In the 13th century, in a prosperous kingdom called Yorgin, there lived an elderly man named Falstaff. Falstaff was a wizard and in those days, wizards were held in high regard. Since they knew how to use magic, the people of Yorgin often looked to wizards for help and security. Unfortunately, those days have long gone. Magical practices have started to fade into obscurity and Falstaff was one of the few dozen wizards left.

Although Falstaff has done his best to maintain the wizard culture, he has fallen short in the past few years. The death of his wife had led him down a path of deep depression. Instead of sharpening his skills, he spent time drowning his sorrows in booze at the local town pub. Eventually, Falstaff had become rather clumsy with his magic. Once he accidentally turned the baker’s daughter into a squirrel after mistaking pain ointment for a squirrel potion. In response, he was banished from the kingdom and from then on he lived in a small cottage deep in a nearby forest.

Over the course of the next few decades, Falstaff’s bad reputation turned into mythical legend. Rumors began to spread about him and those rumors got the attention of a young boy named Toby. Toby was a fourteen year old peasant who lived in a desolate wasteland filled with nothing but dust. He was too poor to afford proper living. His house was a dilapidated shack. The roof was busted, the windows tarnished, and the door just barely hung on its hinges. To call it a home would be awfully generous.

Despite the poor conditions, Toby didn’t look too terrible. Yes, he was gaunt, his hair was shaggy, and his skin filled with blemishes and plaque. But he had high spirits. He walked with confidence. His eyes were baggy but his pupils sparkled with a strange happiness. Toby was an optimist at heart. In his mind he always hoped that one day, things would get better for him.

Not everyone shared his optimism, though. Namely his mother, a thin, pale faced woman who was bedridden due to her severe illness. Everyday, Toby went to the Town Square and used the little money he had left to buy his mother’s medicine. Her son’s determination to cure her illness should make her happy. Instead, it troubled her deeply.

One day, Toby returned with his mother’s medicine. He rushed atop the creaky wooden floors into a tiny bedroom, where his coughing mother remained. As per usual, with his bright tone, he drew close to her bed and smiled at her.

“Hello, mother. I’ve got your medicine” he said as he jiggled the bottle in the air.

Toby walked to the nightstand beside him and grabbed a wooden spoon. He opened the bottle of medicine, but before he could pour, his mother weakly lifted her hand.

“Wait… let me do it myself.” 

Toby’s mother used what was left of her strength to sit up. She stretched her hand outward and opened her palms. Toby placed the bottle in his mother’s hand. She spent a long moment gaping at it. Then, she dropped it. It shattered and the pieces of glass were scattered across the floor.

“No!” Toby cried out. “Mother, that medicine cost us a lot of money. I don’t know when we’ll ever get that much again. Don’t you want to get better?”

“No!” she responded sharply. “Enough of this--”

Before she could finish her sentence, the cough returned. Toby reached for the glass on the nightstand but it was empty. There was no water to soothe his mother’s parched throat. All he could do was wait for her fit to be over.

When it was, she continued. “Enough of this madness. You shouldn’t be using the money for medicine. I made that money for you. So you can use it and make yourself happy.”

“I’d only be happy if you were healthy again, mother.”

Toby’s mother shook her head regretfully. “My days are over, Toby.”

“The doctor said if you take the medicine for another year, you’ll be better.”

“In another year I’ll be gone. Look at me, I could barely lift myself. I’ve lost all my weight, I can’t speak without coughing. The medicine is only meant to make the process more comfortable. There is no cure, Toby. Live for yourself and let me go.”

“I won’t let you go!” Toby demanded. His eyes welled up with tears.

“You must. My bones ache to die. Believe me, it’d be better for the both of us if it happened this way.”

Toby turned his face away from his mother. He tried so desperately to hide his tears but she could feel his pain nonetheless. For a moment, the sorrow overwhelmed Toby. But the feeling escaped him in a flash. Toby’s eyes quickly reverted back to her. He wiped the tears from his cheek and beamed with his innocent smile.

“It’s not gonna happen, mother. You won’t die. I’ll cure you. I swear I will!”

With the utmost determination, Toby marched back through the front door. From the window in her bedroom, the sickly woman watched as her son traveled across the dust with his chest puffed up high to clouds. She saw a young man on a mission. An admirable sight as well as pathetic. 

As she looked on, she sighed and shook her head. “That boy will kill himself trying to save me.” She said to herself. “At this rate, he’ll be the first to die.”

