The midday sun burned brightly but not harshly, diminishing once great shadows until they became little gray edges. They huddled as if for protection around the various protrusions of the terrain, mostly rocks, but occasionally a wizard or a potato.
The centerpiece of the whole scene was a towering, teetering mountain, probably one of the first mountains ever created. You could tell because it didn't look like whoever made it had had much practice. Mountain climbers might have gone berserk about it if not for the fact that they would have been restrained by a horde of environmentalists fearful of its imminent collapse.
A rocky palor of the same uneventful brownish hue as everything else dressed it from top to bottom. Near its base was a small aperture leading to the winding maze of tunnels from which Grimzore had made his exodus. And near the aperture was Grimzore, strewn haphazardly like a neglected rag doll next to a frozen potato.
"Umgurph...?"
Consciousness returned, slowly, hazily, creeping over the mind like a light morning fog, should the fog have happened to have been made out of lead bricks and aerosolized hangovers.
As indistinct blurs gradually coalescend into distinct blurs and finally things that merely seemed to be blurry but were not necessary blurs in their own right, the potato rolled over and chanced a gaze at Grimzore.
The wizard didn't look like he'd to be coming to his senses anytime soon.
The potato considered its situation carefully.
Potatos are among nature's most magical species, even more magical than unicorns, griffins, or the fabled pizza trees of Azkarin. In fact, it is precisely their abnormally high concentration of magic that allows them to stay planted in the ground, completely inert and non-conversational.
The natural state of an ordinary potato, as everyone knows, is to be frozen, airborne, and frustratingly garrulous, barring the rare, exceptional case that it is knocked unconscious by a messy if not altogether painful collision with a wizard's skull. Something with which this completely ordinary, non-magical tater now had gained some valuable experience.
"Hey! A potato!" exclaimed an arboreal ape from the equatorial regions of Africans rainforests. (Technically, going by the small printings on the inside of its interdimentional passport, it was from a small but luxurious manor house at Pennsborough, but the main point is that the creature's lineage was as a chimp, a monkey, a furry little half-man that could have made a fair bit of money dancing and clapping symbols if it were willing to part with a little pride, which it most definitely was not.)
As chance would have it, the monkey had very recently and very unexpectedly appeared from nowhere, materializing with a crackle of blue magic that left its fur embarassingly frizzed. Undaunted, it was now bending over to grab the ponderously forsaken vegetable.
The monkey sniffed the potato carefully, tasted it, discovered it was frozen solid, and tossed it aside with disappointment. However, the creature was somewhat surprised to find his aim more than a little off. For instead of striking the ground, as intended, the potato zipped around the back of his head and gave him a good crashing-into.
"OW!"
Suddenly, and without warning, it occured to the monkey to ask why it was now stranded in what amounted to a crummy excuse for a wasteland in the company of a wizard and a potato, the latter lately of a somewhat unfriendly disposition.
Obviously, an adventure was brewing.
Adventures are chaulk-full of magical potential, so much that warbles in the assosciated adventure-field will frequently distort reality in massive ways. Usually, an adventure-field will subtly alter reality so that an adventure can take place, inducing chance encounters, altering emotions, builing trios, etc. When an adventure-field cannot find something it needs in the near vicinity, such as the completing member of a trio, it will continue to build up magic, looking for a way to discharge itself and becoming more and more dangerous as it grows. In this case, it had inadvertently sucked Drissle--the monkey--through a plot hole in another work entirely. (For reasons of copyright, this means his backstory can only be developed in highly-paraphrased periodic episodes.)
Grimzore's take on all this was to wake up, mutter a few words that caused Drissle and the potato to ignite in flames, dust off his robe, and head his separate way.