AUTHOR GENERAL'S WARNING
This chapter contains Gnomes. Research has shown that prolonged exposure to gnomes can have a detrimental effects on sanity and livelihoods of PCs. Other potential side effects are irritation, malicious feelings, the occasional berserk robot and even PC death.
Please consult your GM before adding gnomes to your campaign.
So three vampires and a werewolf walked into a bar. It was a seedy little tavern, but it had a big sign for "Adventurers Wanted" in the window. Desperately in need of funds for the trip down river (since three of them had a "skin condition" that prevented them from traveling during the day), Angel, Spike, Drusilla and Oz walked into the bar like a bad joke.
"I understand you're looking for some help," Angel said, sliding up to the bar. Oz went up next to him. The other two decided to neck in a dark corner.
"Damn right I am," snarled the bar tender. "But I wuz lookin' fur adventurers, not pretty boys and floozies."
Angel and Oz shared a look before turning back to the bartender. "Uh, I think it's best if you don't call Dru a floozy. The blond over there might take offense at it."
"What happens if he does hear?" another man at the bar asked.
"Bad stuff," answered Oz. The man raised a questioning eyebrow. Oz nodded as if to answer a question only the two of them understood. Both seemed satisfied.
"Well, you see, we're plenty strong to take care of what you're looking for," Angel said. The bartender didn't look convinced. He rubbed out his glass with a rag and set them both on the bar.
"Yee don't ha' any armor, yee don't ha' any weapons that I ken see and yer just a bunch of pretty boys and floozies," the bartender concluded, this time at a much higher volume. This time Spike heard.
"You calling Dru a floozy?" He was up and over before anyone could stop him. Spike grabbed the man by the shirt and punched him once,hard, in the jaw. He went out like a light.
"Spike! He's the one we were trying to get a job from!" Angel whined. Angel whined a lot lately.
"Bah, he'll wake up," Spike said, grabbing a bottle from behind the counter. "Bloody weren't no innocent either."
"So what now?" Angel said exasperated. Oz shrugged.
"We wait," the werewolf said. So they did. Pretty soon the bartender woke up with a tender jaw.
"Well, yoo've gut strength fur a pretty boy, I'll give ye that," the barkeep said, rubbing his cheek. "Alright. Here it be. Fur the dust o' the vampire in the Western Ruins I'll give ye 500 o' good Waterdavian silver."
Angel and Oz shared another look. Oz looked back to the barkeep.
"Cool," Oz said.
"Now, don't ye be bringing back no fake dust! Ole Merl'll know if ye be bringin' fakes! He's the greatest mage in all these parts o' the River Shinin'!"
"Fair enough," said Oz with a knowing nod.
The trip west was quick. The "Western Ruins" were a two story house of indeterminate origin on the western edge of town. It was about a five minute walk from the tavern. Judging by the rather large tree growing out of the foundation it had not been occupied by the living for some time. As it was, the number of places where a vampire could stay were quite limited. They searched around and found not much besides a stash of weapons and armor neatly packed away in good wool. The oils of the wool helped to prevent the metal from rusting. Rummaging through the stash, they found quite a few good pieces. Shrugging, Angel put them in Spike's pack basket to be sold when they got back to town.
"Why do I have to carry the soddin' pig stickers?"
"Because you're the only one with a pack basket big enough," Angel said. "Mine's full with the flasks because it's got the preservation spell on it. Oz needs to scout so he has to move fast and Dru will just hand them out to random forest creatures."
That brought Spike up short. Dru would just hand them out to random forest creatures, but she always had a reason. "Okay, you've got a point. But you're getting a bigger pack once we're back in town. So until then, sod off."
"Fine," Angel said with a roll of his eyes before going back through the small storage chests. There was one with gold, gems and jewelry, another with books and a third with what looked like some sort of doll the size of a child of 4 or so with a funky early 80s haircut and long sideburns.
"Who dares disturb my slumber?" asked the doll as it climbed out of the chest. Angel looked at Oz. Oz shrugged. Angel looked at Spike who was gaping at the creature from the box. Dru was talking to nothing in particular, but it seemed to be a good conversation.
"I-I guess I do," said Angel, scratching the back of his neck in confusion. The creature opened its mouth to reveal a mouth of gaping fangs and launched itself at Angel. "Hey! Get off of me!"
