Percy Maelock is a liar. Or so they say. Honestly, who am I to judge? For all I know, maybe he really did do all the wonderfully imaginary things he is rumored to have achieved. Maybe he did star in an underground fashion show for Europe’s daydreamers and boogeymen; or share a coffee with a goddess at the edge of the world; or survive a night hunted by seven of the world’s deadliest assassins; or even go to battle with a giant over a few drops of a spilled drink. So, I would thank you very much not to judge him yourself. At least, not yet. There are already so many others who do such a grand job at casting judgments over Percy Maelock, you will only embarrass yourself by comparison. Some take this mission to near fanatical heights. The Bazooka Club. The Children of the Infinite. The Winter’s Run Brotherhood. The Railroad. All these groups have one thing in common: they live and breathe by the phrase ‘Percy Maelock is a liar’.

I have lost count of the number of times and from the number of different voices I have heard those five simple words, but I will always remember the first time. They came from a Swedish bartender who owned an audaciously star-spangled, Hawaiian-style pub in the Canary Islands (an already ridiculous setting for meeting an equally ridiculous man). I had only known Percy for a few short hours and the bartending Swede lurked well within earshot listening to Percy regale me with all sorts of fantastical things, waiting for his moment to warn me. Not more than five seconds after Percy left for his next appointment with the absurd had the bartender jumped at the chance to insist that I remember five words.

Percy Maelock is a liar.

I should not have needed to hear it. I had just spent three hours listening to Percy’s many stories and, impossible though they seemed, they were quite captivating. If I am giving credit where credit is due, he has an almost supernatural power over words. He told me stories about climbing over mountains and crossing treacherous seas. About dining with dignitaries and dancing with prima donnas. About exploring lost and forgotten places and, strangest of all, battling monsters. Though this last one was not that strange at the time considering the reason Percy and I met in the first place was because of the peculiar case of the abominable swimsuit model, though that in and of itself is a tale best left for another time. And if I thought that I had heard my fair share of his stories after after all that, it was nothing compared to the anthology I would one day know.

Despite all those who would adamantly warn against pursuing the subject, I have found the great modern mythology that is Percy Maelock’s life to be quite charming. If there is any true danger in the stories of adventures that follow in his wake, I have not yet come to face them, except for those dangers I have made for myself.

If you’ve stumbled upon this humble scholar’s website, I’m sure it’s because you already have an understanding for our shared madman. No doubt, the phrase ‘I hate Percy Maelock’ has passed your lips once or twice. But not me. No, I owe quite a lot to the man and his unusual stories.

From the epicenters of human civilization to the farthest reaches of the Wild, from uncharted corners of the darkest jungles to the most barren stretches of unfathomable deserts, and from treacherous gullies in the deepest valleys to ruinous temples atop the highest mountain peaks, I have painstakingly and perhaps naïvely pursued the impossible figure detailed throughout these pages.

Even if Percy Maelock’s wondrous adventures prove to be nothing but fantasy, I still owe all my own to him. And I have certainly experienced my fair share. I have visited distant villages, monstrous liars, and nests of deplorable villainy across six continents, witnessed a wide array of local customs that were both mesmerizing and absurd, participated in dances and festivals and meals of the very worst sort, and have befriended characters of unparalleled honor as well as undeniable evil, some of which I have even had to beat away with my umbrella. Three times, in fact.

Percy Maelock very well may a liar. Anyone with even a shred of common sense would

most certainly say so. But there is this small, not-quite-my-voice in the back of my head asking – screaming, really – what if? What if he isn’t a liar? What if Percy Maelock is an honest man? What if the reason we have fairytales is that there are people like Percy out there who actually lived the stories? And what if the world really is a far wider and stranger and infinitely more magical place than we dare to believe?