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Message-ID: <43558asstr$1059127807@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Russell Hoisington" <hoisingr@hushmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Forgotten Helms 01: Picnic 01/01 {Hoisington} (MF cons pett nosex ScFi humor)
Date: Fri, 25 Jul 2003 06:10:07 -0400
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                    THE FORGOTTEN HELMS SAGAS
                              PICNIC

                        Russell Hoisington

- -----------------------------------------------------------------

This is an erotic fantasy.  The characters and the situation are
purely imaginary (they're not even human), and this story is
**NOT** intended to be a guide for actual behavior.  Any
similarities between this story and actual people or actual
events that you should be ashamed of are purely coincidental.  If
it is illegal in your part of the world to access and read erotic
fiction, or if you are underage, or if you don't like sex stories
with dwarves and halflings, or if you don't like stories with
violence directed to marauding gnolls, then you should stop now.

This story is copyright 2003 by Russell Hoisington.  Please do
not remove the author information or make any changes to this
story.  You may post freely to non-commercial (free) sites, or in
the "free" area of commercial sites. Thank you for your
consideration.

- -----------------------------------------------------------------

     It began on a warm spring day in the Halfling town of
Greybeard, located at the southwestern end of the Forest of
Trees, which is the unimaginative, redundant type of name one
would expect from a bunch of short, undersized midgets.  Gryphon
Lehrer, ostensible second-in-command of Anton Burger's Knights of
the Merkin, stood guard over the picnic basket and bulging
wineskin poised atop the stoop railing at the now-closed door to
the house.  Inside, Miss Robyn Teatmounds and her father
discussed his date with her.  Although the sensitivity of dwarven
ears is no match to elvish ears, he had no trouble following the
conversation since it was being held at full volume by both
parties, and anyone who knows half of anything about halflings
knows that half the town was therefore privy to THAT
conversation.  It seems the good Mister Humper Teatmounds did NOT
want his ONLY daughter going to a woodland PICNIC, especially one
at NIXIE SPRING GLADE, and MOST especially with a stranger HIS
age, given HER age, and especially NOT with a battle-scarred
dwarf ARMED to the TEETH!

     When he heard that, Gryphon removed the steel combat fangs
from his mouth and stowed them in a belt pouch between his axe
and his long sword.  He probably wouldn't need them anyway since
they weren't going to be THAT close to Snapping Turtle Swamp of
Gamera.  Just as he wouldn't need his mail shirt which was too
heavy to wear over his healing but still-tender wounds and was
with the other Knights of the Merkin in the Greybeard Inn.

     He smoothed his black beard and mustache and decided to
pretend he'd heard nothing when they emerged.  He began picking
bits of dirt, leaves, and dried blood flakes off his mace and
dagger handles and his arrow quiver, dropping them on the
spotless white stoop.

     The door flew open.  Miss Robyn was red with fury, from the
top of her brow, where the red of her face made a nice contrast
with that of her hair, down to the exposed tops of the
creamy-smooth orbs that personified her family name.  Those
succulent globes were the second thing that drew Gryphon's
attention to her at the Greybeard Inn.  The first was the way in
which she was winning a sausage-eating contest:  shoving them
whole down her throat.  It was love at first sight.

     "Time to go," she said, snatching the basket off the railing
and storming down the two steps to the pavestone walk leading to
the street.  When the good Mister Humper Teatmounds  blustered
into the doorway, thundering like a summer storm in the Beyond
Reach, and started to threaten Gryphon, she whirled and said,
"Not a WORD to him or I'll tell Mother about you-know-what!  I
MEAN it!"

     The good Mister Humper threw up his hands, turned, and
slammed the door from the inside.

     In a whirl of long blue skirts that were patterned with tiny
multicolored flowers Miss Robyn turned on a pavestone and glared
up at the dwarf rooted to the stoop.  "WELL?"

     The dwarf spread his hands and ducked his head in a shrug.
"I'm coming."

