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A +6 In Dancing


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#1 Laufey

Posted 25 May 2003 - 04:19 PM

This one was written for the 'There is no Spawn' quiz, and the premise is: What would happen in the absense of the Bhaalspawn?



A +6 In Dancing

All this waiting about was getting extremely tedious. The wizard had tried to amuse himself with combing his long white beard out, and that had kept him occupied for a good five hours. It had also led to some amazing discoveries, such as a pair of frilly underpants left behind by a willing…well, mostly willing, Drow maiden with whom he had had a pleasant encounter in a hot tub after a few Lower Magic Resistance and a Dire Charm led to satisfying results. There had also been a couple of spare spell scrolls, some pipe tobacco that was hardly used at all, and best of all, lunch.

Lunch had come in the form of a tasty-looking bun that he vaguely recalled buying three months ago. By now there were interesting green things living inside of it, miniscule beings evolved from the mold as it mutated in the eldritch environment that was the wizard’s forest of beard. Only an hour ago, these beings had managed to evolve far enough to form a rich and complex culture, one dedicated to art and the bettering of the universe, preferably by mold sculpting. Truly generous and compassionate creatures, they looked forward to finally exploring the strange and hairy universe that lay beyond their own lands, and had indeed constructed a small rocket for that very purpose, one propelled by their main power source, which was mold. Or rather, they had looked forward to that, before they were unceremoniously plunged into the acid pit of the wizard’s iron clad stomach.

It was certainly lucky for the wizard that his goddess and former lover had granted him Special Protection Against Everything, or the bun might well have killed him. As it was, it only gave him a severe case of the runs. He had spent the next two hours communing more closely with nature in the form of a handy bush than even a druid normally would. Then, he had discovered why a druid wouldn’t have chosen to use the leaves of that particular bush for sanitary purposes. He had soon realized his mistake and used his handily available beard instead (the spots didn’t really make much difference among all the tobacco ones he reasoned), but the itch was still fierce. Very fierce. In fact, it made him move about constantly, in a jerky manner resembling an odd form of dance. At least I am an excellent dancer, he thought, a master in this as in everything. A +6 in Dancing, that’s not to be scoffed at, combined with my natural charm and 17 Cha. Now, if only that girl would hurry up and get here, so I can offer her some sage-like wise words, and then maybe dinner and a game of ‘Find The Wizard’s Staff’…

It was at this point that a black crow suddenly swooped down from the sky, circled the wizard’s tall and pointy hat and dropped a letter onto the ground. The crowed gave a caw that sounded suspiciously like a snicker, and then flew off, disappearing before the wizard had the time to properly disintegrate it for its lack of respect. Puffing on his long pipe he picked the letter up and read it, cursing quietly under his breath as he went along.

Hello, ‘Old Friend’, the letter started. When you read this, I will not be dead, and neither will my ward. I’m sure you’ll be genuinely shocked to hear this. Honestly, for somebody 2000 years old I would have expected something subtler, but I suppose your years have finally caught up with you. I suspected you from the start, you know, much as I would have liked not to.

It was all so very convenient, wasn’t it? You warning me about threatening danger, urging me to leave Candlekeep immediately with my ward in tow, departing into the wilderness with nobody along for protection. And how convenient that despite the urgency of his warning and stressing how important the matter was,, my ‘old friend’, my very powerful friend, who claims that ‘After knowing the love of the goddess Mystra, nothing awes him or leaves him much afraid’, should happen to be too busy to offer any assistance whatsoever and claim a ‘desire to remain neutral in this matter’. Equally convenient that there should just happen to be an ambush waiting for us along the very route you knew we would be likely to travel, on the very night when you had urged us to leave. Good thing I know my Invisibility spells. A scrying afterwards showed me your current location, where you are conveniently standing about, awaiting the arrival of my grieving ward, or possibly of our would-be ambushers.

