If you were to visit a certain cabin near a large oak tree in a certain dark, foreboding forest at any time of the year, you would find a hopelessly drowsy man sleeping to his heart's content by the window, lulled by the chirping of birds (though, in truth, their songs were menacingly horrible, for the dark forest was home to very few melodious birds. But when you haven't known what is good for years, the bad eventually feels all right!). This legendary being, for whom poets of the realm would dedicate only insults—for better or for worse, and for lack of a better name—was known as Chadam Chadlock.
Clad in a royal red robe (which he had stolen from a king, but that story is for another time), with a wooden staff to help him ward off the evils of the forest and a pale golden tinge to his skin, such was the noble appearance of Chadam Chadlock, the 195th of his family name. This afternoon, he was in deep sleep where some important person was saying something to him. A sudden high-pitched sound shattered the peace of his afternoon slumber.
"For the sake of holy Deedoss!! Can't a man get a peaceful sleep in his own home?" grumbled Chadam, furrowing his eyebrows as he tried to locate the source of the noise.
"Of course, it's you! You damned llama!" Chadam growled ferociously.
"Uh hmm… it seems the common folk have forgotten how to address the royalty. Nevertheless, I shall grant you pardon for your insolence, though I should have your head for this buffoonery." the llama replied in a soothing, hum-like voice.
Chadam, now visibly angry, retorted, "You artless, beef-witted barnacle! And you are MY guest, for that matter! Pay me my rent, you royal ball of wool. I'll skin you alive!"
Ferdinand cast a skeptical look at Chadam and pointed his hoof toward the bed, which was filled with his own fur from the previous summer. The argument reached a stalemate. So they started new ones.
The argument escalated, with the verbose and ever-smiling llama and an enraged Chadam hurling insults at each other's bloodlines for the next five minutes.
The scene inside the hut was particularly intriguing. Beside Chadam's bed stood a table with a chessboard, only a few pieces remaining. On one side sat Sir Whiskers, and on the other, Count Ferdinand the llama. Sir Whiskers had won the game so decisively that Ferdinand, in his despair, had let out that high-pitched screech, jolting Chadam from his dream. The two often played chess, and Ferdinand was usually on the losing side. A nasty grin spread across Sir Whiskers' tiny face as he began protruding and retracting his claws, further irritating Ferdinand.
Sir Whiskers purred and, with an air of superiority, said, "If you two are done with your mindless banter, let's head to the river. We should catch some fish before it gets dark."
The bickering ceased as the trio, tired and visibly hungry, prepared to leave. Ferdinand would graze on the grass cultivated outside the hut, but Chadam and Whiskers preferred a roasted fish dinner.
"Hey, in the name of the Flower Lords! Don't leave me here alone…" came a meek voice from a vase near the window.
It was a large mushroom, growing elegantly in a pot by the window.
All three turned to look, and Chadam replied, "Nothing will happen, my dear friend. I have a sign that explicitly says, 'Do Not Enter and Incur the Wrath of Mighty Chadam Chadlock.'"
The llama and the cat exchanged glances. They knew exactly how "mighty" Chadam was, and their expressions were anything but confident.
"And you are not a daisy anymore," Chadam added, his voice tinged with despair. "We ought to give you a new name… Shall we call you Miss Shroom?"
And that's how Chadam's mind worked—naming a talking mushroom "Miss Shroom."
For Miss Shroom, it was a bittersweet feeling. She was no longer a daisy; two moons had passed since her transformation. But it was better to lose her appearance and gain the ability to speak and exist. Imagine being on the verge of death, only to be revived and find your appearance changed, yet gifted with the power of speech. Utterly flabbergasted was how she felt. She could now express her emotions, and these three goofy beings were her only friends. Her existence wasn't philosophical; she simply tried to make sense of their endless banter.
"Those goblins are scary, Mr. Chadam! They give me nightmares!" Miss Shroom's eyes welled up with tears. And yes, that mushroom had little eyes as well.
Chadam bowed to the height of Miss Shroom's pot and gently patted her hat. "Don't worry, dear. Those things can't hurt you. We'll be back before you know it. Besides, we'll bring you water from the River in the Mists! You can enjoy that while we fill our bellies with deliciously roasted, amazing fish."
Miss Shroom felt reassured. For some reason, she believed that if a well-dressed man in a red robe said something, it was a promise by default.
Sir Whiskers and Count Ferdinand sprinkled some water on Miss Shroom and left the cabin.
"Deedoss came to me in dream," Chadam said as they ventured deeper into the forest, following the sun.
"What did that forsaken man say?" Whiskers asked, visibly annoyed.
Chadam, lost in thought for a moment, replied, "He said, 'Great things are to come, dear Chadam!'"
But that was not what Deedoss had said."You are trash, Chadam. With great power, you bring nothing but great embarrassment!"
Such a nonsensical dream. Celestial Mage Deedoss would never say such a thing in real life—if he were still alive. But others were not so nice. 'The only way you even become a Gold Mage is by getting carried.' Chadam shrugged the thoughts of the childhood. Anyways, life was bearable with Ferdinand and Whisker at his side. Now he had Miss Shroom as well.
They followed the sun, making their way toward the River in the Mists.