Chapter 1 - The Fiddler and the Mouse

Once upon a shoulder, a sizeable chip was carried from village to village-town to town on the shoulder of The Chameleon; a man, punishing the wicked, insolent and downright dimwitted and recycling their worthless souls (once located) for charitable deeds.
The Chameleon travelled lightly, free from restraints of the materialistic. Just him and his prodigious chip he had affectionately named - Allan.
His first stop, Gheywood. An underwhelming little town, plain, featureless and barely worth a description. Some might say it merely existed. The residents bustled, some swaggered about with their guide dragons heeling obediently by their side, they looked ferocious but no longer were as their internal fires had been extinguished. There were lots of screaming little brats charging about the place getting into all kinds of mischief and the occasional satisfying “Thunk” of a clipped ear.
His attention shifted to an old donkey that was roaming freely along the dusty cobbles. It looked sad and lowly. The chameleon glanced at it thoughtfully and considered its practicalities. He pursued the animal for a short time until it picked up speed. Too tired to give chase, he stumbled upon an alleyway.
Down that dusty dimly lit alley, a fat cat was taking a twilight nap. The Chameleon shoed it out of his path “Fickle feline” he sneered. His attention lifted to a sign hovering majestically above his head.
‘Milo’s Bakery’ he was rather peckish and stepped inside. The warmth met his bitter cold breath which soon became uncomfortable beneath his heavy scarf.
He eyed rows upon rows of bread and pastries when his concentration was stolen.
“Fresh!?” The voice was that of an unhappy customer who slammed a loaf down onto the counter. It’s ‘freshness’ almost cracked the display cabinet; instead it shook. A few depressed looking cherries rolled off the counter and across the floor. Not quite clearing the door, it became apparent they were doomed to be consumed.
“I paid 2 shrabn’l for this presumed ‘fresh bread’ and on my return home, my wife found it to be stale and non-the-less, housing a small rodent. Where do you stand?”
Milo, the baker and proprietor of the raggedy establishment fondled his beard prudently.
“I have no explanation as to how this rodent became embreaded (he sniggered) and can only assume the goggled gawk of said wife, has turned this loaf into stone within an inch of its shelf life”
He examined the loaf further, “It is not of this establishment and there will be no reimbursements made, that is my final word on the matter”
The customer did protest, for it was his last 2 shrabn’l. The Chameleon stepped up. He offered the customer his shoulder (not the one where Allan resided of course) and he purchased a loaf of bread which he traded for the stale, rodent infested cock-up Milo had baked.
“From one old fool to another” chuckled Milo. “A moving display now move along, you’re making me fetch up my dinner”
Well, The Chameleon was deeply insulted. He had never met such an audaciously rude individual (well, he had, but he was striving to be a better person this time around he truly was) the customer left in a hurry. “Thanks Mister” he paused and looked up at The Chameleon before siding his way past.
“Now then” said The Chameleon stroking his brow.
“You’re obviously an intelligent individual Milo.” He paused for a second with a half smile. “Can I call you Milo?”
“So long as you’re paying you can call me whatever you like” scoffed Milo standing up tall and proud.
“You make a decent living from your vocation and your sharp tongue; will you teach me how to make a simple loaf? I will pay you with this gold sovereign ring” he dramatically held up his hand.
A gold sovereign eh? Thought Milo, he almost laughed out loud, could not believe his luck. This strange looking fellow was clearly a nimwit of the highest standard and knew no gain of money.
Yes of course he would show him how to make a simple loaf, he would use his cheapest ingredients and overcomplicate the system of course.
Take something simple and overcomplicate it, he was proficient at that. He even fantasized that The Chameleon may look up to him afterwards. He did just say he was an intelligent man after all didn’t he? He savoured that idea for a moment.
“Erm, yes okay, do me a small favour and flip the sign to closed on the door will you? We do not need to be disturbed”
The Chameleon followed Milo into the kitchen where he was handed an old moth-eaten apron. Upon securing the strings, he noticed it would not tie at the back. There was a large knot at one end and nothingness at the other. It showed signs of a hasty removal.
“Are you a family man Milo?” Probed The Chameleon.
