“I can’t believe it,” Sam muttered to himself.

He looked around his office, thinking back to the day that he walked into for the first time. Over three thousand years ago, when the gate had been made.

It had been a great day. His best friend had finished all the touches on it and created a way to bring leveled Champions into our realm. Then there was a huge celebration, and for the next few years, there was a new champion coming in every few weeks. Things settled down as the new champions had to grow into their new roles.

Before the gate, it was random who’d get pulled over when a god wanted a champion. They would gather enough energy, and with the right sacrifices of magical items, a portal would open. Then for the next few days, it would draw people towards it. In most cases, someone would come through. In other much rarer cases, no one would make it. However, as soon as someone crossed over, it would shut down.

The old way, started them with nothing, just like the poor Bozo. You didn’t get to pick your skills, but you did show up in the court of your god. Those who were brought in didn’t remember where they came from but would still be who they were. If they were loyal before, then they were loyal after. If they were hell-bent on taking over the world they came from, then those same drivers would be here.

Yet they would never remember. The gods just grabbed people and pulled them through without any matching of need or desire. It was a hard time to be a Champion and a harder time to find a good one.

When the gate was built, it was staffed by his friends. They would greet those brought through and get them set up before sending them on. Over the years, books were made to prepare the Champions as they came in. Each one got the same books per the rules of the gods. There were no exceptions, no errors made. They all knew the same things to start with. The book of knowledge of the world, a book on their god or goddess and their leveled skills. The equipment all cost the same amount, and no one wanted less than the full amount they could be given.

All Champions now would be sent to a capital to start and report to their temple when they got there. They would check in and start working. That was the compulsion that they were given. Service to their god in the ways laid out in the book given them.

Then Bozo comes along. Everything breaks. The guy didn’t start where he should, couldn’t use his class skills, wasn’t even listed as a Champion, and on top of that, all his equipment was trash. He had even less gear than they used to get when coming into the world. Nothing was right about what happened.

“I did everything right, the magic still checks out,” he murmured to the world again. “Yet, I’m the one blamed, doesn’t matter that I couldn’t do what they said I did. I was just the one they wanted to blame. Then those jerks gave away his necklace to Bozo to make up for this error that was ‘my fault.’”

Sam opened his desk drawer and pulled out a set of glasses and a bottle. He poured himself three fingers of the amber drink and leaned back. A look of grief passed across his face as he thought about Bozo having the Necklace of Cores.

It would have been him if his master never left. But his master was defeated, and he was sent to run the gate. His power was a fraction of what it had been. Reduced by the cuffs, he wore on his ankles given to him by the same gods that blamed him now for this mess up.

A knock on the door to his side brought him upright. “Who is it?” he yelled.

The door slowly opened, and in walked one of his only friends. Or someone Sam had thought was a friend. “What do you want, Bartholomew?” Sam spit at the man who came in.

“I wanted to see how my old friend was doing and offer you some beer, but it looks like you might not need the drink.” Bartholomew slowly answered as he made his way to the same chair that Arn had been in not a few hours before.

Bartholomew set down a wooden rack that carried several bottles and two tankards. He smiled a little at Sam and then pulled the tankards out and filled them up. He slid one over to Sam, took the other, and sat down in the large leather chair.

“Not sure we should be friends anymore, you had them give the Necklace of Cores away,” Sam said through clenched teeth.

“Well that is not what happened but I can understand why you would think that. I pushed for the rules to be followed. I have the need for a champion and I never did like pulling them through as we do. I wanted who he was and so I didn’t want to just get rid of him. So since something happened I pushed for the rules to be followed.” Bartholomew stated.

Sam downed the rest of his drink and stared at his friend. “But did you have to have them give him Maximilian’s necklace?”

Bartholomew sighed and spoke, “It was the rules that a random item would be pulled from the treasury. It seems like when Max made the gate he also made a spell that would randomly pull an item from the treasury. It was the only way for the old gods to agree to the gate.”

“But the old gods are not in charge anymore now are they, Barth? You could’ve refused and sent it back!” Sam yelled as he stood up.

“NO! If the rules are broken then the gate stops working until the problem is fixed. If we didn’t give Arn that necklace then the gate would have stopped and no one would be able to pull another Champion through.” Barth growled back at him.

“So no one gets Champions then that simple and Max’s necklace stays put!”

“Do you think I have the power to stand against the Pantheon? Do you think they would let me? And if they did, what would happen to you?” asked Barth.

“But why the questions? Why do I have to answer his questions?”

“Well, that was done out of spite. See, Sam, they still haven’t forgiven or forgotten you and they wanted to mess with you. I tried to have them give him a world book but they refused, said, ‘that if he forgot it once, he would again.’ So yeah you get to answer his questions.”

“That was about how I figured,” Sam said as he poured himself another glass. “Hopefully he will give up soon and I’ll not have to deal with him much.”

“I have a feeling that he is much more stubborn than you imagine. Now why don’t we have a good drink here. I brought some Drink-of-the-gods with me as I figured that you might have need of it.”

“Really? I didn’t think there was any of that left.”

“I have some laying around from the last batch. It is a shame to drink it alone as it makes life more fun for a few days after.”

“That it does! So what happened to that spider that was following you around?” Sam said with a slightly cheerful tone.

“I gave her the slip. Turns out if she can’t hold her drink at all. A few beers and she is out cold and then I can make a break for it. Problem is she tracks me down afterward. I might not be able to pull it off more than once or twice more.”

Sam laughed as Bartholomew refilled their tankards out of a growler that was glowing yellow with wisps of cold steam bellowing off. As soon as he stopped pouring, the two men raised their tankards and drained them completely.

As Sam slammed his tankard on the desk, he had a grin across his face. “Remember when you and Max first rolled it out? Special hops and wheat from his fields, brewed in the barrel he made for you. We were all falling down drunk for the next year.”

“It was a fun time. Lots of good songs were sung and even a few new drinking songs made,” Barth mused.

“Remember that one girl?”

“The one with the red hair or the blond?”

“The redhead!” Sam laughed as he took another drink from the tankard.

“The look on your face when she told you to stop hitting on your own family!” Barth roared as he leaned back.

“Yeah, but she was your great-granddaughter, not mine!” Sam said with a smile.

“She was the last great bard of my line. I tried to get Max interested in her.”

“A mortal?”

“Well, she was a demi-god by her own right at that point.”

“Who did she Champion for?”

“No one.”

“And how did Max feel about her?”

“Told me he was still mad.”

“Sounds about right, every time I asked him about someone I just got the same answer.”

“Did he ever tell you what he was mad about?”

“Never asked, there were times that he scared me.”

The two drunks looked in their tankards and fell into silence as they both took to the heavy work of drinking their memories away. One mug followed the next, and so flowed the drinks until Sam spoke one last time.

“I miss him, never did think he would lose.”

“Yeah…”