As far back as I can remember, I wanted to be a fire mage. Coming from a family of dirt farmers, you can imagine I had a tough time of it.

"Son," my father said to me, "every young boy has got his crazy dreams, but what you got to realize is you got to work with what you can hold. Dirt is something you can hold on to. People will always have dirt. People will always need dirt."

"No they won't," I said.

"Yes they will," said my father. "Times may change, but all the progress in the world isn't going to replace old-fashioned dirt."

"That doesn't even make any sense," I said. "What do people even use dirt for, seriously?" I indicated the wagons full of dirt that my father was about to send to town in the wake of this year's dirt harvest. "Who the hell is buying this stuff?"

My father sighed. "I may not have all the answers, son. I may not be as smart as those fancy mages and warlocks that dazzle you with their fancy talk, but all I know is that you got to work with what you can hold, and pipe dreams are only going to break your heart."

"I just want to know who buys dirt," I said.

"I have had just about enough of your smart talk, young man," said my father. Then he put me to work shoveling dirt from one wagon to another wagon for no apparent reason. When I was done, he had me shovel it back to the first wagon again. He said this was going to prepare me for the real world.

Even though my dad discouraged me from fire magery at every opportunity and my mother stuffed my face with food every time I brought it up, I kept the "fire" "burning" inside my heart. That's a little metaphorical imagery for you. I managed to sneak in clippings of Fire Mage Monthly and Fireball Pro from time to time, which I would read at night in my room by the light of a small flame I was able to conjure at my fingertips. It was a pretty cool trick, actually, which I picked up from a Tips and Tricks section of Fire Mage Monthly. Unfortunately I wasn't as careful as I should have been and I got caught one day when my parents noticed I had burnt the house down.

To teach me a lesson, they threw away the ashes of my magazines and sent me to the patch of rubble where my room used to be. They sat down in the rubble where the kitchen used to be and discussed my future in hushed tones, which was still fairly easy to hear because there weren't any walls. They were not really think-on-your-feet kind of people.

A couple of ideas were brought up and discarded. They didn't have enough money to send me away to military school, and other possibilities were eliminated because it was really risky to dispose of a body. Finally, it was determined that I was to be sent off to town with our last shipment of dirt and that I was to take the money from selling the dirt to start an apprenticeship with any tradesman who would take me.

Firm believers in not wasting any time, they sent me off immediately. All I had were the clothes on my back and a scrap of Fire Mage Monthly I had managed to somehow preserve. I sat mutely atop the wagonful of dirt as the old mule tugged it steadily towards town. I looked up to see my parents go immediately back to work rebuilding the house.

"Bye," I said.

"Work hard," said my father.

"Make sure you get enough to eat," said my mother.

That was the last time I ever saw them. A short while later I arrived in town. I pulled the mule to a halt and hopped off the cart. A weaselly looking man came up to me, looked at the cart with a puzzled expression, and looked back at me.

"What is that wagon full of dirt for?" he said.

"To... sell?" I said hesitantly.

He looked at me as if I were insane. "Who the hell would want to buy dirt?" he said. I didn't have an answer. We kind of stared at each other uncomfortably for a while, and then something seemed to occur to him as a smile crept across his face. "Say, boy... you wouldn't happen to be looking for a trade, would you?"

"I sure would," I said. "I'd like to be a fire mage."

The weaselly man guffawed. "A funny one, huh? I like that. My name's Weasel, by the way."

"Oh, that's easy to remember," I said.

"Why?" said Weasel.

"Uh..." I said.

"Well, never mind that," he said. "If you're looking for an apprenticeship, I can hook you up no problem. I know all the tradesmen in town." He glanced around for a bit. "How much have you got on you?"

I pointed at the wagon full of dirt. Weasel scowled briefly, and then resumed his friendly countenance. "Dirt poor, huh?" He laughed at his little joke, probably a lot longer than was warranted. "That's no problem," he said. "I know a little place that'll take you in for free. Come with me."

I followed him into the dark alley he indicated and waited there while he said he had to "go get someone." Then, for some reason I guess I passed out.

When I came to, I was sitting on my own wagon, completely tied up. All the dirt had been dumped out unceremoniously into the town square and it was now filled with sundry goods and myself. A burly dark-haired man with a unibrow sat at the reins and he was working out terms with Weasel.

"300 gold for the boy, and the wagon's thrown in, no charge," said Weasel.

"Looks a little scrawny," said the buyer.

"Free wagon though," said Weasel, waving a finger. "You don't get that every day."

"Meh," said the buyer with a shrug. "It still seems a little steep."

Just then, a rider came galloping in from nowhere. He was riding fast in a cloud of dust, but I could see it was a man in arcane robes wielding a glowing staff, and suddenly my heart started racing. The man rode straight through the center of town without even stopping and as suddenly as he arrived, he was gone. In his wake, however, were several burnt corpses and incinerated buildings. There was no rhyme or reason to his targets, as far as I could tell. It was as if he had just charged through town throwing fireballs left and right for fun, as if to relieve boredom on a long ride.

I removed my bonds with judicious use of a small conjured flame and hopped out of the wagon, which was burning slowly on one side where the slave trader had been sitting and was now dead. Weasel had also been casually murdered. It was hardly necessary at this point, but I pulled the scrap of Fire Mage Monthly out of my pocket - it was a cover photo of the very mage who had come charging through.

"A real fire mage!" I cried excitedly.

"Oh God... the pain..." moaned someone at my feet.

A woman's sudden scream filled the air. "Frank! NOOO!" She fell to her knees, cradling a lifeless corpse.

"A real, live fire mage," I breathed to myself, my hands trembling.

"Why would anyone do this to us?" moaned a wounded townsperson, looking at the charred stumps that remained at the ends of his arms. "How could a merciful God allow this to happen?"

