The Fool
The day Devils Grinding Mill came of age, he wrapped his few possessions in an old fablecloth and set out into the world. Wide-eyed and optimistic, and more than a little drunk, he left the security of the capital to better serve a god he alone knew and loved, the Lord Carl Steenstrup. His faith in Him was simple, innocent even, the plain homespun faith of one who had never known true hardship or faced true danger.
Devils Grinding Mill smiled as he ambled along the path, passing milestones. He whistled at a few birds, all of whom stared at him as if he had said something quite rude. He skipped stones on the river and danced his way along the path. Adventure. At last, he would know adventure. He threw his arms wide, grinning at the sky, and it is said that Carl Steenstrup Himself smiled to see him so full of joy.
Then, as Devils Grinding Mill paid no attention at all to where he was going, he tumbled from a cliff. Legends say Carl Steenstrup then sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as if against a headache, saying to Himself that this would be one very long fool’s journey.