Tristan had often thought that the Gods must have forgotten that he exist. How else could one explain how happy he was? All of the old fables gave the impression that the attentions of the Gods only complicated one's life, but Tristan, manservant to Lord Illian of Larroset, was the opposite of complex. He ate, he drank, he caroused, and kept company with his Lord and master. He wished for nothing more. He performed small duties, but by servant standards his workload was embarrassingly small. He wore fine clothing, he ate a noble's meal and at the young age of twenty two his future seemed set.

That particular evening had been especially fine. Several young village girls had been procured for Illian's amusement, and as per usual, he had been in a mood to share. Several hours later the night air was crisp, but not cold as the two of them rode back to the castle.