Author's note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed this fic. It's my first,
so I feel rather proud that my first story got some good reviews. Don't
worry, more fun is ahead for our oh-so-not-stereotypical group in the
forthcoming chapters. Now, on with the show!
The Solution
"But what by Clanggedon's axe are ye sayin'?"
Rootnik was rather confused by Neltharion's proposal.
"I'm saying that we need to advertise. Do you think that the Knights of Myth Drannor got anywhere by sitting around on their fat hind parts and praying for Tymora's fortune to deliver them jobs? No, they went out and looked for work," the mage said. "I mean, we've plundered a few dragon hordes, defeated patrols of drow, and banished demons back to the Lower Planes, but have we really done anything of real significance to the whole Realms? Look at that famous hiresword, Alias. She banished the dark god Moander back to the stinking Abyss! A god, you thick-skulled bearded gnome!"
"There's no need for ye to be gettin' insulting," pouted the warrior.
"Anyway," the cleric interjected, "how are we going to actually *find* advertising space?"
"Already taken care of," replied the wizard. "I've developed a spell that will locate primo ad space in no time."
He began chanting, summoning power from the mystic force known as Mystra's Weave. It was the force which provided the power for magical spells. Spellcasters drew power from the Weave and used their words, gestures, and materials to shape that energy to their whims. The energies which Neltharion was shaping at this moment were not particularly powerful, so he was able to control them without any trouble at all. In a few moments, he was done.
"The space we want is.that way!" he said, pointing.
"How are we supposed to find it with possibly several buildings in the way?" grumbled Tabitha. "We could be running into solid stone for several miles until we find this so-called 'primo advertising space', o wise and all-knowing one."
"Shut yer face," Rootnik retorted. "If the mage says it's thataway, I'll follow him.
"Let's go," said the mage.
The group ran through the hallways, with many a fierce oath shouted at them as they passed the other rooms. Rootnik paused to order ten mugs of ale on the way down, but otherwise there were no problems. Finally, they arrived at.
"A stinkin' barn?" questioned the dwarf.
"It's perfect!" said the mage. "We can post our magical advertisement here, and we'll have callers on the mirror in no time." He began chanting again, and the mystic symbols he drew on the barn formed themselves into letters reading 'Need a psychotic band of adventurers who'll risk their lives and very souls for some cold hard cash and ale? Then call 555-5555 on the Magic Mirror Network. Ask for Neltharion.'
"Well, well, well, what have we here?"
Author's note: Yeah, I know it's a cliché, but I couldn't resist making my readers squirm until the next chapter. I know I'm crueler than a sadistic drow, but it's rather fun, so deal with it.
The Solution
"But what by Clanggedon's axe are ye sayin'?"
Rootnik was rather confused by Neltharion's proposal.
"I'm saying that we need to advertise. Do you think that the Knights of Myth Drannor got anywhere by sitting around on their fat hind parts and praying for Tymora's fortune to deliver them jobs? No, they went out and looked for work," the mage said. "I mean, we've plundered a few dragon hordes, defeated patrols of drow, and banished demons back to the Lower Planes, but have we really done anything of real significance to the whole Realms? Look at that famous hiresword, Alias. She banished the dark god Moander back to the stinking Abyss! A god, you thick-skulled bearded gnome!"
"There's no need for ye to be gettin' insulting," pouted the warrior.
"Anyway," the cleric interjected, "how are we going to actually *find* advertising space?"
"Already taken care of," replied the wizard. "I've developed a spell that will locate primo ad space in no time."
He began chanting, summoning power from the mystic force known as Mystra's Weave. It was the force which provided the power for magical spells. Spellcasters drew power from the Weave and used their words, gestures, and materials to shape that energy to their whims. The energies which Neltharion was shaping at this moment were not particularly powerful, so he was able to control them without any trouble at all. In a few moments, he was done.
"The space we want is.that way!" he said, pointing.
"How are we supposed to find it with possibly several buildings in the way?" grumbled Tabitha. "We could be running into solid stone for several miles until we find this so-called 'primo advertising space', o wise and all-knowing one."
"Shut yer face," Rootnik retorted. "If the mage says it's thataway, I'll follow him.
"Let's go," said the mage.
The group ran through the hallways, with many a fierce oath shouted at them as they passed the other rooms. Rootnik paused to order ten mugs of ale on the way down, but otherwise there were no problems. Finally, they arrived at.
"A stinkin' barn?" questioned the dwarf.
"It's perfect!" said the mage. "We can post our magical advertisement here, and we'll have callers on the mirror in no time." He began chanting again, and the mystic symbols he drew on the barn formed themselves into letters reading 'Need a psychotic band of adventurers who'll risk their lives and very souls for some cold hard cash and ale? Then call 555-5555 on the Magic Mirror Network. Ask for Neltharion.'
"Well, well, well, what have we here?"
Author's note: Yeah, I know it's a cliché, but I couldn't resist making my readers squirm until the next chapter. I know I'm crueler than a sadistic drow, but it's rather fun, so deal with it.