Later on that day, Toby went back to the town square. He paced back and forth through the streets, his head filled with a multitude of conflicting thoughts. He asked himself questions about what the future could hold for him. What hope could he still have now that his mother is as good as dead? How could he possibly cure her illness? If she died how would he go on? 

The weight of the world hung on his shoulders so that his chest no longer held high. His confidence seeped away with every step until he passed by the fountain. At the fountain, three men stood amongst themselves. Their names were Col, Hamlen, and Lancaster. All were fishermen who had just come back from a long day’s work at sea. Toby overheard their conversation and stopped to listen.

“...I heard he sold his soul to the devil,” Col said.

“Well, I heard he died a long time ago. Alcohol poisoning they say. Now he’s just a ghost haunting the moore” Hamlen said.

“None of those rumors are true!” Lancaster said sharply. “You’re listening to childish gossip. Why, I’ve got a friend who tells me he is alive. Only he hasn’t sold his soul to the devil, either.”

“What friend? For all we know you’re just making things up again.” Col retorted. “Go on. If that friend is real, tell us his name.”

“I can’t tell you. If I do it’ll ruin everything. But believe me, he can be trusted. My friend says the wizard’s got a magical vase with sacred water hidden somewhere in his cottage. He doesn’t know exactly what it does, but it’s very special.”

“Did he say what it looked like?”  Hamlen asked eagerly.

“He said it was shiny. The water glistened like pearls. He saw it while the wizard danced and sung praises to it in his front yard. When the wizard sensed my friend’s presence, he teleported him back from where he came. That’s when he ran and told me. The wizard scared him so much, now he’s too afraid to go back.”

“How does he know the water is sacred?!” Col retorted once again.

“Enough!” Hamlen blurted as he slapped Col’s chest. “What makes you so superstitious? How come we can’t believe his story but we have to believe yours--?”

“Let him alone, Hamlen.” Lancaster interrupted. “If he doesn’t believe me, then he doesn’t. But you tell me, Col, what wizard sings praises to something that isn’t sacred?”

“A drunk one.” Col retorts.

That important question piqued Toby’s interest. 

Toby remained at the fountain for half an hour until the gathering had finally dispersed. As Lancaster hopped on his carriage, Toby ran to his side.

“Excuse me, sir. Could I have a word with you?”

“I’m very busy, boy. This had better be urgent.” Lancaster said impatiently.

“I overheard the conversation you had with your friends. The wizard and his sacred vase sound intriguing. What else do you know?”

“I don’t appreciate your listening to my private conversation. I should have you horse-whipped. Although, I have other things to tend to at the moment. All that I know about the wizard, I told my friends. I’m sorry, but I have no other information to offer you.”

“Could you at least tell me where to find the wizard.”

Lancaster looked and studied the boy, curiously. “Why do you want to know? Surely you don’t plan on going there.”

“Quite the contrary. I do.”

“What’s your name, boy?”

“You can call me Toby, friend” Toby said proudly as he offered his hand.

“You’re very lively for a peasant. Don’t waste that energy on an old wizard. Clean yourself up and find work.”

Just as Lancaster’s horses began to take off, Toby raised his voice. “It’s for a good cause. My mother is sick and she needs to be cured. Perhaps the sacred vase can heal her. Perhaps it can’t. It’s all the hope I have left.”

Lancaster’s carriage stopped once again and he took a moment to consider the young boy’s words. He might regret what he is about to do. Lancaster hopped out of the carriage and kneeled in front of the boy, speaking earnestly:

“Alright, I’ll tell you. Now before I do, I must warn you. The man is not to be trifled with. Magic is useful but it is also dangerous. You must understand that he has struck fear into the hearts of many men in this Kingdom. Are you sure you want to go through with this? Are you sure you’re not afraid, Toby?”

Of course Toby was afraid. Fear was the least of his worries. He promised himself that he’d save his mother. Through hell or high water, he must achieve this goal; and with that in mind, Toby’s assertion convinced Lancaster of his fearlessness. So, Lancaster divulged the wizard’s whereabouts.

That night, Toby snuck out of his dilapidated cottage and traveled to the forest on foot. Using the directions given to him, he reached the wizard’s cottage just before dawn. The cottage was a small, humble abode draped in ivy. It was practically camouflage in the midst of all the green plant life surrounding it. Toby approached the circular wooden door and kindly knocked three times. On the third knock, the door slowly creaked open and inside he found the house to be an absolute wreck. Furniture was flipped over, food was splattered across the floor, and in the middle of the living room Falstaff layed face first, planted into the wooden floorboards. He was covered in puke, and he reeked of piss. Toby could hardly believe this was the man he was warned about. Nevertheless, this was an opportunity for Toby to find the vase and get away before Falstaff ever knew.