I cannot help but wonder…did you want my ward dead because of her heritage? If you have decided that her blood makes her Evil, I can see it happening. Or did you perhaps mean to take charge of her yourself? You’ve seen her grow up and become a beautiful young woman, and in her grief upon my death she would be vulnerable and likely to turn to one offering her assistance. I don’t really want to believe it, but I know you too well not to suspect that you might offer more than a grandfatherly role. Did it ever occur to you that it’s pretty disgusting with a 2000 year old man chasing after young girls? Probably not. I know you own a Ring of Viagra, after all.

Or did you simply give in once too many times to your desire to meddle, to play with people’s lives as if they were toys for your amusement, to arrange the world as you would? Were you tempted to offer a few cryptic remarks now and then, never any substantial aid, treating my ward as a game piece rather than a person in her own right? She deserves better, and I will make certain she gets it.

Whatever the case, you have failed. We are currently in a safe place, both of us quite alive and well. I am certain young Sarevok is very disappointed that we never turned up, almost as disappointed as yourself. Still, I am sure you can explain everything to him when next you see him.

Your Ex-Friend, G.


“Oh, Mystra’s Massive Mammaries!” Elminster swore. “How didst thou manage to figure that one out, Gorion?”

What to do now? The Bhaalspawn girl was gone, robbing him of his entertainment. At his power level, mind games were far more amusing than anything else except of course for close physical contact with young females, and now he had missed the opportunity for both. Somehow, he didn’t quite feel like attempting the same plan with young Sarevok. Well, never mind. I’m immensely intelligent and wise, I will think of something.

Elminster walked back and forth for a while, puffing on his pipe, thinking. Then he had an idea, an excellent idea! He would do a scrying and see if he could find some other adventurers to entertain himself with, somebody in need of getting prodded in the right direction. Once the spell took hold, he was pleased to find he had been immediately successful. There was a very suitable group on a neighboring plane. A couple of human warriors…an elf…a dwarf…and some halflings. All of them male, unfortunately. However he was picking up a resonance, an echo of a very attractive female elf or two in their near future, and they seemed rudderless and in need of guidance. That would suit him excellently, and he would enjoy confounding them all with cryptic remarks. I shall call myself something highly devious and clever…Terminsel will do nicely. Smiling deep within his beard, he prepared to cast the spell.

“Hold it right there, upstart!” The enraged voice behind his back made Elminster turn around in surprise, to see somebody stepping out of a shimmering dimensional portal directly behind him. And not just any somebody either. This was a wizard, and the air around him was crackling with raw power. The stranger was tall, with long gray hair and beard that closely resembled Elminster’s own, though they were much cleaner, and with bushy gray eyebrows, currently drawn together in terrible anger. He was clad in gray robes too, and he had a tall and very pointy gray hat on his head. Insolence! That hat is pointier than mine! There was a magical staff too, yes, and a powerful one. The strange wizard’s eyes were glittering dangerously as he glared at Elminster, much as somebody might look at half a worm found inside the apple they’re currently eating.

“Ho there, wanderer!” Elminster said, lapsing into his prepared ‘Greet The Bhaalspawn Chick’ speech. “Stay thy course a moment to indulge an old man…” Ah, I am such a consummate actor…

“That will be quite enough!” the stranger snarled. “I have had quite enough of you, usurper!”

“I fear I do not understand thy words,” Elminster said, slowly reaching for his spell components while he tried to distract his opponent’s attention by blowing beautiful smoke rings with his pipe. “Thou certainly cannot be familiar with my name, or thou wouldst choose thy words more carefully.” A newt. That dost seem fitting. Or perhaps a sparrow? Must strike first, before he… Then the old wizard’s eyes widened in surprise. The stranger had taken out a pipe of his own, a plain-looking one the wasn’t even ever-smoking, and had calmly lit it. And now…now he puffed on it, and a small cloud of smoke formed a dangerously snarling miniature dragon, one that neatly bit Elminster’s smoke ring in two and belched loudly before evaporating.