Oz grabbed it by the legs to try and pull it off, but Spike was still gaping at the creature. Soon enough, the creature was held up in the air, struggling to attack Angel again. Oz kept his hands well out of bite range. Instead the creature changed tactics and stared intently into Angel's eyes. It had no effect other than creeping the elder vampire out.
"Release me mortal," commanded the creature.
"Uh, no?" Angel said. "Maybe you can tell us something. We're supposed to kill a vampire out here. Know where one is?"
"Angel?"
"Yeah Oz."
"I think this is the vampire."
"Really? You mean when he went for my neck he didn't realize?" Angel pointed to himself and then Spike and Drusilla.
"Nope."
"That's just weird," said Angel, looking the vampire in the eyes. The creature stared with googly eyes back into his. "He looks like a tiny Marty Feldman."
"Eye-gor," said Oz with a grin.
"Obey my commands mortal!"
"Uh, no. And you've got that kinda wrong too," Angel said. By this time Spike had shaken himself out of his stupor, lit up a cig and touched the burning end to the creature's skin. Seeing the burst of flame Oz nodded.
"Yep, vampire."
"Unhand me! I am the ancient and all powerful Elder Mortun!"
"No, a bloody pillock is what you are."
Oz and Angel had to agree. They were about to stake the vampire when they realized that they had nothing to carry the vampire dust in. So, as a compromise was made. Angel and Oz would carry the loot while Spike carried the critter in his packbasket. The Ancient and All Powerful Elder Mortun was not pleased with the decision.
It chose to protest loudly.
It was then gagged.
The short walk back to the bar managed to wake just about half the town. About two minutes into the walk, Mortun decided to call a friend for help. The summoning of rats makes sense most times, but not really when your opponents are vampires and a werewolf. It was no surprise that the rats, creatures of instinct really, quickly veered away when they caught scent of a wolf surrounded by walking dead things. A very large wolf.
Finally, after the five minute walk, they were back at the bar.
"Yee give up so quick?" the barkeep inquired.
"No," Oz said. He pulled the bound vampire from the packbasket by the hair so he didn't get bit. "Vampire."
There were shrieks of fear, a huge number of people cowering in the corners and a bellow of rage from the barkeep. The peasants covered their eyes to prevent becoming charmed by its gaze.
"Hark! The Dread Dead Gnome is here!" Screamed a peasant as he ran out the door. "Run for your lives!"
The Sunnydale 4 shared a confused look. Even Drusilla was confused by the statement. Angel bent down to look the creature in the eyes. Everyone ran, thinking he was taken over.
"I thought you were the Ancient and all powerful Elder Mortun," Angel asked.
"Sounds better than Dread Dead Gnome," commented Oz. Angel shrugged in agreement.
"How dare you bring that here!" The bartender was flabbergasted by their audacity.
"You wanted proof." Angel said as the vampire tried to bite Oz. It kicked with its' stubby feet in an attempt to nom on the arm that held it. "We brought proof."
"Kill it! Kill it!" screamed the bartender.
"Okay," Oz said, pulling out a stake and stabbing it in the chest. It immediately turned into a gaseous form and started fluttering away. "Odd."
"You have to kill the body in its casket," suggested the strange man at the bar. Sure enough the gaseous dust wandered back to the "chest" that Angel had tucked under one arm and slipped into the cracks. Suddenly realizing the increased weight, Angel set it down and opened the top. Inside was the same doll-like creature they had seen before. This time the staking was done properly. Angel took a napkin, laid it out on the counter and dumped the dust from the box onto the clothe.
"Pay up," Oz said, holding out his hand for the silver. The barkeep did.
Oz counted the money as they left the bar and went in search of some accommodations. "This adventuring thing's easier than I thought it would be," Angel commented to no one in particular. Spike scoffed.
"You didn't have to carry the bloody thing!"
As they left, none of them noticed the strange man at the bar just kind of vanish in the commotion.
The Mayor and his cabinet were quite tired by the time Drizzt explained the situation. For some reason he had decided that they needed to know the entire situation from the ancient history with the Crown Wars up until the past few weeks. Drizzt was quite thorough. Even Joyce, who really loved Drizzt like a son, was starting to nod off. The Scoobies had heard the practice run and all agreed that Drizzt could do it all by himself and he didn't need any support for themselves. At least, Buffy and Willow did. After being prodded away by two female elbows, a drooling and sleep addled Xander agreed.
