The foreign merchant had rolled into town with a wondrous idea. A 'Pyramid Scheme' he called it, since it made anyone who heard of it as wealthy as the southern pharaohs. The word 'scheme' made the more credulous townsfolk wary, but even they were soon drawn in by the man's charm.

"More of a Pyramid Plan really. It's simple. You pay me for the opportunity to join my little sche-plan," said the merchant. "Then you recruit two others, who pay you (with a small commission to me, of course). And then those two recruit two more, and on and on, with the gold traveling up the ranks. It's free money, my friends. Only a fool would not want to get in at the top."

"That's not a scheme. That's just feudalism," exclaimed the townsfolk. "I'm in!"

By the time the town's ruler, the wizard Eryndor, got wind of this, the man had defrauded most of the populace and frittered their life savings away on exotic delicacies. The fattened fraudster was thrown in the dungeon, and Eryndor was left with a problem. As the lord, it was his duty to ensure justice was done, to make the townsfolk financially whole again. Normally that would be a simple process of selling the criminal into a period of indentured servitude, with the auction proceeds going to the injured party. But a crime of this magnitude... Eryndor ran the figures. The fraudster would have to serve over twelve thousand years to ever hope to repay what he owed!

Eryndor considered transforming the man into an immortal elf maiden but... no, that would send the wrong message. Punishments weren't supposed to be rewarding. Transfigure him into a clockwork construct perhaps, to serve the town in perpetuity? Perhaps, but the townsfolk needed something immediate and gratifying. They were in a fire-and-pitchforks sort of mood. He pondered. There were always the mirrors of Noisivid...

When Market Day rolled around, the criminal was brought out for auction before the angry crowd, and made to stand between two mirrors.

"From the crime of cozenage, this man is to be sold into servitude for a period totaling one eon," Eryndor declared. "Collectively."

The fraudster scoffed. His laughter faltered as Eryndor snapped his fingers and the mirrors sparked, snaring him in invisible forces that wrenched him in opposing directions. The crowd gasped as his body sheered in half from head to belly. In an instant, the two halves sprouted legs, arms... breasts. Two human women stood trembling on the stage. Eryndon snapped his fingers again.

"So that's where halflings came from. Fascinating," the wizard mused, as four thick-buttocked halfling-wives wobbled upon the auctioneer's stage. "Then I suppose that would make this a quarterling?" he said with another snap. "And an... octling?" snap

The world span like a kaleidoscope around the fraudster. He clung desperately to the woman... women beside him, trying to manage his legs (so many legs!). They clung to him in turn. With another snap of the mage's fingers, the world became twice as chaotic. The criminal tried to scream but the sound came from the throat of the woman to his... left... his right?... no, his own throat. His many bodies, now a tangled mess of uncoordinated limbs, began to overspill the edges of the stage. Those that remained continued to divide and dwindle. Those that fell were quickly caught. A hand wrapped around his torso -one of them anyway- and lifted him up for the crowd to see. His heads turned to see the tiny, wriggling woman held in Eryndor's hand, barely larger than a cat.

"For sale, one... sixtyforth-ling," Eryndor proclaimed to the jeering crowd. "Offering excellent bulk discounts. They should make excellent handmaidens, being able to fit in one!"