Lord of the ALFA, Book II, The Two Servers

[Mikayla]

Table of Contents:
[Author's note: The Two Servers is not yet finished, but the bulk of it is done. I will add the final chapter(s) as they are written.]

Chapter 2.1 Underdark? Bring it on!
Chapter 2.1.5 The Thousand Swedes.
Chapter 2.3 The Ultimate Evil.
Chapter 2.3.5 The Taking of LotA 1,2,3.
Chapter 2.4 The Big Boom.
Chapter 2.5 (Unnamed Chapter)
Chapter 2.5.5 The Comic Book Experience.
Chapter 2.5.6 The Comic Book Experience, #2.
Chapter 2.6 With Claw and Fang. In Character.
Chapter 2.7 The Spider, the Mask, the Moon and the Beast. In Character.
Chapter 2.8 All the Admin’s Men.
Chapter 2.9 Allies. In Character.
Chapter 2.10 Of Ducks and Shades.

[Mikayla]

Lord of the ALFA, The Two Servers

Chapter 1: Underdark? Bring it On!

“Who in the hell nerfed ‘Continual Light’?” Growled the White Warlock. The old mage grumbled his way through a basic light spell. The arcane illumination lit up the cave in which the fellowship now huddled.

From out of the surrounding darkness Knight Light appeared. “Hail and well met. I am afraid the word ‘nerfed’ is not appropriate for use in ALFA. Also, ‘hell’ should be plural as ALFA-Toril has nine hells.” Knight Light smiled smugly. “If you have any questions, please refer to Cassiel’s ….”

A grumpy Warlock reached out with his staff and turned off the Knight Light. “Now you’re nerfed too, punk.”

“Where are we anyway?” Asked Lylah.

“Near Menzoberranzan, my home city.” Replied M’kayla.

“Someone remind me why we are going anywhere near this place again?” Asked Sir Kalbar, who had not forgotten why but knew that as this was the start of a new book, the readers might need a helpful reminder. The author, however, did not feel like repeating herself and so let Kalbar’s question hang in the air unanswered.

“Will we not be slaughtered the moment we appear in this evil, despicable, treacherous, murderous, lethal yet somehow appealing metropolis of villains?” Asked the ever-practical Sgt. Pelham.

“No” replied M’kayla. “This is a Beta server so Officer Andrew cannot follow us here.” With that, M’kayla began passing out +5 weapons and armor to the party.

Heartened by their new found uber-loot, the party started forward again only to be plunged into darkness. The Warlock grumbled again and soon there was light. The party started forward again and was again plunged into darkness. Another light spell followed, and then another advance, more darkness and the cycle repeated itself.

“Oh sure, we have vorpral-swords a plenty,” muttered Pelham, “but we cannot even get ourselves a bloody flashlight that works for more than two minutes.”

After several hours of this, the party could see a faint glow in the distance. There seemed to be a large cavern ahead and many small lights floated high in the air. The fellowship could hear the roar of a crowd and over the roar, a strange chanting of female voices. They approached cautiously and the chanting got louder and louder. Clearly, some great, evil spectacle and ritual was taking place. Who knew what the foul drow might be up to in the name of their evil Spider Goddess?

At the edge of the great cavern the party could see they were entering a large open area flanked by bleachers. Past the bleachers on one side was a pyramid, on the other side a tower, and directly opposite the fellowship across the open area was a great stone building shaped like a spider. In the bleachers were throngs of young, attractive drow.

The area between the bleachers was dimly lit by overhead dancing lights and faerie fire. In that area, a dozen heavily armed and armored drow males had surrounded a pitiful looking group of barely armed and armored goblins, orcs, humans and quaggoths. It seemed to be a battle, but a very lopsided one.

Between the fellowship and the battle, however, were a dozen extraordinarily attractive drow females in mini-skirts, go-go boots, and midriff bearing silky blouses tied sexily just under their breasts. They were moving in unison, gyrating their way through a series of overtly sexual moves and poses as they chanted what must have been a very powerful ritual prayer to Lolth. The fellowship listened in as the drow females chanted….

I'm sexy, I'm cute,
I'm popular to boot,
I'm bitch-in', great hair,
The boys all love to stare,

I'm wanted, I'm hot,
I'm everything you're not,
I'm pretty, I'm cool,
I dominate the school,
Who am I? Just guess,
Guys wanna touch my chest,

I'm rockin', I smile,
If anything I'm vile,
I'm flyin', I jump,
You can look but
Don't you hump,

Whoo!
I'm major, I roar,
I swear I'm not a whore,
We hurt and we kill,
Your blood we’d love to spill,
You hate us 'cause we're drow,
But we don't like you anyhow,
We're Drow-clerics,
We are Drow-clerics,

Let's go crowd
We are the Spiders,
The Mighty Mighty Spiders,


M’kayla just shook her head. “Welcome to the Tier Breche Academy, everyone, looks like we arrived in time for the game.”

As the fellowship approached the squad of drow-clerics noticed them.

“Like, oh_my_gawdess, look at this. Who is that chick? Look at her hair, that is like, so last cycle.” Said B’ffy, one of the drow-clerics.

“Look at her bloody, dented, torn-up, armor. And is she with a bunch of iblith? Like, how ghetto can you get?” Said another drow-cleric, this one named M’ffy.

M’kayla rolled her eyes, pulled out her House symbol.

“Oh, like no_way!” Exclaimed B’ffy. “Like you are in Alpha Alpha Faen-Tlabbar! They are like the number three Sorority House in the whole City! When I graduate, I sooooo want to rush your House. Can you get me in?”

M’ffy’s eyes widened. “Like oh my gawdess B’ffy, I totally recognize this chick. She is the Queen!”