“I care not for your name,” the stranger coldly stated. “But you ought to be familiar with mine. I have many, but at least one you have certainly heard. My name is Gandalf the Grey, and you are an overrated copycat.” He pointed an accusing finger at Elminster. “Pointy hat. Long beard. Pipe. Wandering wizard. You sir, are stealing my character concept, and worse, you are butchering it! I may be a Power, but at least I know I have some limits! I was once chased up into a tree by wolves, if I get cut I bleed, and I don’t have all those fancy ‘immunities’ either, useful as the ‘fire’ one would be against a balrog. Some of us have to make do with skill.” He held up a long scroll, and read from it, his voice ironic. “Str 13. Dex 18…do you do somersaults as well? Con 24…I knew there had to be some reason that goddess of yours appreciated you, it certainly cannot be that appalling beard. Int 24 and Wis 18…very modest, I’m supposed you didn’t go for 25 in both. And Char 17, something I quite frankly find totally unbelievable. And let’s not even get into all these ‘feats’ things.”

“Speaking of somersaults,” Elminster said, “I do have Tumble +5, actually. And Dancing +6, I’m an excellent dancer. And I can craft wondrous artifacts, and ride a horse, and swim, and have immense knowledge of all of Toril, and I can do sneak attacks and fight with a sword, and turn undead, and I have lots of bonus spells and have a heart of gold…”

“And you were the lover of a goddess. And any woman you meet automatically falls for you. And you’re very modest. I know.” Gandalf sighed wearily. “Don’t bother to list them all, the part about your ‘eyes like the evening star’ almost made me lose my lunch. The point is, your ridiculously exaggerated act is making all pointy-hatted wizards look foolish, and me especially, since you are basically a bad clone of me. But this is the final straw! Not satisfied with mocking me from a distance, you dare think to muscle in on Middle Earth, meddling with the Fellowship! That I will not allow! You get one chance, and one chance only.” The grey-clad wizard’s eyes narrowed dangerously beneath the wide brim of his pointy hat, and he gripped his staff firmly. “Back off.”

“I will not,” Elminster replied, raising his own staff. “They could certainly benefit from my sage-like wisdom, especially those enchanting elves…thou art an old has-been, and thou wilt not keep me from going where I please and meddling with whom I wish.” He eyed the portal greedily and took a step forward, prepared for his foe to cast some devastating spell at him. Ha! My protections are impenetrable! No foe on Toril could possibly touch me, as it should be. I’m immune to any spell he cold possibly hope to throw at me, to fire, cold, acid, poison, anything really. YEEEHAAA, I AM INVINCIBLE!

Gandalf suddenly seemed to grow taller, and even more grim than before. “You cannot pass,” he said. “I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the Flame of Anor. Your Munchkin Magics will not avail you, Gigolo of Mystra. Go back to the Shadow that spawned you! YOU CANNOT PASS!”

“THOU WILT NOT KEEP ME FROM THE LUSTY ELVES, WEAKLING! I AM INVINCIBLE! DO NOT PUSH ME OR I WILL TURN THEE INTO A COCKROACH AND STEP ON THEE!”

The crunch was sickening to hear, and the pain in the middle of his face was atrocious. It was suddenly difficult to breathe too, and something hot was running down his face. Gandalf’s voice seemed to come from very far away, possibly due to Elminster suddenly being on his back on the ground. “Elminster…” it said. “Your nose is broken.”

“By dose! Thou didst break by dose! By pretty dose…”

“I think by now,” Gandalf said, “everybody should know just who has the pointiest hat around these parts. But perhaps we should make your day even more memorable, in case you were thinking of retaliating.” He made a curious twisting gesture with his hand. “This is a De-Munchkinizing Spell. It will wear off in 24 hours,” he said. “Up until then, you are an ordinary mortal wizard, one with no special abilities, and one with a broken nose at that. You should find that spellcasting is impossible if you cannot pronounce the words properly. And that includes calling upon divine intervention, if you didn’t know. Have a nice day…and good bye, fool.” He nodded in satisfaction, then stepped through the portal and disappeared.

Elminster lay immobile for a short while, trying to get the hang of breathing through his mouth. Eventually he staggered to his feet, to find that Gandalf had been correct. It was impossible to cast spells with a broken nose, even for him. At least the bleeding had stopped, after he stuffed a few strands of errant beard into his nostrils.

