This was just a short parody written to poke fun at a certain Old Mage, and give gnomes a little bit of the respect they so deserve. Some characters mentioned in this story are © WotC. They are used without permission and for entertainment purposes only. All reviews are welcome.

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"These are not the usual smokepowder pistols we sell to pirates and first level adventurers," said the gnomish black marketeer. "That crap is just the export version. We keep the good stuff for ourselves. Here, lemme show ya." The little mercenary opened one of a dozen large crates standing nearby and pulled out a strange, metallic-looking weapon. "The AK-47 assault rifle. Air cooled, gas-powered, 7.62 millimeter. Fires off thirty rounds a second in full auto-" He paused in mid-sentence. "Whatsa matter?"

The dwarf king wore a puzzled look. "Well, it's just- the way you are speaking. I mean, I thought you gnomes all talked- backwards-like."

"Judge me by my size, do you?"

"Yeah, like that."

The gnome chuckled. "Naw, we just do that to confuse the Harpers. Keeps 'em guessin. And the chicks all think it's cute." He shrugged. "Now, do you want the stuff, or don'tcha?"

"Oh, we'll take it," answered the dwarf. "How many do you have?"

"I can getcha a truckload, er, I mean a wagonload. Ten cases, plus ammo. Enough for a whole battalion of dwarves." The little green man leaned against a half-covered crate of stolen VCR's and took a Cuban cigar from his breast pocket. He nodded to his men, and devious looking gnomes began moving the crates of illegal arms over to the loading dock. He looked over at his stocky, bearded customer. "Eh, you look confused again, yer majesty."

The dwarf bowed apologetically. "I thought the gods didn't let technology like this work on Toril?"

The gnome shook his head and lit his cigar. "Naw," he said, puffing. "That's just a load of bunk the Magister puts out. Him and his Chosen try to keep a tight lid on it, snuff out anybody who uses our stuff. That's why we don't usually export these babies."

The dwarf went over a picked up one of the otherworldly weapons. "We'll take 'em. How much?"

"Fifty grams of uranium"

"Deal."

The gnome arms merchant and the dwarven king shook hands, and in moments a dozen bare-chested dwarven laborers appeared and started unloading the crates. The gnome removed his beret, and took another puff on his exotic- smelling stogie. "Tell me, dorf," he said. "Whatcha gonna do with all this illicit firepower?"

The dwarf scowled and looked the gnome straight in the eye. "We're gonna get the elves back for the Two Towers."

The gnome nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, I saw that too." A sudden thought occurred to him, and he went over to the stack of VCR's. "Speaking of which, yer majesty, can I interest you in a video player? I'm told that Elminster himself has quite a collection of videos. Watches 'em all the time."

"So that's why Elminster is always too busy to save the Realms!"