"I must find him!" I said. I leapt up on an unclaimed horse and went galloping off in the direction the mage had gone. Somewhere out there was my destiny, and I was going to catch it.

If there's one thing that bothers me about life, it's other people. Case in point - I had to take a bit of a long journey the other day, which I chose to take alone, on account of the excellent company. So there I was, riding briskly along, reveling in the superiority of my intellect and ability, chuckling slightly at the little amusement I had perpetrated in the previous town with a few mischievous fireballs.

Out of nowhere came this horrific ruckus, and I turned around to see a dirt-covered kid riding what appeared to be a borrowed horse, screaming something about a fire mage. My first take on it was that this was yet another one of my prank victims, all upset and lacking any sense of humor or perspective on the situation. So maybe I charbroiled somebody's husband or wife. Is it really that big a deal? Can't they get another one? There are a lot of people out there. I couldn't swing my staff around in a city without hitting a man, or a woman at that, whatever they prefer to replace the old one with.

So I sighed a little bit and got ready to hit him with a fire blast when he came in range. Then I heard him call me by name, which seemed a bit odd, as I hadn't bothered to introduce myself to the townspeople before incinerating them. I thought I'd hear what the nutjob had to say, so I just put up a mana shield in case of funny business and waited for him to ride up.

"You're a fire mage!" he exclaimed breathlessly.

I just kind of stared at him.

"A real, honest to goodness, fire mage!" he continued to gush.

A lot of things ran through my head at this point. Should I say, "No shit Sherlock," or try for something a little more original? Or just a really sarcastic, "AM I?" The possibilities were endless!

"Figured it out, did you?" I said, and then immediately wished I'd gone with some other option.

"I want to be a fire mage someday," said the kid. "My name's Acetyl. I've been reading all about fire magic, and I can do a little bit." He made a sad little match-sized spark on the end of his fingertip.

"Wow," I said unenthusiastically.

"I know I can do it," he said. "All I need is some training. Where can I go for some training?"

"It takes a lot more than training to be a decent mage," I said. "You're also going to need experience, and a whole lot of gear."

"Really?" said Acetyl skeptically. "Your clothes make a difference?"

I rolled my eyes at how stupid he was to not know this simple piece of information. "Of course," I explained patiently. I took a ring off my finger and handed it to him. "Try that on." He blinked at me stupidly and then put the ring on his finger. "Now try that spell again - GODDAMN!" The tiny flame had suddenly grown into a roaring fire, which would have singed my clothes if it hadn't been for my mana shield. "Watch it!"

"Whoa!" said Acetyl in dumb amazement.

"You see?" I said, taking the ring back from him and putting it on immediately.

He looked at my hands. "Both of your rings do that?"

"Yes," I said. "The effect is additive."

"Why don't you try wearing more than two rings, then?" he asked.

"It looks kind of gay," I replied.

"Ahh," he said. "So where are you going now?"

"Important mage business," I said, not wanting to share such delicate matters with a country bumpkin.

"Can I ride with you?"

"No," I said.

"What if I just happen to be riding in the same direction as you?"

"You know, there's a limit to coincidence," I said.

I tried a little longer to shoo him off, but it was no good. In any case, I told myself, I was going to dangerous areas. He'd be killed off sooner or later, and problem solved.

Sure enough, it wasn't long before we came upon something of the sort. I pulled my horse to a halt, and Acetyl did the same. Before us, in the middle of the road, sat a dread figure on a fiery steed. The figure was bathed in shadow, dressed in dark vestments of the unspeakable arts.

"What... is that?" whispered Acetyl.

"A warlock," I said. I bit my lip. Why did it have to be warlocks?

I dismounted, and the warlock did the same. A hideous, horned, dog-like creature crept out from behind him and I nearly jumped. But I didn't. I couldn't afford to let him see me scared. I prepared my most powerful fireball and let it rip. The glowing hot ball of flame flew screaming through the air at him and engulfed him in fiery destruction, leaving him wounded and half-alive.

I'm not really sure what happened next. I woke up with my face in the dirt, lying with my limbs at an awkward angle, in crippling pain. All I could remember was terror, sheer mind-numbing terror. I moaned as I tried to move.

"Ohgg, are you okay?" Apparently the kid was still around, and alive.

"What... happened?" I said into the dirt.

"Well, you got off a really awesome fireball," he said, "and then he cast some kind of spell on you and you started running around like a little girl, screaming. And then he cast some other spells on you, pointed and laughed, and then I think he got distracted and wandered away. Then you fainted."

"I fell into unconsciousness," I pointed out, as I struggled painfully to a sitting position.

"Okay," said Acetyl. He didn't seem convinced.

I drank a gallon of water, and then turned back to the kid. "I'll get him yet. First I need to take a quick detour."

"I thought you had important mage business," he said.

"First things first," I said. "You see, you have to understand something about warlocks. They're born from the darkness, trained in unspeakable magicks, living their lives in fire and shadow. They don't give up, they don't forget. I must destroy that warlock, or someday he will destroy me. He's probably in his dark lair right now, preparing... scheming... brooding."

Lol so yesterday I had to go somewhere ok so I didnt want to walk. So I thought, o yeah, I dun need to walk cuz I have a stead. So I said I SUMMON TEH STEAD FROM TEH NITEMARE, AHAHAHAHAHA and then I got on my nitemare and then I forgot where I was going 2 go.

So I just went sumwhere, I just said, OK STEAD U GO SUMWHERE and he went sumwhere and then I saw this noob mage lol and I was liek dot fear dot (deathcoil ftw imo) and then I saw a shiny thing and I went to look 4 it. ROFL

I liek spoons.