<div class="floatleft">(http://img39.imageshack.us/img39/8153/smallh.gif)</div><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;"><em>earken now to the epic saga of Sir Reginald Percival Fairweather III: a saga to make poets weep and brave men wail in earnest.  From humble beginnings was he arisen, yet did he prevail over terrible adversity and mortal peril to vanquish the loathéd foe and save all of Generica, nay, the very world.  Here, then, is his story:<br/><br/>Long was day and cruel and fierce the night when Sir Reginal Percival Fairweather III did retire to his fortress, the venerable tavern hall known as the Questgivers' Inn, where there was much feasting and spilling of tales.  Verily, he did take up his usual seat at the place of honor, wherein the Inn lord, a mighty warrior whose name was Torvald Steelhammer, didst say to him:</em></span></span><br/><br/>"No luck again today, Reg?  Pity, that.  The usual?"<br/><br/>"Yes, Tor."  Sighing, Sir Reginald slumped into his usual seat, glancing at the mug of hot cocoa that the bartender shoved in front of him.  He'd tried ale once, had been told that it was generally the stuff that heroes drank while they sat and planned out their adventurous exploits, but had barely been able to stomach it.<br/><br/>He unshouldered his pack, set it on the chair in front of him, and opened it, removing a leatherbound journal and a small quill feather pen, which he dipped in ink.<em>Day 36</em>, he wrote.<em>Still no success.  Still no one taking me seriously.  Lately, I have begun to wonder whether the universe is worth saving.  The Absolute Evil exists, I know it does, it is just a matter of--</em><br/><br/>A small, boiled potato interrupted him by bouncing off his head.<br/><br/>"Hey, Sir Fairbottom.  Have you been slaying dragons again?"  someone jeered. It came from a large, bearded man at the next table over, who slapped his thigh in merriment.<br/><br/>"He bores them to death with his gods-awful speeches!" someone else called, followed by a chorus of laughter.<br/><br/>"Come on, Fairbottom.  Where's this Ultimate Evil you keep going on about?  I think it must be hidin', too scared to show its face with a hero like you around!"<br/><br/>Sir Reginald carefully maintained his composure, looking up stoically into the unpleasant circle of leering grins.  "It's Fair<em>weather</em>, thank you.  And you'll be sorry, you'll see.  It's out there, lurking just beneath the horizon.  It will attack when you least expect it."<br/><br/>"It better not be after sundown then, because that's when I'll be shagging yer mum!"   Once again, there was laughter.  This sort of thing often passes for humour, although the resemblance can be quite strained at times.<br/><br/>Sir Reginald sighed, and turned his chair away from the hooting hecklers.<em>Oh, fickle Destiny,</em>he thought.<em>How much longer must I endure the mockery of cretins and idiots?</em>