     Miss Robyn glared at the door and whispered, "Not yet.  But
you will be."  They were almost out of the town before she calmed
down and Gryphon decided maybe it wasn't a mistake after all.  By
the time they reached the Greybeard Inn on the southwestern edge
of town she was clinging to his arm and making big, soft, green
eyes at him, breathing deeply.  Her white linen top was cut so
low and drawn so tight across the front of her bounteous bosoms
that they threatened to pop out with each inhale.  Gryphon
offered sincere-at-the-moment promises to several miscellaneous
gods that they would, but not before they were out of sight from
town.

     A low whistle caught his ears.  He reluctantly removed his
eyes from her bosom and glanced up to find the source.  It was
the party's thief/magician, Mistress Darra Ravenclaw, violet eyes
sparkling in a second-story window of the Inn.  She made a
"naughty-naughty" sign to him.  He reached back as if to scratch
his neck and made THE Naughty Sign to her.  Darra laughed and
stepped back, her midnight blue-black, second-skin leather suit
disappearing in the gloom of the interior.

     "Your father seems upset with our picnic," said Gryphon,
returning his ears to Miss Robyn's words and his eyes to what
Parquierre, the party's mage, called her "bosomic affectations."
She was a cute little thing, and "little" was the primary
requirement.  The dwarf refused to have anything to do with
females larger than he was   not counting, of course, the times
Mistress Darra had mercy fucked him, or the time Mistress
Jeanette gave him head in order to save him from death at the
hands of Gonad the Barbarian.  Not that Gryphon considered the
latter to be sex, of course.

      After "my size or shorter," Gryphon's requirements were
"younger than me," which is impossible to determine when
comparing dwarves with elves or halflings or humans since they
have different lifespans and maturation ages, "reasonably
attractive," and he could be very flexible on what was
reasonable, and "buxom," again a flexible requirement.

     Miss Robyn was four inches shorter and definitely younger
than Gryphon, both in actual and in relative-lifespan years,
though she was obviously past puberty   at whatever age that was
for a halfling maiden.  "Attractive" required no flexibility for
Miss Robyn.  She was round-faced, bright-eyed, apple-cheeked, and
pretty as a fox kit.  She had a charming, easy-going laugh when
she wasn't screaming at her father.  And I've already mentioned
her bountiful bosomic affectations.

     Oh.  Uh, yes, I am Parquierre, and no, I wasn't there.  But
I am the official historian for the Knights of the Merkin.  This
story has been pieced together from events related to me by the
parties involved and by the use of a special Divination spell
known only to me.  If you are also a mage, I regret that I cannot
share it with you.

     Miss Robyn sighed heavily and kicked at a small stone as she
shifted the picnic basket's handle from her left hand to the
crook of the elbow.  "He wants that I will marry Rupert
Goldthrift, the banker's son, who will own his father's business
in a few years" she said in a high, sing-song voice as delicate
as butterfly wings.  "He talked Rupert into proposing to me."

     Gryphon hesitated.  He didn't mind a romantic assignation
with the halfling's lad's fianc,e, but if he had to kill the
fellow in a duel of honor afterward, it might ruin his chances of
enjoying Miss Robyn's charms the next time he visited this town.
"And what did you say."

     Miss Robyn glared ahead, the color returning to her cheeks,
neck, and ample mammic charms in a rush of anger.  "I was
cross-stitching in our parlor one afternoon when Rupert called.
Father ushered him in and closed the door on his way out.  Rupert
dropped to one knee in front of me.  I told him that I was
wearing hard, pointed-toe shoes under my long dress and that if
he asked what I thought he was about to ask, I'd take one kick
and ruin my father's desire for grandchildren.  He was so
flustered that he forgot we Halflings don't wear shoes, but he
did see the wisdom in my position and remembered something he'd
left unfinished at the bank."

     Gryphon laughed, quenching the fire of anger in Miss Robyn's
face.  She smiled at the dwarf and held up her right hand with
her thumb and index fingertips a couple of inches apart.  "This
is all that nixie-dick has when he's ready for action," she said
with a demure giggle.  "I'd probably have to kick twice to find
it."

