Chapter 4: Attack of the Plotholes

"What in the name of the gods is that!?"

Tanis drew his sword, backing away slowly. Laurana drew her blade as well and joined him, tensing for battle. Sturm contemplated his empty scabbard glumly. His son, Steel, had his sword, making him defenseless. Why did the author have to put Steel in the story just when Sturm really needed his sword? The knight sighed regretfully.

Caramon drew several blades and tossed one to Sturm. "What should we do, Tanis? What is that thing?"

"I don't know…maybe it's some—some demon from the Abyss!" the half-elf cried, holding his blade steady.

Dalamar rolled his eyes. "Of course it's not a demon from the Abyss. Don't you see what's going on here? It's a plothole."

The companions were silent. They had no idea what Dalamar was talking about. The dark elf rubbed his temples. This day just kept getting worse…

"Don't you understand yet? We've created plotholes—lots of them. Until we can resolve this and restore the timeline, they'll keep attacking us. And put away your swords—we can't kill them, we can only rewrite them out of existence."

Laurana nodded decisively, her days as the Golden General coming back to her. Or coming ahead to her. Whatever.

"We don't have time to figure out what caused this particular plothole—let's run!"

They ran for their lives, seeing more plotholes rising all around them. Countless eyes trailed after them, coming ever closer...

Incomprehensible. Inexorable. Unstoppable.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Wow, what's that thing?" Tas said cheerfully, studying the plothole. The creature ignored him, turning instead to Gerard. Gerard backed away nervously; he didn't like the look of this creature.

Raistlin watched it coolly. 'It's a plothole…and it's here for us. Well, everyone but the kender, at least."

Flint snorted. "Just typical! This is probably the kender's fault in the first place, and now it doesn't even notice him!" He drew his well-worn battle ax, ready to defend the group.

Tas crossed his arms, pouting. "Everyone but me? That's not fair! I want to go too, Raistlin! Why can't I?"

Raistlin rolled his eyes, trying to block out the high-pitched voice. "It doesn't want you because you are a plothole—every time you enter a story, the entire thing changes. And the author likes you the best, so nothing tries to hurt you. Unfortunately, the rest of us aren't so lucky…"

The plothole turned from Gerard to Raistlin. The Sheriff grabbed the mage and pulled him back, heading for the door. "Come on, all of you—let's get out of here!"

Suddenly, however, Gerard's character became dull. He vanished in a puff of smoke, only to be replaced by Lady Crysania, who looked around in shock and was actually able to see, much to her chagrin.

"Well this is awkward," Raistlin muttered.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Meanwhile, the Large Group of Extra Characters watched in shock as Lady Crysania disappeared, only to be replaced by Gerard, who swore vividly when he saw that here, too, he was faced by one of the plothole creatures. He drew his sword with a sigh of resignation.

"This day just keeps getting stranger," Palin said, shaking his head. "And I STILL can't find my staff!"

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tanis, Laurana, Sturm, Caramon, and Dalamar kept running, but the plotholes were gaining. Unlike the companions, they had no need to rest; they could destroy plots for all eternity if they so desired…

"You know," Tanis said, panting, "I have…a terrible…feeling of foreboding…about all this…"

"What are you talking about?" said Dalamar. "Foreboding is for future events. This is already going wrong."

"Er…that is…shut up, dark elf!"

Laurana winced. "Tanis…I love you, but that was a pretty bad comeback…"

"Where are we going?" said Caramon, tongue lolling as he ran for his life.

"…there!" said Sturm. "There's the Inn—we can barricade the door while we try to rewrite the story!"

They summoned the last dregs of their strength and put on a burst of speed for the final sprint. They were yards from the Inn door…now feet…now…

"Arrrgh!"

"No—Caramon!"

The plotholes had caught up to Caramon and sunk their claws into him! He was paralyzed, helpless to escape their clutches.

"You are inconsistent. You must be eliminated."

Tanis drew his sword and forced himself to turn back. "Let him go!"

"No, half-elf—you sword is useless! If you want to save him, we must rewrite!"

Tanis stood with his head bowed, then nodded. As much as he hated to admit it, Dalamar was right. There was only one way…the dreaded EDITING!

