Like every quest a hack author makes up —imaging it to be the most original thing since Tolkien — it began on a dark and tempestuous night, in a tavern.

In this particular case, it began in a fairly new, upscale bar attached to a microbrewery called 'neaTly WettisH liquor'. The patrons, far from the surly and grizzled ruffians that normally decorated the opening of a quest story, were almost universally clean and well-groomed. Good cheer and pleasant smells were all that permeated the atmosphere.

It helped that the barkeep, a tall thin man who looked a great deal like Alan Rickman playing Rambo, had more guns than bottles of booze set behind the counter. And not just guns, but the kind of high-velocity weapons that are generally considered very illegal in a place where a stray bullet could break a habitation dome and bleed air into the vacuum of space.

And as for a dark and stormy night, well, tonight was a solar eclipse. And this bar was in the Sea of Tranquility, currently on the dark side of the Moon.

In the middle of this no so dark and distinctly un-seedy tavern, a barkeep polished a glass with a rag. Not because the glass wasn't clean, but because the barkeep found he wasn't necessarily recognized as a man who served drinks unless he did something stereotypically barkeep-like.

It occurred to the barkeep, that it might have something to do with the small country's worth of small arms on display behind the bar.

But a sudden whirl of wind interrupted the barkeep's musings. A flash of darkness that drank the dim lights of the room, a gasp of surprise from several patrons, and then a...

A fart, just as the swirling darkness disappeared.

The barkeep turned his head slowly, considering replacing the rag and glass in his hand with the shotgun directly under the bar. "I told you before, you need to portal outside. The last time you jumped straight in here, it dumped one of my patrons into the middle of a socialite scrum on your yacht."

"He married a very wealthy heiress a few months later," a man said, standing in the middle of the room. The man was wearing a surprisingly neat looking black button-down shirt, though it looked like he had only bothered with a couple of the buttons. But the comfortable tan and easy grin were unmistakeable, and the man in the room had a face the barkeep would recognize anywhere.

Which made the barkeep somewhat unique. After all, most women, some men, and a surprising number of Republican Congressmen, wouldn't recognize the man who had just stepped out of the portal as long as he was wearing a shirt.

"That heiress has a crippling cocaine addiction and a string of unhappy marriages," the barkeep replied.

"Which means your patron will probably be back to medicate, and can afford the expensive stuff. So, you're welcome, Lanval." The man stepped across the room, and sat down in front of the barkeep. He then set a small black credit card on the table.

The card just said 'Luca Cardego'.

"Everyone here can drink on me for the rest of the night," Luca said, and he spun his barstool around, nearly flinging himself off it from the centrifugal force. "And that is a pittance compared to what I'm probably going to have to pay you to agree to this request of mine."

"The answer's no," Lanval said firmly, and did put the glass away this time.

"You're supposed to wait to hear what I'm going to ask."

"Well, it's you here and not Viviana, which means you're not asking me to do classic mercenary work," Lanval said. To help make his point, he set the shotgun onto the bar, and started cleaning it with the rag. "I'm willing to bet you a yacht — wait, your version of a yacht — that it has something to do with one of those cultural misfit refugee colonies you have on that planet of yours."

"I'm willing to buy you a yacht to take this job," Luca admitted. "And you're right. Have you ever heard of LARP?"

"I'm not sure if you said lard or harp," Lanval said.

"LARP. Live Action Role Playing. It's like the costume party version of a D&D game," Luca explained.

Lanval pumped the shotgun. "My boomstick and I disagree with you on that count."

"Geez. Every nerd says that," Luca muttered. "But a few years ago, a large group of people set up a quaint little fantasy land on Mars. Wanted to call it 'Middle Martia' until I told them I'd allow Tolkein's estate to borrow Disney's lawyers to sue. They settled on calling it Redhaven."

"Not the worst name I've ever heard," Lanval admitted.

"I thought so too. But a few days ago, it turns out this little LARP community somehow found an Unobtanium Stone."

"Oh shit," Lanval cursed.

"So now there's an orc breeding wasteland blighting my beautiful planet. You can see the fucking volcano from orbit. I was actually tempted to have Isabella drop nukes on the whole area."

"What stopped you?" Lanval asked. "Considering what those stones can do, it seems appropriate."

"I like my planet. It's pretty. But I need someone to find out what the hell is going on, and separate the crazies from the macguffin of doom."

"I'm going to charge you a fucking fortune for this, Luca," Lanval warned.