     They had reached the fork in the road just beyond the edge
of town.  Miss Robyn slid her arm under the unstrung bow slung
across Gryphon's back, around his side and waist, and pulled,
guiding him to the left fork, which was the winding path he'd
intended to take.  He said nothing, not even a scream when pain
stabbed through the knitting rib, because he didn't want to give
Miss Robyn an excuse to move away.  Gryphon already knew that the
right fork led to nothing as idyllic sounding as Nixie Spring
Glade.  It was the way by which we had entered the town, having
carved our way through rogue bands of marauding gnolls as we
crossed Snapping Turtle Swamp of Gamera.

     "So tell me about this Nixie Spring Glade," Gryphon said.

     "Nixie Spring Glade?  Oh, it's a NICE place.  Many couples
go there."  She placed light emphasis on "couples" and batted her
lovely eyes at the armed dwarf, causing him to begin the
assemblage of a different weapon inside his breeks.  "It's a
magic place around The Fount of Love.  Nixies gathered there for
celebrations HUNDREDS of years before we halflings moved into the
area.  They left after losing the War of Harmonic Succession,
whatever THAT was."  She sighed and shook her head.  "There's
always some war or another going on all the time out here, and I
don't see how anyone can keep track of them."

     Gryphon's eyes brightened.  "The Fount of Love?  What's
that?"

     Miss Robyn glanced over her shoulder.  The trees now
screened them from the town.  She smiled, and a thrill fluttered
down through her body and settled in the moist, overheated
juncture of her thighs.  She inhaled as deeply as she could, and
her top slid down over the forward slope of those high, firm
extrusions of feminine delight.

     And caught on her erect nipples.  She glanced down.  A faint
sound from back of her throat was venting frustration. Her head
rose, but the dwarf's didn't. The tip of his tongue was barely
protruding from the corner of his mouth.  A faint sound from the
back of his throat was less frustration and more longing.  A
second faint sound from the back of her throat was less
frustration and more triumph.

     "The Fount of Love is a rejuvenating fountain.  It gets rid
of those nasty old tired feelings and invigorates you with fresh
strength and endurance so that you can continue anything you were
doing," she said, her sing-song voice putting slight emphasis on
"anything" while the arm around his waist slipped and her hand
slowly fingercrawled down his belly.  "It works so quickly and is
so powerful that just one sip is enough to keep you going for two
or three hours, and after that, all you need is another sip!"

     Gryphon's throat allowed another fugitive moan of longing to
escape.  Miss Robyn's hand continued its slow descent, and her
fingers began a walking motion, as if they were pulling her palm
down his belly in its slow slide.  Another moan of longing, this
almost a whimper.

     The halfling maiden giggled and continued.  "In the long
ago, before the elves left the Short Coast, someone carved an
enchanted statue of a dryad from a massive block of stone and
placed it over the small spring that bubbled up from the ground.
It's a actually just a common spring.  The water is enchanted by
the statue.  The water loses its effect as soon as it touches the
ground, so you have to catch it in the air.  And the statue's
magic also creates a grassy circle with no trees for about twenty
paces around it."

     The dwarf's eyes remained locked on the two dark-pink
half-moons rising above the horizon of her top.  "Uh   a dryad?
And   and it keeps the trees BACK?"

     "Yes," she said, inhaling deeply, but again with no success.
"Old Master Fundus   he's Greybeard's resident loremaster and
sage   thinks it was intended as either a cruel joke or an insult
to the dryads.  But the trees are much thicker than this around
the edge of the circle."  She waved a hand to indicate the trees
crowded along the meandering path, but Gryphon's eyes didn't move
from the top still held in place by her erect nipples.  "They
form sancta   well, a sanctum is sort of like a private tavern
booth.  Two COUPLES," again spoken with a slight emphasis, "can
be in sancta ten feet apart and not know anyone else is around."

