The leader was Sir Jonathan Alderson of York Castle, a specialist in Swordsmanship, Exploration and Odysseys. He proudly wore a bold, glistening suit of armour and carried by his side the mighty blade of K’onten Manidgemunt.
Then there was Robbz Myth, a wise and powerful mage with the ability to channel the Goddess of Creativity, Widenine, thereby controlling the powers of illusion, metamorphosis and generation.
The final member of this motley trio was Dick South, a humble peasant scribe that would jot down their many adventures and the characters they encountered, from damsels in distress and fearsome dragons, to crossing the broken Link Bridge and attempting to communicate with the simple people of Minor Typo.
For years they travelled the dirt roads of Ersatz, freeing slaves and catching thieves, slaying ogres and occasionally mistaking a scarecrow for a buxom wench. The three men, though different indeed from one another in every way, combined their skills to create something greater than the sum of its parts. Each day was a celebration and merrymaking was plentiful, with flagons overflowing and many an elk roasted under the stars.
Then, one day, they stumbled upon The Well of Reinvention, deceptively meagre in spite of its power and forgotten for countless centuries. Ignorant of the untamed spell that dwelled within its waters, our three heroes drew up the ancient bucket, each filled their cupped hands with the liquid and, checking that it was clear and free of noxious odours, drank deep.
Within moments, their very flesh and bones began to dissolve into the air and soar away in great whirlwinds of sand. Panic-stricken and helpless, they grasped at the crumbling stonework of the mystical well, but all attempts were in vain as their very existence was broken into a billion pinpricks, carried tens of thousands of years forwards through time, and reassembled unceremoniously in twenty-first century Britain.
To this day, none of them realise that their lives were ever anything other than what they are now. But from time to time, during periods of stress or woe, an image may flicker at the periphery of their shared memory, like a dust mote gliding through an inch of sunlight. It could be the sight of a herd of unicorns galloping majestically across a field of grass the colour of emeralds, or the feeling of brotherhood whilst rescuing a child from a deadly wave of molten lava. The three men will simply wave these thoughts aside as they would a daydream, a snippet of fantasy in their otherwise normal lives. But let it forever be known that they once seized the day in ways only great heroes can, and though now far more humble and sheltered, they continue to do so in their own special way, and will do so forevermore.