They dashed into the Inn and bolted the door. Then, they dragged over the huge oak table at which the companions had first met Fizban (oh how Tanis rued that day) and shoved it against the door.

"There—that should hold them for a while. Now..."

Tanis paused, at a lost. Where would they start? How could they possibly fix a story so convoluted? "…is there a way to rewrite this story without plotholes?"
Sturm, Laurana, and Dalamar looked at each other for a long moment. They mutely shook their heads. Tanis sighed the sigh of a man in Fearless Leader Mode, leading a hopeless cause.

"Does anyone have paper and pencil?"

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Oh, boy—Crysania's here! And she can see! How wonderful!" Tas beamed delightedly at the cleric.

"You doorknob—we're about the die!" roared Flint, yanking his beard in frustration. How could they possibly fight a—a plothole?

Crysania looked around at them all, saw dead Flint and Tas, red-robed Raistlin, Gerard's time-shifted jail, and the plothole. She swallowed hard.

"Quickly—we must run, before the plothole destroys us all!"

Raistlin shook himself—he was not embarrassed! Raistlin Majere did not know the meaning of the word embarrassed! In a figurative sense, at least. He was a genius, he reminded himself, and therefore knew and understood a vast store of vocabulary. Of course.

Crysania cleared her throat impatiently, and Raistlin shook himself. Ah, yes—the plothole.

"Everyone, come close to me—now!"

They did so, too afraid to protest. Raistlin muttered a few incomprehensible words and made a powerful gesture. The four companions vanished, and the plothole was left staring into empty air in confusion.

They reappeared inside the (currently empty) Tomb of the Last Heroes. Except the heroes who were supposed to rest inside it weren't there yet. So now it was just a big, empty stone box. A box that could be defended extremely easily, even by four people. A box with thick, nearly impenetrable marble walls.

Raistlin smiled a crafty smile. Perfect.

"Now…let's start rewriting. We must eliminate the plotholes or perish."

Tas sighed sadly. Just when things had been looking interesting…

"At least Flint is here. And Raistlin is always pretty interesting to be around. Maybe he'll magic me into a duckpond again!"

The four huddled together in the darkened tomb as Raistlin pulled out sheets of parchment…

-o-o-o-o-o-

"What do we do!?" shouted Usha in fear. "That—thing—will kill us!"

Plain pulled Usha behind him, readying the few simple spells he knew. "Don't worry, Usha…we'll be all right…" He could barely keep his voice from shaking.

Steel snorted derisively. "'We'll be all right?' I think not, Majere. But we will die gloriously!" He drew his sword with a wild battle cry.

Tika rolled her eyes at the pair of them and promptly smacked both of them upside the head. "Don't be stupid—what will swords do to those monsters? They're magic, or from the Abyss, or something!"

Goldmoon closed her eyes, thinking hard. "…we must rewrite. We must eliminate the plotholes by rewriting them out of existence!"

"And how exactly are we supposed to do that!?" shouted Palin, watching the menacing creatures approach.

"Let's hide in that large, conveniently placed cave there—I can seal the mouth with an avalanche like the one I used in Dragons of Winter Night," suggested Gilthanis.

"Oh no—that cave is another plothole in and of itself! It'll produce more monsters!" shouted Elistan in despair.

"Inside it?" Goldmoon said dryly.

"Er…"

"Inside it is, then."

Once the entrance was sealed, they settled down to remake some history…

-o-o-o-o-o-

"It is too late for this story…we, the plotholes, shall eliminate this travesty…"

The leader of the plotholes surveyed his campaign map. Soon…soon, it would end. They would all pay for their hideous plot!

"Muahahaha….MUAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!"

"Um…sir?"

"What is it?" the leader of the plotholes snapped. "Can't you see I'm engaging in maniacal laughter?"

"I believe that's a cliché, sir. As plotholes, shouldn't we not…?"

"We stop plotholes, general. Not clichés."

"…oh. Right. In that case…mind if I join you?"

"Not at all, general…not at all."

And so the night passed, ringing with the sounds of scratching quills and maniacal, if cliché, laughter.