The Misadventure of Marvin The Magnificient

Chapter 9:The Pancake Prophecy and the Lint Mage of Bearded Hollow

Chapter 9: The Pancake Prophecy and the Lint Mage of Bearded Hollow

If Marvin had learned one thing on this wild, beacon-fueled journey, it was this: prophecies are always stranger when syrup is involved.

They arrived in Bearded Hollow on a Monday, which was also known locally as “Prophecy Flipping Day.” Every innkeeper, shopkeeper, goat herder, and semi-retired bard greeted them with the same ominous phrase:

“May your batter be balanced and your fate be fluffy.”

“I don’t like this town,” Bartholomew said immediately.

“I love this town,” Marvin said at the same time, accepting his third free pancake sample from a child dressed as a prophecy scroll.

The central plaza of Bearded Hollow was dominated by a giant stone griddle, where locals flipped ceremonial pancakes in hopes of reading the Mystic Splat—a syrupy stain said to reveal hidden truths.

According to town legend, once every ten years, the Great Pancake lands in a perfect spiral and summons the Oracle of Breakfast.

And wouldn’t you know it? Today was the tenth year.

The party visited the local temple—a quaint shack made entirely of butter-churned wood and the occasional bacon flag. Inside, they found the High Priestess of Pancakery, a tall woman with maple syrup-colored robes and eyes like overcooked flapjacks.

“You seek the Fifth Beacon,” she said, without even saying hello.

Marvin blinked. “How do you—?”

“It’s always the Fifth Beacon on Pancake Day,” she sighed. “Always. Every decade. Prophecies don’t exactly keep things spicy.”

She handed him a scroll made entirely of edible parchment. Written in decorative icing were the words:

TO FIND THE NEXT BEACON, YOU MUST DEFEAT THE LINT MAGE.

HE WHO RULES THE POCKETS OF THE WORLD.

“…Is this a prank?” Relka asked.

“No,” the priestess said gravely. “It is laundry-based sorcery.”

The Lint Mage was known across the region as Snarnell the Fluffy, a wizard exiled from the Academy of Textile Enchantments for “aggressive fuzziness.” He now resided in a towering sock-shaped hut on the outskirts of Bearded Hollow.

Marvin knocked politely.

A puff of gray lint shot from the door, forming into a sneezing face. “WHO DARES DISTURB SNARNELL DURING LAUNDRY TIME?”

Marvin stepped forward. “Hi. I’m Marvin. This is Relka, Bartholomew, and an assortment of free pancakes. We’re here for your beacon.”

Snarnell appeared in a whirl of fuzz. He wore a robe stitched from mismatched socks, a beard made of dryer sheets, and eyes like two angry bellybuttons.

“You want the beacon?” he sneered. “Then face me in the Battle of Static Wills!”

Trial One: The Sock Sort of Destiny

Each combatant was given a massive pile of mismatched socks. The task: match as many pairs as possible using only telekinesis and sass.

Marvin failed miserably. His socks kept tying themselves into emotionally dependent knots.

Relka quietly sorted fifty pairs while glaring at them all into submission.

Bartholomew refused to participate on moral grounds, muttering, “Socks are the foot prisons of conformity.”

Trial Two: The Static Storm

Snarnell conjured a massive cloud of lint that zapped lightning and smelled faintly of old corn chips.

Marvin, panicking, held up his Spoon of Destiny.

To everyone’s surprise—including the spoon’s—it absorbed the static, spun in the air, and launched a bolt of syrupy light right into Snarnell’s laundry chute.

The cloud exploded. So did half the hut.

Snarnell flew backwards into a pile of unwashed sweatpants.

“You have… bested me,” he coughed dramatically. “Take the beacon. But beware. It gets weird from here.”

“You say that like it hasn’t already,” Relka said, brushing fuzz off her boots.

They retrieved the Fifth Beacon from Snarnell’s secret closet. It pulsed with green light and smelled faintly of nutmeg.

As they returned to town, the Great Pancake had finally landed—sizzling, spinning, and landing in a perfect spiral.

The Mystic Splat formed an unmistakable symbol:

A crown. A spoon. And a face that looked suspiciously like Marvin’s.

Everyone gasped.

Marvin just stared.

“…Am I going to be King of Breakfast?”

“No,” said the High Priestess. “Worse. You’re the Wafflebreaker. That’s… not explained. But the last one accidentally turned a kingdom into toast.”