At least things cannot get worse now. Then Elminster heard a sound right behind him. It was a fairly quiet sound, but under the circumstances it was an extremely worrying one. It was the quietly hissing sound of a sword being drawn from a scabbard. Slowly, very slowly, he turned around to see a large man in spiky armor glaring down at him, golden eyes blazing with hellish light.

“Hello, old man,” Sarevok’s deep voice rumbled. “I have been looking all over for you, ever since my sister failed to turn up last night. I waited all night, in the rain. Do you have any idea how much work it will be to get the rust out of this armor? No? Well, allow me to explain it to you…at length.” The sword, Elminster noticed, was a very large one. And at the moment, when his skin was quite vulnerable to it, it also seemed extremely sharp.

“But…thou dost dot udderstadd…” His nose really hurt fiendishly. And that itch was still making him shift about uncontrollably.

“ENOUGH! I do not trust you, mage. Did you plan to set a trap for me, perhaps? Catch me between two fires? You will not get the chance to do so, for Sarevok is not one to trust a traitor twice. Your head will decorate my blade before you get the chance to fool me again! NOW FACE ME! FACE THE NEW LORD OF MURDER! AND STOP THAT INFERNAL DANCING ABOUT BEFORE I CLEAVE YOU IN TWO!”

There wasn’t really much time to consider his options, but he had to do something. Any spell he tried might well go awry, but combat would be no use, and his robes would keep him from running. But I have Spellcraft +29! I can do this, I know I can! Now let’s turn this young pup into something really humiliating and keep him thus indefinitely. Nobody attacks Elminster and gets away with it! It says so, right in the manual! I’m Mystra’s Boyfriend, so there! And an excellent dancer too!

The spell almost worked. Almost. However, Elminster’s clogged nose made its focus shift, in a most devastating manner. He squeaked with surprise as he felt fur erupting all over his suddenly small body, his tail grow long and bushy and his teeth elongate. Sarevok stared in bewilderment as the transformed wizard hastily disappeared up a tree like a furry red bolt of lightning. Whoever would have thought that a simple ‘Polymorph Foe’ could go so wrong? I’m a squirrel! A SQUIRREL! Is that a fitting fate for an Archmage? I’m supposed to dispense Poetic Justice, not sit around combing my tail! And I don’t even have a beard anymore! Has Mystra taken her favor from me completely? Has she been usurped by Evil Powers? Though some of those Evil Ladies are fairly attractive, even if you have to kill them afterwards… Well, at least I make a magnificent squirrel, and I do have Climb +5 and Balance +6 after all. I can hold out until the spell wears off.

He had climbed to the top of the tree by now, where he reckoned he would be quite safe from Sarevok. It shouldn’t be possible to climb trees in that armor. Ha! I may be a squirrel, but I AM STILL INVINCIBLE! NOBODY CAN TOUCH ELMINSTER! NOBODY! I’M SAFE! I’M…

A sudden shadow blotted out the sun, and there was an impression of wide wings, cruel eyes and claws. Very, very, very sharp claws. Very sharp claws belonging to a very hungry eagle, one that had never bothered with rules about which squirrels it shouldn’t eat due to them being Chosen Squirrels of Mystra.

Oh…nuts. But wait! I have Handle Animal +7, don’t I? Ho there! Eagle! Hold a moment and indulge an old…squirrel…oh. I forgot that I can’t speak…ohshitohshitohshit! THE EAGLE! THE EAGLE IS COMING!

A brief, short squeak later the eagle gulped down its dinner. It had been filling, if a bit stringy. Then the bird took off, sailing triumphantly by on broad wings, high above the woods and fields of the Sword Coast, back and forth. For some reason, it had a sudden, inexplicable urge to go dancing.

On the ground, Sarevok watched the bird go, smiling deep within his concealing helmet. Perhaps this past day hadn’t been entirely a waste of time after all…even if his sister never showed.
Rogues do it from behind.




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