How to Save the World and Other Illegal Shenanigans

The Charming Adventures of Vance And Amiel, Vol. 1

When Vance was twenty four, he thought magic was the stupidest thing in the entire world. It was all a sham. There was nothing real to it, just a pack of farces looking to make cheap money. He had to admit, they did it pretty well. Nonetheless, he could see through everything; there was always a string or pulley or disappearing door that would solve everything. Just as he had said: farces.

That all changed when he got into a fistfight with some wizard in a dark back alley. How was he supposed to know that he was challenging the reigning Magic Master Supreme? It's not like the old man had it written on a nametag, or something. This was the fourteenth century, anyway. The Magic Master Supreme looked just like everyone else, if a bit more tired.

Now, Vance had no idea what the complications or potential outcomes of fighting this guy would entail. It was an easy victory, though; upon hearing Vance's challenge, Mr. Magic Master Supreme had proceeded to recite some old script that invoked the rights of each party, or something political like that.

Vance never heard the end of it. He shanked the old man before he could ready his wand. Promptly Vance passed out next to the dead man as his body absorbed all of the power of the deceased Magic Master Supreme, thus transferring the title into him.

The rowdy twenty four year old had no clue. How was he, a magic-doubting, wizard-shanking, beer-drinking little man supposed to know anything about magic? He found out real quick when he complained about his beer not being large enough and having it suddenly triple in size without explanation. Without hesitation he supersized everyone else's drinks. The population of The Golden Toe Tavern cheered and raised their heavy drinks in satisfaction.

Apparently great power comes with an even greater need to get drunk.

It took some time, but Vance eventually came to terms with the fact that he had lots of weird magic living inside of him. He found out just how weird it was when someone shot him in the head in a similar back alley, and he woke up two minutes later with nothing but a migraine. The whole event left him scratching his head for a few years, years in which he didn't age at all, or get sick, or stay dead, or remain injured for longer than an hour or so. These all just made him scratch his head harder.

Eventually he came to terms that he was some sort of magical being that happened to look like a dishevelled young adult. He could move things with his mind, slow time, conjure the elements, transfigure things from one state to another, and even change the way he looked.

Despite all of this power, it made him surprisingly lazy. Lazy enough to sit in The Golden Toe Tavern and refill his beer over and over and over again until the barman just stopped asking him how it was, simply assuming it must be good if he's drinking so much of it.

One day, Vance got out of The Golden Toe-- which had really become his home-- and decided to go on a walk. The city was loud and obnoxious, as always. Everyone had to be somewhere, and there was always something to yell about. Vance just shrugged and kept walking. Over all of the noise, he heard some sort of explosion at the end of the street. He looked up and saw people running towards him and flames climbing up into the sky.

This decision was critical. Vance knew that he could run up to the burning building and magick the fire away. He could also turn away and let the place burn. What would be the difference? The building would go away eventually.

Yes, that's right. So Vance shrugged and turned with everyone else, deciding to let the building roast itself into oblivion. Maybe they'll build another tavern there.

Through all the screaming, Vance hears someone yell, "It's the Golden Toe! The Golden Toe Tavern!" His head whips around.

"Not The Golden Toe!" He began to push his way through the crowd as he rolled up his sleeves. "Not today, it isn't!"