     "And   uh...."

     His question went unasked.  Miss Robyn yelped and jumped
aside, yanking back her arm in a manner that caused the bow to
strike him sharply in the back of his skull.   Well, Mistress
Darra had warned him to wear his helmet, but he thought she'd
meant the one for his other head.

     "GODDAMNIT!" she screamed, looking at the trickle of blood
oozing from her wrist.  "Don't you have a sheath or something for
that fucking thing?"

     Startled, Gryphon looked down at his weapons belt.  A hint
of red coated a small part of the upper forward edge of his axe.
Lucille, which was the name of the axe, had come with a blade
guard, but he'd never used it because he didn't want to be slowed
down in combat.  Plus he thought it wouldn't be appropriate to
restrain her.  In combat he and Lucille, a gift from the Beebe
King, made beautiful music together and the guard would be as a
mute to her voice.  But for a piece of tasty halfling maiden and
the wineskin she carried, Gryphon was willing to strike Lucille
dumb.

     "Uh, yes.  I do.  Just a moment.  Uh, would you like me to
bandage that for you?"

     As he wrestled the obstinate leather guard into place, Miss
Robyn calmed down and assessed her situation.  It was barely a
scratch but was still oozing.  "Mould your adversities into
opportunities" was a halfling proverb she understood.  She
unhooked the edge of her top from her nipples and let the cloth
pull back along the underside of her firm, outthrust opalescent
orbs until it was against her ribcage.  She held her injured
wrist in front of those delightful delicacies and said in her
sweet sing-song, "Yes, please.  If you don't mind."

     The dwarf wasn't looking.  The blade guard landed at his
feet and the axe blade rose above his shoulder.  Without looking
back he signalled with his left hand for her to stay as he crept
slowly forward, his eyes scanning back and forth along the trees
to their right before vanishing into them.

     Miss Robyn gawked in wide-eyed frustration.  Never before
had she been left her standing in the middle of the trail with
her hot, milky-smooth orbs cooling in the breeze.  Frustration
began to turn to anger when the dwarf finally reappeared as
silently as an arriving ghost backing out of the trees.  He
picked up the blade guard and turned to say something but was
struck silent by the hot, pink cones pointed at him.

     Gryphon swallowed three times before he could say, "Uh   I
thought I heard leather armor creaking and metal clanking the
uh   way it does on gnolls.  Uh   I'll bandage your wrist now."

     Knights of the Merkin are never without bandages, an item as
necessary to survival as food, wine, and weapons.  As he tied the
ends of the dressing over the seeping wound, she stepped forward,
and the back of his hand began brushing against the silky skin of
her succulent sapphic sweetmeats.

     When the bandage was secure, he lowered her injured arm with
his left hand while the fingers of his right swept around the
side and up the satiny-smooth globe to caress it with his
fingertips.  They moved downward while his thumbtip pressed
against the underside and then slid upward until it joined the
fingertips in plucking at the ripe berry of her nipple.  Her
half-lidded eyes glazed as her lips parted and moved toward his.
She allowed her injured hand to be guided to the bulge in his
leather breeks.  His breath was hot on her lips.  His tweaking of
her nipple alone had nearly brought her to orgasm.  Her hand was
just beginning to take the measure of his weapon of lust...

     ...and she was alone.  She opened her eyes and focused.  Axe
at the ready, the dwarf was silently disappearing into the trees
again, his left hand signalling for her to remain in place.

     "FUCK!" Miss Robyn said with feeling as her small, hairy
foot stamped the blade guard into the hard-packed trail.

     When Gryphon finally emerged from the trees to signal that
he'd found nothing, Miss Robyn was digging into the basket for a
substitute sausage.  She stopped and forced a smile of happiness.
Technically it was a smile of relief, but she forced it into a
"glad to see you" smile instead of a "glad to see your erection
hasn't subsided" smile.  "We should get to the Glade," she said,
hoping that he'd stop imagining things once she was
counter-thrusting under him.

