[FweepFwopFwoop]

Emmett was a young wizard who traveled the lands, unable to go back where he'd come from. His home, a small village of wizards located in dense woods, had once been razed to the ground on suspicion of witchcraft and wizardry, and Emmett had only barely managed to escape it, in the process being separated from friends and family and being left completely alone. Years and years of being homeless and improper nutrition had left him with a thin frame, ribs poking through his skin, clothes which could only be described as patches and stitches just waiting for their chance to fall apart once and for all, shoes made of leather worn thin. One of the only things of any marginal use he had with him an enchanted, bottomless rucksack full of herbs, tomes, beakers, and so on. Instructions for spells and potions, and the ingredients to put them together. Not that it did him much good. His magic could only help him when no one was around to see him use it, or when he could fool others into believing his potions were simply mundane medicines from far-off lands. Not magical at all, no sir. Around his neck hung an aqua stone on a fine silver chain, which looked out of place on a raggedy, poor man such as Emmett. Were he a desperate man, he could no doubt sell it for an absurdly high price, but this simply wasn't an option for him. Not when he needed it to cast so many of his spells. 

Emmett managed to maintain his hygiene well enough, though. His skill allowed him to concoct elixirs to keep his skin clean and his hair silky. Even if his clothes were beyond hope, his hair, a deep black that cascaded only just past his shoulders, would be kept clean and shiny. The stubble which graced his face was kept in check, though only barely so, thanks to a distinct lack of proper shaving tools.

And it was good that he managed to remain relatively clean. For Emmett had a unique opportunity before him.

He had heard that King Armand didn't have any heirs of his own, despite that being the norm in Brivaria, and despite supposedly being one of the most virile men in the land. In Emmett's mind, that meant that clearly, the king was the sort of man who would prefer the company of another man. Which naturally meant that the king wouldn't be able to have any genetic children of his own. Emmett, however, had been blessed with both sets of genitalia, and both sets of reproductive organs. He could impregnate and be impregnated. Tales among wizards and superstitious forest-dwellers alike say that this made him wonderfully fertile. And since he was a man who could be impregnated, he was perfect for King Armand. A man who loved men would now have a man who could bear his heirs. He could have his cake and eat it too.


Digging through his rucksack, Emmett thought to himself "All I have to do is get his majesty to listen to me. Have him take a chance on me as a surrogate. Then, I just need him to leave me alone long enough to work my magic, and boom. I can finally stop living off of meager fruits and whatnot. Have a real bath and a real bed to sleep on, and not have to worry about being mauled by bears and mountain lions and wolves in my sleep." Not that Emmett should even particularly need his magic in this case. Between the king's supposed virility and Emmett's own fertility, pregnancy was mostly assured. But mostly wasn't good enough; not with so much on the line. He would use his magic to assure pregnancy, but the real trick was convincing the king. He didn't look like much, Emmett knew, but at 26 he was almost the perfect child-bearing age. Heaving his rucksack back onto his shoulders, Emmett made his way into Albany, toward the castle, and requested an audience with King Armand.