The story of Fungus:
Before the turn of the millenium, Harald's and mine father came a'rading along the shores of Galicia, the northwestern corner of what is now known as Spain. Our father found my mother comely and mostly willing and so left me with her. As I was a bastard child, my poor mother sold me to a band of merchants who passed often between the land held by the Christians and the lands held by the Moors and the Jews throughout the Iberian peninsula. During my many years of travel I learned many languages, many skills, and made many a friend and foe. In one such foray I travelled north in search of my father's people and met my brother Harald. I stayed with Harald for five turnings of the sun and learned the ways of the northern people and grew to love their stern, fierce intensity. He taught me the arts of war and for a time we fought side by side. However, a time came to pass when I found that I yearned again for the desert. In another journey I met my dearest lord and husband, Hassan ali Saba, a Moorish trader in rare texts and scrolls, and a scholar at the incipient university of Toledo. We have traveled together ever since. Today I find myself an innkeeper of sorts again in Galicia along the pilgrimage route to Santiago de la Compostella. We have a few tabels and beds for weary pilgrims. We offer themn coarse bread, strong cheese, sour new wine, but rich and delicious tales and songs so they never leave wanting.
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