     "Should I take the basket now?" he asked, though his eyes
were focused at two spots located higher than the basket as he
bent to pick up the blade guard.

     She inhaled deeply and grinned a shy grin that was almost
convincingly naive.  "No, thank you, I'll manage.  You could
carry these for me."

     In a nonce they were again off down the trail, the basket
handle in the crook of her left arm, her right arm around his
waist but carefully distanced from his weapons.  Gryphon had his
arms about her so that each hand was supporting the weight of an
ample upper amphora of lactic ambrosia.

     "So tell me about yourselves," she said, hoping to distract
him from imagining sounds in the woods.  "If you are knights, why
don't you have horses?"

     "It's an honorary tittle.  Title!  Riley, the Beebe King,
bestowed it upon us when we saved the virtue of his daughter,
Princess Donna, the Primadonna.  Traitors loyal to Elvis, the
King of  Rollen Rock, had captured her from her father's valley
kingdom and spirited her away to Rollen Rock.  We were passing
through Beebe when he advertised for adventurers immediately."

     "Immediately?" Miss Robyn asked when he paused and his eyes
wandered to their right.  He returned his attention to the tasks
in his hands.

     "Yes.  The posters said, 'It's now or never.'  It seems
there was a prophecy that the Kingdom of Beebe would survive
catastrophe if the daughter of the King Riley was a virgin on her
wedding day, but he failed to mention that one little fact until
after we returned with her.  When we asked about the urgency,
King Riley ordered, 'Ask me no questions,' so we left immediately
for Rollen Rock.  We found the Princess tied to a bed in the
Heartbreak Hotel with the Elvis, the King of Rollen Rock.  He
looked like a teddy bear standing there beside the bed in nothing
but a pair of blue suede shoes and an erection, but the way he
fought, he was a devil in disguise.  He had given her a slow but
very powerful aphrodisiac and had waited for three days for it to
take full effect.  We evaded the guards surrounding the hotel,
thanks to cloaks of invisibility and the help our mages, and
surprised him as he was about to mount her.  When we appeared out
of thin air, he was all shook up, but unfortunately his sword
the metal one, not the fleshy one   was in reach.  'Get out!' he
screamed.  'I got a woman!'  As if that were reason enough for us
to leave!"

     Gryphon looked at the bounty of taut teats in his hands and
shrugged.  "Maybe it was.  Anyway, he fought us until he had a
window at his back.  Then he called for a halt, saluted Princess
Donna, and said, "That's all right, Mama," and dove out the
window.  Fortunately for him some innocent peasants broke his
fall, and he suffered only a broken leg."

     Again his eyes started to wander to the side.  Miss Robyn's
hand moved to his love lance and squeezed gently.  "And then?"
she asked, her voice husky with lust.

     The dwarf groaned in anticipation at her touch and
continued.  "When we returned with the Princess, King Riley gave
us our honorary titles and the triangular shields that some of us
carry.  Did you know they are the exact proportions and shade of
brown as the Princess' merkin?"

     Miss Robyn looked up into the dwarf's eyes.   His hands were
caressing her bountiful breasts in such a exciting and
stimulating manner that she was beginning to have trouble
talking, as if the glaze coating her eyes were spreading to her
tongue.  "And   MMMM   how would you know it's   HUUUUNH
exact?"

     "Because Elvis had given her that powerful aphrodisiac.  We
had to leave her bound, which made Father Lardas happy except
that he said the amateurs didn't know how to tie up a woman,
until she was safely back inside the borders of Beebe.  There we
made camp for the night and untied her.  She showed her
appreciation by shedding her clothing and saying, "Love me
tender," and let all six of us despoil her virtue for the next
three days.  She invited us to return any time for more
despoilment, but, sadly, Beebe fell to an invasion led by the
King of Rollen Rock a few months later.  The bloody war is over,
and there is peace in the valley, but the thrill is gone.  She
was crying in the chapel when a ballista shot caused it to
collapse upon her.  But that was a long time ago, and a great
distance to the east."

