The giant, bearded man walked triumphantly through the grand stone arch that was the gate to the realm. “I am here as dictated by the prophecy,” he proclaimed.
The keeper of the gate was a small, withered-looking old man. “Welcome,” he said softly in a voice made ragged by age.
The bearded man looked around. “Is this all the welcome I receive? One little old man? Where are the crowds? The celebrations? The festivities?”
The old man chuckled. “The land of Deeteebeenia cannot afford such luxuries. Its inhabitants are few and spread out, its economy feeble.”
“Deeteebeenia?” The larger man repeated in confusion. “Never heard of it. While travelling on the road I was told this was Dawkinsland, the land of great legend and riches. If this is not that place, then I must resume my journey.” He turned around to walk back through the gate, only to find the barred iron doors in the process of closing shut.
“Once a wayfarer enters this realm, there is no exit,” the gatekeeper said. “Especially if their abilities are in decline, as yours are.”
“I am not in decline!” the bearded man barked. “I demand that you reopen the gate!”
“As much as I would like to, disobeying the orders of King DTB is punishable by death,” answered the old man.
“Take me to see this so-called King,” the bearded man demanded. “I fear no punishment, not even death.”
The gatekeeper rose from his small wooden stool and beckoned the newcomer to follow him. “As you wish. But heed these words: the King does not kindly welcome any challengers to his governance.”