It was a lovely day in Florin, a lovely day for a wedding. “We’re here to see the vicar,” demanded Vizzini.

The man in charge of the castle-guarding operation was a sniveling mutton-chopped sycophant named Yellin. Not moments ago, he had received a stern reprimand from Prince Humperdinck himself, and was cautioned to let no one in the castle.

“I can let no one in the castle,” he said.

“Has it crossed your mind,” Vizzini sneered, “that you’ve already failed?”

Yellin frowned. “I have… failed?”

“Tell me, my good man, who is in the castle right now?”

“Well there’s the prince. And that girl. And the king and queen. And Rugen. And…”

“See? See? Absolutely you’ve failed! Look at all the people you’ve already let in! In my whole life I’ve never seen anyone fail so badly, you walrus-bearded degenerate! In fact, the only thing you were even remotely successful at… was failure! You might as well just give up now!”

Yellin thought about that. “Nice try,” he said finally. “Now who are you and what do you want?”