Toby searched every room. He looked under every crevice and in every corner. But alas, no vase. Until, Toby looked in the old man’s drawer to find a tiny map in a bottle. X marked the spot of a cave nearby. This must be where the vase is, he thought. Toby ran outside and started on his way. As he ran, he noticed that his feet ached with sharp pain, still tired from the previous journey. So, he raided Falstaff’s stable and traveled on his best horse. 

A few hours later, Falstaff awoke from his slumber. His first instinct was not to take a bath or clean the house, but to go to his magical vase. Falstaff went to his stable to get his best horse, but it was missing. This didn’t surprise him. He’d lost many horses during past benders. Falstaff took his second best horse and went to the cave. He whistled and danced his way to the stone where his magical vase rested. The vase wasn’t there!

This did surprise him.

Falstaff cried out in agony.

“No! My vase! My lovely treasure. Gone!”

Falstaff wept. Then, he heard something. It was the sound of a horse galloping in the distance. When he ran out of the cave, he saw Toby escaping with the vase in his hands. Falstaff quickly summoned his broom and gave chase through the wilderness. He drew his wand and shot Toby off the horse with a powerful gust of wind. 

Toby rose to his feet, still cradling the vase in his arms. He turned, he saw Falstaff standing before him, enraged with anger. Falstaff lifted his wand and directed it at Toby’s face, ready to deliver the finishing blow.

“Nobody touches my vase!” Falstaff shouted.

Suddenly, Falstaff’s hands began trembling. He could hardly remain on his feet and maintain balance. Toby took this chance to sweep Falstaff’s legs and snatch his wand. Before he knew it, Falstaff was lying on his back, defeated.

With the wand pointed at him, Falstaff closed his eyes and  accepted his fate. 

“Go ahead, boy. Put me out of my misery. We both deserve it.”

“I don’t want to kill you old man,” Toby started softly as he lowered his hand. “Honest. This isn’t anything personal. I only need this vase to cure my mother. She’s dying from an illness. I swear, once I cure her with this sacred water, I’ll return it straight away.”

Falstaff gaped at Toby, stunned by his words.

“Oh my dear boy, you’ve been listening to rumors” Falstaff responded. “Empty words is all they are. The liquid here is hardly sacred.”

Toby tilted his head quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“Why is the finest mead in all the world. Some of the strongest liquor ever fermented. A single drop and you’re flying. I tell you, this is a very valuable treasure. But not sacred.”

Toby’s eyes widened with shock. For the first time, his optimism had truly left his soul. His shoulders dropped and he hung his head low. Toby looked down at the vase, gaping at it the same way his mother gaped at her medicine. Then, with a single move he lifted the vase into the air and threw it. Falstaff, seeing this motion, flung himself towards the vase, attempting to catch it. Unfortunately, he was too slow.

BLAM!

It hit the ground and shattered into a million pieces. Falstaff fell to his knees in anguish.

“What have you done?! I suffered many a night to get this vase. Curse you, boy!” Falstaff exclaimed horrifyingly.

Falstaff was desperate to try to gather what was left of the drink in the dirt. In an instant, he dug his hands deep into the soil and began squeezing the leftover liquid into his mouth but to no avail. Then, he picked up his wand and began conjuring spells, trying to draw what he can from the ground. He strained with effort, effort that he hadn’t used in ages. H could hardly use his magic effectively. Toby watched the wizard with disgust. 

“You’re pathetic. All these years and now you can’t do magic. My mother is dying and I came here for help. You’re not good for that anymore. You’re only good enough for drinking.”

Sadly, Toby’s words went through one ear and out the other. Falstaff continued digging for his drink with no end in sight. So, Toby sauntered out of the forest and headed home. A few weeks later, Toby’s mother did indeed succumb to her sickness. Toby lived the rest of his life with fierce hatred towards Falstaff while Falstaff lived the rest of his life devoted to the mystical arts. He dove back into magical rituals but not to be a better wizard. Falstaff wanted to practice magic so he could bring back his vase with “sacred” water. Falstaff never conjured the right spell and he died a lonely man with a sad legacy.