Most of the present company met for the first time, yesterday, at the small village of Ballyjack in the shadow of the great beanstalk, each with your own reasons for facing the perils of the Castle.
Across the misty plains of cloud it looms, a massive structure of ivy-covered black stone that threatens to blot out the blue dome of the sky.
It extends for miles in every direction, its facade carved with gargoyles and women, their skirts asunder and their hands outstretched in a beckoning gesture. Round towers sprout, weird and oval, at intervals from its walls.
You know this: whoever built Castle Gargantua is long gone. It could have been a mad wizard. He would have been called Gargantua and lived in a tower looming over the castle. Or it could have been a giant so tall that when his shadow was cast, people thought it was the night falling; a giant so primeval that he could barely be distinguished from nature itself, his feet like the trunks of sequoia trees—a primeval ur-giant from a time bygone.
Time has passed since its creator vanished and the Castle has been plundered several times. There's little left of its original riches and most of its legendary beasts have been dispatched by past heroes. But an awful lot of adventurers and bandits continue to roam the Castle halls. And there are still monsters, bred from wild magic and raw chaos in the dark corners of the Castle.
It is terrible, marching across a field of cloud. The vapors stick to your legs and drag at you like a bog, and yet your feet never feel firmly planted enough to assure you that your weight is securely supported, so far above the unyielding Earth.
As you trudge closer, you see a massive 90' high double brass door right in front, the stone around it all jagged and cracked. There's a huge face carved into the door, its features like those of a grinning, mad giant.
![Image](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/62/8e/66/628e662d714eef0f28c38e68f357b5cc.jpg)