The only person who was still listening intently was General Hennessey, who found the military side of the history fascinating. He was thinking in partial seriousness of having the young Drow write up the history and publish it after some additional research from alternate sources. Rise and Fall of the Menzoberranzan Empire had a nice ring to it.
"So, what you are saying is that your sister is planning on taking you back to Menzoberranzan," The Mayor summed up, trying to keep it along. Even a man with a hundred years of patience was starting to get tired of the long-winded story.
"Not exactly, I think she plans on restarting House Do'Urden," Drizzt said. "There are three of us left alive and she seems to have collected others. They aren't volunteers; they are slaves. As we are considered nobles, unless all three of us are killed, we have sufficient reason to confront House Baenre. If that happened, it would destabilize the way Menzoberranzan has run for thousands of years. Houses would join with ours just to rid themselves of Matron Baenre, but they would turn on House Do'Urden as soon as they could manage and turn on each other. The entire city would be shutdown in complete chaos."
"If that happened, who would win?" Hennessey asked. Drizzt thought about it for a long moment, considering everything he had been taught growing up in the culture and learned in the Academy.
"I'm not sure. Even with everything destabilized, Baenre has the most forces. She makes sure it stays that way. In a coalition, Oblodra would certainly join with Do'Urden, as would the 4th, 6th and 7th houses, if everything is the same as when I left (I doubt that very much)," Drizzt said. "The lower houses would join with the other houses that already hold their allegiances. The second house might well hold off until they decide who has won the battle and then sweep in. Other than that, it is hard to decide."
"From what I know, one thing is for sure, whatever comes out of it will be worse than what we have now," Drizzt finished. "With the destabilization of Menzoberranzan, we have all the other factions taking part; Ched Nasad would take advantage of it; as would the hundreds of orcish underdark hordes. Mind Flayers are always looking for new thralls and would be attracted to the chaos. They especially prize Drow for their nimbleness and would take many as thralls to care for their elder brains. It could potentially destabilize the entire region. After that it is only a matter of time before it spills out onto the surface."
"Do you really believe that?" Joyce Summers asked.
"Unless I'm missing something big, yes," Drizzt said.
The Mayor turned to look at Giles. "Mr. Giles, you met with Dinin Do'Urden, how did you view him?"
"I'm not a psychologist, but I got the distinct impression that he was telling the truth," Giles explained. "From what Drizzt has described, this must mean that he is either planning something or he has accepted the inevitable. Drizzt said that Dinin seemed on the verge of suicide. I agree with the others that he seems depressed. Putting him opposite the other Drizzt may have actually made things worse. That's not counting the psychological damage he might have incurred from Drizzt's actions. Which we will discuss later." This last part he directed to Drizzt who had the good taste to look ashamed for his actions.
"What it comes down to, we need to decide if we believe him," Hennessey said. "If we do, we might want to take some matters into our own hands. It might be prudent to keep them here as opposed to allowing them to return to Menzoberranzan."
"And do what with them? They haven't broken any laws in Sunnydale," Joyce argued. "We can't just ignore our laws just because we don't like them. Keeping them prisoner without just cause makes us just as bad as them."
This started a massive discussion, yelling match really, of various factions with their opinions on what to do on legal, safety and ethical grounds. The Mayor stopped it after a few minutes. "This isn't helping us at all. We need a plan. I want to meet this Dinin. Let me see for myself. All he's done so far is illegally cross our border, which is pretty undefined as it is. We might consider giving him asylum."
"Are you insane?" everyone turned to see Drizzt, who had stood up confused. "This is a guy who killed his own brother!"
"Drizzt," Joyce said hesitantly. "If he hadn't killed him, you wouldn't be alive today and probably neither would we."
There was a nervous moment of tension before Drizzt sat back down in his chair.
Ranma Saotome awakened to a sharp knock at his door. Glancing out the window, the sun was not really up so there was no good reason for anyone to be up that early even on a winter day like this. Grumbling, he sat up and realized his wife was already out of bed and probably in her study working on her next book. Glancing about, his children (who were known for being quite noisy in the morning, they took after their parents) were gone as well as his parents and Akane's father. Muttering something about poor choice of hours, he put on clothes and stumbled for the door.
Sliding the front door open he found himself face to face with the familiar figures of General James Hennessey, the Shaman of Ilneval and the damn Panda. The General held out a hand.