     "All SIX of you?  HUUUUNH!  All SIX?"  Miss Robyn had been
considering additional picnics with Anton Berger, Father Lardas,
and myself, but she hadn't considered Mistresses Jeanette and
Darra.  The dwarf's busy fingers on her sensitive nipples had
brought her close to release again, and suddenly the idea of the
two female elves despoiling her virtue became exceptionally
exciting.  So exciting that she reached the summit of preorgasmic
arousal there in the middle of the trail.

     And found herself stranded alone at that summit, frustrated
as she watched the dwarf, axe at the ready, signalling for her to
stay put while he again vanished into the trees.

     "DOUBLE FUCK!"  she screamed at the heavens and bent to
grasp the hem of her skirts.

     Eventually Gryphon Lehrer crept backward onto the trail and
slid his axe into the carrying loop.  He turned as he spoke.
"Still nothing, but I KNOW I heard a gnoll's...."

     Miss Robyn's hands snatched him forward by his beard and the
strap of his quiver, pulling his face down the few inches
necessary for his bulging eyes to meet her glaring ones.  "Look,
you dick-brained little shit!" she screamed.  "I didn't come here
to stand in the middle of this goddamned trail and fingerfuck
myself!  If YOU don't want to do it, I can go back to Greybeard
and find someone ELSE to solve my problem!  Look at this!"

     She bent to grasp the hem of her blue skirt and lifted.
Short but well-proportioned legs like white jade rose in stately
majesty above hairy feet to a neat red merkin remarkably similar
to Princess Donna's in all aspects but color.  The lower end of
Miss Robyn's fiery merkin was saturated, and her thighs glistened
below their juncture.

     "Aren't you aware that when a halfling woman gets aroused,
the only thing that can stop her quim from flowing like an
incoming tide is not THIS..." her hand dropped the skirt and shot
up to thrust a sweetly pungent, juicy finger before his eyes,
"...which provides only temporary relief, but one of THESE..."
her hand dropped to grab the carnal lance upright in his breeks,
"which gives true satisfaction?  Now the fountain is a hundred
more yards thataway, and you're either going to be diddling my
goddamned brains out in the next five minutes, or I'm going back
to town and find somebody who's interested in ME and NOT in
imaginary noises!  I'll even give myself to nixie-dick RUPERT if
he's all that's available!

     In an instant the red left her face and a broad, cherubic
smile appeared.  "Shall we go on?"

     Miss Robyn led him onward at a faster pace, impressed by the
size of the breeks-encased princess despoiler still gripped in
her dainty tight fist.  Gryphon attempted to find some way to
grasp one of her succulent white orbs and had almost succeeded
when she stopped at a twenty-foot wide, six-foot high thicket.
He encased an orb with each hand and began massaging each nipple
between two extended fingers.  While she sighed in contentment he
glanced about.  The trail branched left and right around the
thicket, and from beyond its middle came the sound of splashing
water.  She jerked the dwarf around to face her, puckered her
slightly open mouth up toward him, and closed her eyes in
anticipation.

     Gryphon's head turned instead to the odd sound beyond the
thicket.  He removed his hands from their overheated perches and
motioned for Miss Robyn to stay put.  He plucked the battle axe
from his weapons belt with the other hand and slid into the
tangle of leaves and stems.

     The attractive young halfling's round face gave the heavens
her best "NOT AGAIN!" plea, but the gods ignored it as they are
wont to do.  She started to complain about this latest
interruption at the very edge of their destination.  The glare he
fired over his shoulder choked her words as effectively as
Mistress Jeanette's garotte.

     Gryphon peered into the clearing and saw him.  The dwarf
knew all of the elvish races of the continent:  the Cold, the
Warm, the Lunar, the dark Brow, and even the mysterious Water
Elves who lived in the Abie Sea.  This tall, thin, alienly
attired male was something new.  His sickly green pallor hinted
that perhaps he'd been poisoned by one of the many vile creatures
lurking in the Snapping Turtle Swamp of Gamera, just past the
forest edge.