“Used to be” confirmed Milo “A wife and son, used to both work in here, not terribly hard mind you. They left about a year ago, squatting 2 towns north from here. Pretty sad really, people have said they seem happier than ever but how can they be with nothing? I know deep down they’re miserable, but I doubt they’ll return anytime soon. That’s what pride does to you, leaves you out in the gold-I mean cold” all the time, Milo was eyeing the gold sovereign ring.
“So let us get started” said Milo, “There are 5 vital ingredients to a loaf. The first is flour. I get this flour from the old mill; have a loyal friend who works there if you know what I mean?” He winked and nudged The Chameleon.
“The second is yeast, a controversial ingredient. There are some who believe it has magical properties, contains knowledge no less and swells the bread like a brain absorbing said knowledge. Ironically, these people have no brains whatsoever.”
“Oh?” Said The Chameleon.
“It’s caused by a chemical reaction, Carbon Dioxide to be precise. Those little Co2 bubbles rise causing the dough to rise, none of that hocus pocus I mentioned aforehand. You’ll find no pyrotechnics here I’m afraid”
“We also need butter, salt and tepid water.” He continuied “You can check the temperature of the water agen your wrist, it should be neither hot nor gold”
“So, we add the flour, and the yeast, mix in the water. It sounds easy enough sir, but you can never be too certain of yourself. This is the secret of good bread which I only share on a knead to know basis”
The Chameleon scoffed at the terrible bun.
“Now we use a wooden spoon to mix it all together, you’re familiar with the concept of mixing aren’t you sir?”
The Chameleon raised his eyebrows and nodded. He could mix exceptionally well; in fact, he was mixing up a hideously delicious spell alongside these 5 vital ingredients.
A little spell he’d been saving up for some time and for such a person as Milo. Kneading the dough had never been more pleasurable for The Chameleon. He thrusted pizzazz through his palms and into the concoction, with every twist and turn of the dough the spell had imprinted itself into the mixture.
“Lastly we seal the dough with water” added Milo.
An excellent way to bind this spell The Chameleon smiled to himself.
Milo handed him a small pot and watched him transfer the dough.
Both pots sat alongside eachother in the clay oven and Milo produced a pipe from his pocket and was chuffing along hazily for sometime.
“They may double in size sir, though yours is unlikely to do so as I explained earlier, baking is tricky. Very easy to get wrong sir, very easy.”
When it was time to retrieve the bread, The Chameleon looked pleased. Not only had his bread risen, it looked more appetizing than Milo’s.
Of course, Milo was having none of this. “That’s my loaf!” He said shiftily.
“I specifically remember potting my loaf in that exact pot” The Chameleon did protest.
“The proof will be in the taste” said Milo. “When things look too good to be true, it is usually because they are” With that, he tore into The Chameleons bread. He simply could not take his greedy mitts off it.
It was in this moment of greed that the first curse was born. Where there was once a short, fat imbecile baker now stood a lively, lanky, moronic fiddler.
His attire was foreign to him and the green waistcoat with matching long jacket didn’t appeal much. The trousers were obviously very uncomfortable.
The Chameleon looked mighty pleased with his handiwork.
“Now then my rude little baker man. From now forth, every word to run from your tiny small mind will have rhyme and reason and Oh yes, here is your fiddle.” He picked up a pastry which on contact, immediately warped into the tiny instrument.
He presented it to Milo with a smile.
“If your request is for the spell to be lifted, you must travel into the dragons’ territory and complete a task, the nature of the task will become apparent to you soon. On your journey, you are likely to meet others on a similar quest for enlightenment.
They too will be dimwits like yourself so you shall be in constant good company.
He continued...
“I can be of no further assistance for now, you must now help yourself, a skill you have already acquired at the expense of others”
The flabbergasted fiddler did protest as he danced a merry jig and said;
“A journey to the Dragons Cove?
A dangerous and lonely road?
With a band of men, as dumb as hell,
In a bid to unlock and break a spell?”
Well, The Chameleon was delighted and chuckled to himself. He nodded.
This was actually funny as hell; he may well tag alongside the morons for entertainment purposes.
He dismissed this idea immediately; the conditions of his own redemption were to rid himself of these intrusive thoughts. He shook it off, turned his back and headed in the direction of the alleyway.
The fat cat had returned and managed a half opened eye as The Chameleon passed. He knelt down and presented the mouse loaf to the feline.
An easy catch for you today.