Zune knew, immediately, what he was going to do with the silver from his appearance fee, and how it was going to help him meet the godlike Guy Blanco: he was going to buy himself some land. A small plot in the cheapest place he could find. Then, he would start a production company (and perhaps other things), become famous, and then Guy would have to find him for an interview.

“It was foolproof.” The narrator jested, much to the chagrin of the reader who had already judged the narrator self-insertions. Look, I’m just trying to make ends meet like you, you know? You have to take any gig you can get in this economy, yah dig? Why not have a little fun with it?

Confused by the narrator’s interjection, Zune ignored any sound advice I could provide and traveled for two more months eastward. With each town he passed he went to local landowners, offering each his bag of silver for a parcel of two or three acres, which sounded like a lot to Zune.

Mistaking him for a very old and hunched woman, each time the landowners rejected Zune’s sparse offer. But, Zune was not deterred, so each town he tried again, and again, and again, rejected each time. And after each rejection he would remind himself he was not a quitter because “Quitting is for Jimmy Fallon!”

And then Zune arrived in Eden. To call the town a “lawless hellhole” would be an insult to lawless hellholes everywhere. The crime rate was a hundred and fifteen percent. Rowdy saloons were not only on every street corner, but each street corner contained at least four rowdy saloons stacked upon one another. Horses consistently ignored the speed limit. Money was stolen so often that wealth was meaningless (which, I suppose is great for some folks). The town did have only one thing going for it: it was so lawless no one cared about kobolds, and therefore it was the perfect place for a Zune to buy a piece of land, and begin to build his media empire.

Zune, of course, did not know any of this. It just looked like another normal human town to him. And so with his fourteen silver, Zune was able to “buy” a parcel of ten whole acres about seven miles outside of town, on a nice little creek that only had a few discarded plastic bottles and other minor pollutants. (Note: plastic bottles were invented by conmen to sell to wizards three hundred years ago. They claimed they could hold souls, which the wizards soon found was mostly incorrect.)

On his first day at his new home in Eden, Zune briefly celebrated becoming a “lord of the land” or a “landlord” and quickly got to work creating shelter. He cut down several nearby trees, and built a nice hut out of some narratively-convenient discarded waxed canvas, so that way his little kobold head didn’t get wet. On the second day, Zune cut down even more trees, and went to work on his real project: a set. Because all talk show hosts needed a set.

Meanwhile in the tavern called “Easten of Eden”, which was just west of eden, While Zune was busy constructing his talk show set, a miracle occurred: the nastiest criminals of the town stopped fighting, and earnestly gambled (not cheating!) on matters related to the activities of their new kobold manner. More importantly, all agreed that they would not interfere, steal from, or harm the kobold. It would be much more fun to watch him fail on his own terms.

Cleopatra Bingley, who was wanted for thirty seven felony acts of sharpie vandalism and a misdemeanor of armed robbery, wagered thirty-five silver threnits (a reference that is literally only funny to me) that Zune would get chewed up by raiders in three months time

Langley Pinkerton, a former accountant who had been given three weeks community service for felony corporate espionage and felony jaywalking, wagered nineteen gold hilants that the kobold was really some sort of ruse set up by the government, and soon his supreme and ancient powers would be revealed and he would rise up as a god-king among men sometime in the next year.

Ragnar Son of Mad Titan Uroskyne and the Twelve Harpies of Winter, whose only crime was being a child at heart (and fourteen double homicides… in self-defense mind you), wagered he would offer his services to the kobold in perpetuity, if the kobold ever completed whatever it was he was building in the next three months.

Real Galadhorn, who on a genius yet-deceitful legal technicality had never committed the crimes of (accidental) cannibalism, perfidy, and possessing weapons of mass destruction, gambled his favorite deck of cards (which everyone knew were marked). He bet the kobold wouldn’t even last one month out there doing whatever strange thing he was doing in Eden.

The whole room went silent. This meant one thing: Real Galadhorn intended to win the bet. That much was certain. All of the criminals were torn, should they intervene, and therefore go against their unspoken policy of intervening in matters related to this bet? It almost seemed as if the kobold would have to fend for himself. But how? How would he fend off Real Galadhorn?

Only the three fates knew the answer.