     Gryphon shuddered.  The Knights of the Merkin, bloodied and
exhausted from constant battle, had fought their way across that
swamp six days earlier.  Father Lardas had needed all of his
remaining healing magics to save the dwarven fighter's life when
some unseen creature, hidden in a small muddy pool, plunged fangs
through his boot.  This was the first day he'd felt capable of
leaving the quiet rooms of Greybeard Inn with female
companionship.  Which reminded him....

     He backed from the thicket and turned to motion Miss Robyn
forward, hoping she might recognize the strange elf.  He saw the
swirl of her blue skirts as she stamped around a bend in the
trail back to Greybeard, her white top again encasing her
globular mammic charms.  The lunch basket was upside down on a
flame ant hill.  She had kept his blanket and   his heart wailed
with anguish   the wineskin.  "Drat!" he whispered.

     Gryphon stroked his black beard, sagged his shoulders, and
crept back into the thicket.  "Double drat!"  It was good wine.

     The stranger hadn't moved.  He was manipulating some device
in his hand.

     A gnoll, its spear leveled, rushed from the far side of the
clearing, bearing down on the strange elf's back with incredible
speed.  Gryphon shouted a warning and the elf spun on one heel,
his free hand pulling a peculiar, box-like wand the size of that
hand from his belt.  With an odd whistle a rod of cold fire hit
the beast just six paces from the elf, blazing a foot-wide hole
in the creature's chest.  The elf twisted to avoid the spear, and
the gnoll fell dead at his feet.

     So.  The elf was some kind of mage.  Gryphon had never seen,
or even heard of, such a wand. He would mention it to the
Parquierre and Darra if he could not get the stranger to
accompany him back to the Greybeard Inn.

     The elf mage knelt and examined the grotesque dead beast,
particularly its long, powerful legs.  "Fascinating," he
murmured.  He then rose and turned to Gryphon, who was marching
into the clearing.  "Tell me," the elf mage said in a strong,
pleasant voice as he returned the wand to his belt, "what world
is this?"

     "Aber-Cadaver.  We call it just Cadaver," Gryphon said,
unconcerned with the strange question and the failure to express
gratitude.  <Anybody who travels with Parquierre quickly becomes
used to the bizarre ways of mages> was his erroneous mindset that
I have been unsuccessful in changing.  He added, "Well met,
stranger!  I am Gryphon Lehrer of Recht'l Defilade, adventurer
with Anton Burger's Knights of the Merkin across the continent of
Stormrune, who currently seek fun and profit in this region of
the Land of the Forgotten Helms.  Who might you be and from
where?"

     The elf mage looked at him without emotion for a moment,
glanced at the axe, and raised an eyebrow.  "You would not know
of it.  It is quite some distance from here.  I thank you for
warning me about this...."  He indicated the dead creature and
raised one eyebrow.

     "Gnoll," Gryphon said.

     "Gnoll.  You saved my life and have my gratitude.  I do not
belong here and must leave immediately."

     He made what might have been an obscene gesture, but,
considering the elf mage's parting words, Gryphon decided it was
a salute.  Gryphon gave the elf mage a salute of his closed right
fist to his left shoulder and turned away, hoping to catch
what was her name? Miss Robyn   along the trail and entice her to
rejoin him.  Or at least recover the wineskin.

     The elf mage pulled another strange device from his belt.
It chittered like stirges.  Gryphon froze in his tracks,
crouched, and looked about, thinking the peculiar mage was now
summoning stirges to attack him.  But the elf mage had put the
thing to his mouth and was speaking:

     "One to beam up.  It seems Mister Scott's engines are still
imbalanced.  He has delivered us to the wrong universe again."

                               END
- --
Russell Hoisington
State of Confusion

Stories archived at
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Hoisington/
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Hoisington

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