In the far-off mystical land of Trespadia, an arrogant king once rose swiftly to power. With his wealth he built an empire, ruthlessly cutting down all those who dared get in his way, and though the little people barely caught a glimpse of him – they were far too unimportant – for the most part they lived in peace and prosperity.
In his fifth year reigning over Trespadia, however, a sassy, quick-witted witch visited his court with jello-pool tidings… and a worrisome prophecy the king could simply not ignore.
“King Eisukeol Von Ichinomiyastein, you have no heart,” she declared smugly. “No woman will ever love you.”
The king just smirked his usual smirk and glowered at the impetuous woman confidently.
“What need have I of love?” he snorted, gesturing around with the sweep of one arm. “All this is mine – any woman would be lucky to fetch my mead!”
But the witch was not impressed by his wealth or status, and simply shook her head.
“You need to listen more carefully when you make bargains,” she smiled far too innocently for her to be innocent. “All this, all you’ve gained will die with you, for you – arrogant king – may bear an heir to your throne only with a woman who truly loves you.”
Then of course it clicked into place. If what she said was true, and none could love him while he had no heart, then his line would end with him.
“You can fix this,” he growled, rocking forward from his throne and lurching toward her, but the witch was sure-footed and side-stepped his attempt to grab her.
“It’s possible,” she mused, amusement touching sparkling hazel eyes, “but I don’t really feel like it. This is one mess you’ll have to figure out for yourself!”
With that, her body disintegrated in a shower of tiny purple stars.
She was gone, leaving the king to mull over his problem.
Not long after, notices were posted in villages and cities all across Trespadia. The king had a perilous mission in need of heroes, who for their services would be handsomely rewarded. Many a fool-hardy adventurer flocked to Trespadia’s capital, where through some strange divination, a band – a fellowship if you will – were chosen to undertake the king’s quest.