The Quest for the Golden Fitting

The kingdom of Taipania was in peril.  

The legendary Fountain of Eternal PSI, a sacred geyser that fueled the entire realm, had sprung a leak. 

“Sir Troy!” cried Lenaya, the High Mage. “The fountain is losing pressure! If we can’t stabilise it soon, the entire district will flood!” 

Sir Troy, a dashing knight of immense hydraulic knowledge, simply shrugged. “Then I guess we’ll learn how to swim,” he replied.  

Exasperated by his apathy, Lenaya attempted another angle. “The recreational field you use for your weekly frolic will cease to exist,” she said. “How will you and your brethren compete in the penultimate round of your tournament then?” 

Sir Troy stood with dizzying speed. “Ready my steed, we must make for the land of Leakalot at once!” 

Sir Troy knew that the solution lay in the Golden Fitting, the only component capable of regulating such immense pressure. It was rumoured to be hidden somewhere on the outskirts of Leakalot, a chaotic and forbidden place powered by ancient magic. Locating it would be no easy task. 

The pair descended into Spillspire, the capital of Leakalot, by nightfall. By dawn, they’d arrived at Wetwick, a village right on the Soggindale border. Exhausted by the journey, they decided to rest at The Sluice Goose, a local inn.  

A bard by the entrance caught their attention. He was playing an unusual lyre-like instrument and singing an interesting tune. 

If it is the Golden Fitting you seek,

Go to Trickleton’s Peak 

Slay the dragon, claim the prize 

The majesty of song does not always adhere to a rhyme scheme 

“Pfft,” scoffed Sir Troy. “Bold of you to assume I’m not already a hero. On to Trickleton’s Peak!” he exclaimed, marching off in a seemingly random direction. 

“You heard the part about the dragon, right?” Lenaya yelled, trudging after him.  

The trek to Trickleton’s Peak was long and arduous. Sir Troy and Lenaya battled icy blizzards, an intense heat wave, and torrential rain, but eventually they reached the top of the mountain. An ominous looking den awaited them. 

“Uh, ladies first,” said Sir Troy, shifting uncomfortably. Lenaya rolled her eyes and stepped bravely into the mouth of the cave, her knees quivering. After descending into the darkness for several minutes, a booming voice rang out, echoing menacingly off the stone walls. 

“Many of your kind have come here, seeking what you seek,” it said. “All have perished. If you are wise, you’ll turn back now.” 

Lenaya audibly gulped. “What should we do, Sir Troy?” she whispered over her shoulder. When no response came, she spun around. Sir Troy was nowhere in sight.  

“You are alone, young one. It appears your companion does not share your courage,” the voice said, a tinge of amusement colouring its tone. 

“Typical,” Lenaya muttered. Louder, she addressed the voice. 

“I’m truly sorry to disturb you, but I can’t leave without the fitting. The fate of my realm depends on it,” she explained. “Could you please tell me where it is? I’d be forever grateful.” 

A warm breeze tickled Lenaya’s hair as the voice exhaled. “I’ve been guarding this fitting for an inconceivable length of time, hundreds of millennia. I’ve seen the rise and fall of more empires than you have had days. Would you believe,” it posited, “that this is the first time anyone has simply asked for it politely?” 

And so, legend has it that Lenaya became the first person to leave the dragon’s den, her pocket heavy with the weight of the mystical Golden Fitting. 

…but legends aren’t always true.