"Pretty sure I can afford it. Have you seen what I'm making for authentic Steampunk gear? It's obscene what someone will pay for a pair of ski goggles that someone rubbed a bit of coal dust on. I might just make back what I paid to have Mars terraformed in a few more years."

"Are you allowed to call yourself a trillionaire again?"

"No," Luca sighed. His head sank, and he pointed at one of the bottles on the wall. Lanval stood up and took a bottle of blue liquid off the shelf and set it down in front of the solar system's richest man, along with a small glass.

Luca didn't bother with the glass. "But on the bright side, there's no reason I can't call myself a quadrillionaire. I just need another few profitable quarters, and King Triton to pay his shipping fees, and I can make the announcement without having to push back my next yacht purchase."

"Ah, the travails of the absurdly wealthy," Lanval said. He put the shotgun back, and tapped on the bar. "I'll put a team together tomorrow. You can just portal us in, keep Isabella for orbital fire support, and I should have this stone in safer hands in under two days."

"You weren't listening," Luca said morosely, before guzzling a few inches off the bottle. "A LARP commune has an Unobtanium Stone. Which means that we need to play by their rules to do this. If we're going to retrieve the One Ring, I mean wizard's gem, I mean Sword of Truth, Infinity Stone, Silmaril, Auryn Medallion, magic lamp, whatever the fuck this thing is."

"That's a litany of copyright violations right there."

"Fair use. BIRD is convinced this universe is a parody," Luca said, and drink some more of the bottle. "I miss BIRD."

"Great," Lanval said, slapping his forehead with the palm of his hand. "BIRD is going to be in this one for sure."

"I'm hoping. Figure a bit of foreshadowing might invoke his presence somehow," Luca said. "Where was I?"

"About to conveniently justify why you can't just let me and a company of mercenaries portal on-site and mop the floor with this problem of yours," Lanval said. "Ideally with orbital bombardment and flame throwers."

"Because I can't portal into the area," Luca admitted. "First thing that happened as soon as they found the stone, I couldn't portal inside the area. Besides, I'm afraid you're going to have to quest for this one without too much help."

"A quest? I have to go on a quest?" Lanval asked incredulously.

Luca laughed. "Oh no. Not you. You're a competent adult. We need to find a couple of teenaged protagonists. At best, you're their guardian and mentor until they realize their hidden potential and become chosen and special. I think I have a couple of candidates, had Viviana pull all the names off the census. A couple of them jumped out.

Luca opened a small portal just to his left and stuck his arm into it. A moment later, he pulled his arm out with a couple of folders in his hand.

"Thanks, Vi," Luca said, just before the portal disappeared with a whoopie-cushion like puff. "These two are my prime candidates. They're both the right age, right qualities, and their names are perfect."

Lanval read the first dossier. Ysabel Aurora Protagonist.

"Y A Protagonist?" Lanval asked. "Really?"

"Yep. Illegitimate daughter of the commune's founder. Thinks she's the ugliest girl in the commune despite being proposed to once a month. Easily makes friends with animals. Has a bad habit of holding her breath without noticing it."

Lanval set the dossier on the table and looked at the other. Cho San Juan.

"Are you fucking kidding?"

"Wish I were. He's tall, blonde, Anglo-Saxon, blue-eyed, bland as porridge," Luca said, stifling laughter with each sentence. "Every test he comes across in life has magically turned super-easy as soon as he gets it. I have one documented case of a calculus test that turned into 'what's one plus one' and 'what is your favourite colour'.

"And his first name is Cho?" Lanval asked, suddenly feeling a profound sense of disappointment towards his universe.

"The joke doesn't work otherwise."

"True," Lanval agreed, rubbing his nose. "So your plan is to have me escort these unprepared and incompetent teenagers into a warped reality filled with dangerous creatures being lead by a maniac wielding unlimited power?"

"Yep."

"And I'm going to just agree to this idiot scheme because it's convenient for the story?"

"Pretty much."

"BIRD might have been on to something," Lanval mused. "I still want that yacht."

"Good. Let me know if you want a bag of holding to access your armoury," Luca said. "I'll set it up a lot like my dad's emergency kits.

"Wait, I can take my guns with me?" Lanval asked.

"Why not? Since you're the mentor character, that means you're probably a wizard. And wizards cheat," Luca said. "And thanks for doing this. I really wasn't looking forward to irradiating a continent."

Lanval grinned, and wondered if he might actually enjoy this job.

* * * * *

Coming soon, the next story in the Epic and Totally Serious Werewolves of Mars saga, The Chosen One!