshot to cover their ears or pull their cloaks over their faces. “I havent seen you in ages! And you never return my calls! And by “calls” I of course mean when I stick my head out my window and scream your name!” Grembert hastily hid the purple vial behind his back and tried to feign innocence. “Oh, you know me, just busy.”
“Busy dodging nicknames!” retorted Deep Rich. “I know why you avoid us. But you can’t fight it, Grembert!” he cautioned, “Eventually, every wizard does something which defines him, and which becomes part of his name forever.” “Maybe we should call him Grembert the Nicknameless!” giggled Mirthimere the Easily Amused. “No, no,” blared Deep Rich The Deafening, “It must be more personal.” “Agreed!” added Dan the Constantly-Scratching-Himself, scratching his groin area feverishly.
“I’ll have a nickname soon,” retorted Grembert, “When tonight is through, you’ll all know what to call me.” “You’re up to something!” shouted Deep Rich. But Grembert the Yet-Not-Nicknamed was already out the gate before they could stop him. “Boy, it would be great if someone wanted to buy me a dragon tongue,” muttered Pifflebert the Passive Agressive, “Not that anyone ever does anything nice for me.” The wizards all groaned and one by one pulled out their wallets.