"Mr. Saotome? I General Hennessey am," the general said in imperfect Japanese. He was not using translation magic, but trying his best at the martial artist's native language. Ranma took his hand and shook it tentatively. "We something with you want discuss."
"Very well, do come in," Ranma said, motioning to the living room. He gave the Panda a glare as they all walked inside. Hennessey bowed slightly in thanks.
Hennessey leaned over and spoke to the Shaman. "It is customary in Japanese society to remove your shoes before entering," Hennessey said to the Shaman of Ilneval in English, touching the translation amulet to activate its power. The Shaman grumbled but took off his army boots.
"I was not aware that you spoke Japanese, General Hennessey," Ranma said in the same language.
"I in Vietnam also Japan was stationed," the large black man said. He pointed to his thigh. "For recovery 5 months there was. Three years after war stayed. My Japanese now poor. Not in many years use."
"It is much better than my English," Ranma said. He motioned them to sit at the table. The Panda pulled out a dish of egg rolls and a stack of bamboo. "Why are you here?"
"Orc discipline need. They teachers need," Hennessey said, still refusing to use the translation magic. "You good martial artist are. We you want for to orcs teach."
"They have been too long in the traditions of Grumsh," the Shaman put in, not afraid to use the translation magic. "Rage, anger, loss of control. They fight and raid, but never have enough to support them. They have no fields to harvest food. Their weapons are mostly stolen from raids. They are little more than wild boars running through the woods. They must be taught discipline and control. Only then can they understand strategies."
"Then why have you come to me," Ranma said with a shrug. "I am only a former teacher turned carpenter."
"Your mother not true say," Hennessey said. "Your mother more says. Mother best martial artist says."
"Ilneval teaches that overwhelming numbers will help, but that is useless without the discipline to use them," The Shaman said in a darkly serious tone. "General Hennessey tells me that martial arts can bring discipline, but that it must be taught by a master. The strange bear tells me that you are a master warrior after I give it food and bamboo. I doubt this because you are short and thin. You seem very weak and you do not have the feel of a warrior about you."
"Perhaps ten years ago that would have gotten a rise out of me," Ranma said, sending an almost imperceptible glare at the panda. "But I have matured. I am no longer the hot headed kid I used to be."
"This not the only problem is," said Hennessey. "Must all soldiers teach. Human, orc and demon must all together teach. Must Sunnydale into Sunnydale soldiers make."
"I am not a soldier and I will never be one," Ranma said. He gave the panda another glare. "I will do this on one condition."
"What is it?" The Shaman seemed a little too eager for his own good.
"I choose the entire program from start to finish," Ranma said firmly. "I teach them with everything I think is appropriate. I choose my assistants. There are no arguments. I choose who is trained and who should not be trained."
Vierna Do'Urden was not the best tactician. Nor was she even remotely good. She was, however, plenty smart enough to know she knew nothing about tactics. She knew she was not experienced in the ways of war and so, this time, she took Jarlaxle's advice and allowed him to plan the assault to capture Drizzt.
Secretly, the mercenary was opposed to the entire expedition, but he knew better than to oppose a priestess in Lloth's favor. In an obvious manner at least. He could manage a few tricks of his own, if it came down to it.
His decision was easy: let the cannon fodder go in first, then send in the mercenaries. This meant sending in the troops given by House Baenre with the priestess. For all that he looked down upon them, they were skilled forces of the First House. Weakness is not something you show in this world. But he had his suspicions that this would end badly. There were too many unknowns and too many variables to consider. Jarlaxle preferred to have a good chance at success. This was like playing with un-tampered dice.
So he presented a plan that had a chance of success if they still had surprise. The plan also kept his people out of harms way if things went bad. Which is, of course, exactly what Jarlaxle wanted in the first place. At least the trip was otherwise profitable.
TO THE READERS: Thanks for everyone who is reading this. It has been a pleasure and a chore all at the same time. I especially want to thank those readers who have brought their own comments and opinions, and I invite more to share. This is a story that can always get better with the help of more people, so any time you want to help pitch in with opinions, suggestions, tech and social considerations, please do. The more responses I get, the better I can make the story.
I'd also like to thank Richard L. for the brilliant discussion about a wide variety of things. Janessa Ravenwood has been indispensable as a reader and editor of this story and has suffered through much.
I want to send a shout out to the readers from all over the world. I think it's amazing that the web has brought so many together in such a way. Yeah, this is old news, but it's still awesome.