“You mean the Valsharess, the Queen of the Drow who will lead a great attack on the surface only to be thwarted by the actions of a brave surface hero and the treachery of Mephistopheles?” B’ffy asked excitedly.

M’ffy frowned at B’ffy like she was crazy. “Uh, noooo. Like I mean last years Homecoming Queen for the City, duh.”

“Oh, oh yeah.” B’ffy said nodding.

The squad of drow-clerics quickly mobbed M’kayla seeking invitations to Alpha Alpha Faen-Tlabbar’s rush in the coming year. All except M’ffy of course who was holding out for Delta Phi Baenre. Pelham approached M’ffy and asked what the battle was about.

“No way I am going out with you.” M’ffy replied quite loudly.

Pelham frowned. “But, I did not ask you out.”

M’ffy lowered her voice. “I know, but now that I said that like really loud, people will think you did and that I, like turned you down, so I am like cooler now and you are…um…you know, not cool. Anyway, the battle is a pre-season practice game. The Tier Breche Spiders are playing the Pit Warren Corpses.” M’ffy told him.

“It doesn’t look very fair.” Pelham observed.

M’ffy almost fell down laughing. When she recovered, she yelled loudly “Get lost loser, I told you, I am not going out with you.” She lowered her voice and then spoke again. “So, anyway, our first regular season game is a double header against the Sceptered Legion and the Gracklstugh Stouts. That won’t be very ‘fair’ either – we will slaughter them. The only thing that could possibly keep us from winning the title this season is, like, the complete silence of Lolth.” M’ffy laughed. “As if THAT would ever happen.”

Far off in the demonwebs, Lolth and R.A. Salvatore heard M’ffy, and both of them almost fell down laughing.

Meanwhile, back in Menzo, M’kayla had gotten the butt kissing, back stabbing, but leggy and well coifed drow-clerics to lead the fellowship out of Tier Breche as the Spiders slew the Corpses ending the game, 12 bodies to zero.

Down on Narbondellyn’s Sorority Row the Fellowship passed the House of Sigma Phi Shobolar and the ruins of Omega Delta Do’Urden.

“Was that House destroyed because it gave birth to a heroic renegade who has successfully fought against the matriarchy for years?” Asked someone who had been reading the books.

“No,” M’kayla said flatly. “They got caught serving under-age pledges during rush. After that, they could not have keg parties – no keg parties, no pledges rushing, no new pledges, no house.” She shrugged. Such was the Way of Lolth.

The Fellowship entered the great Sorority House of Alpha Alpha Faen-Tlabbar whereupon they came into the high chapel of Lolth. Sitting on comfy couches were a trio of beautiful drow women, all wearing Alpha Alpha Faen-Tlabbar sweatshirts. A fourth, slightly less attractive drow woman was with them, wearing a Delta Nu Xorlarrin sweatshirt.

“Hey!” Said the Delta Nu Xorlarrin. “Aren’t you M’kayla? You were the homecoming-valsharess last year. Weren’t you kicked out of Alpha Alpha Faen-Tlabbar for having boys in your room?”

The other three women laughed. One spoke up. “The only boy in M’kayla’s room was M’kayla! Seems she used to be M’kayl and was a warrior at Melee-Magthere when she stole a Girdle of Masculinity/Feminity. When the House Mother found out, she went ballistic!”

M’kayla scowled. “You [Expletive deleted by the ALFA Forums moderators to promote the family values of ALFA in accord with ALFA Charter and Guidelines]!”

The girl looked back at M’kayla. “Oh! You dare? You [Expletive deleted by the ALFA Forums moderators to promote the family values of ALFA in accord with ALFA Charter and Guidelines]!”

“No, YOU are a [Expletive deleted by the ALFA Forums moderators to promote the family values of ALFA in accord with ALFA Charter and Guidelines]!”

“Well YOU are a [Expletive deleted by the ALFA Forums moderators to promote the family values of ALFA in accord with ALFA Charter and Guidelines]!”

“Oh yeah, well YOU are a [Expletive deleted by the ALFA Forums moderators to promote the family values of ALFA in accord with ALFA Charter and Guidelines]!”

All the woman gasped.

“She said the ‘C’ word” Muttered the poor, shocked Delta Nu Xorlarrin.

“You know what this means don’t you?” Said one of the Alpha Alpha Faen-Tlabbar to M’kayla.

“Of course I do,” M’kayla replied. “It means the ritual of Selvetarm’s adjudication, trial by might – traditional combat.”

M’kayla and the three Alpha Alpha Faen-Tlabbar (who were M’kayla’s sisters of course) began preparing for traditional combat between feuding drow-clerics. First, they stripped out of their clothing and armor and donned Enchanted, silky, skimpy Lingerie of Playfulness. They then armed themselves. Being drow, they could fight with two weapons quite well and tradition demanded each cleric be similarly armed. All of them grabbed an enchanted Fluffy Pillow of Giggling in one hand and a Drowcraft Sorority Paddle of Naughtiness in the other.

So armed and armored, they squared off in the traditional combat arena – a sorority room dominated by a large, comfy bed with a fluffy pink comforter and piled high with stuffed animals, in this case, mostly spiders and black unicorns.

Steely-eyed, they stared at each other until the tension was so great none could take it any longer. One of the girls yelled the traditional battle cry: “Pillowfight!” Without hesitation the women lunged at each other, giggling and laughing, alternately hitting each other with the pillows and spanking each other with the paddles.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Muttered one of the Fellowship. “This is the Way of Lolth? A demon queen of spiders and dark elves set THIS up as traditional combat between priestesses?”

M’kayla took a break from the playful naughtiness. “No, actually, all our drow rituals are passed down to us from the gods of adolescent males, like R.A. Salvatore. Lolth may be an intermediate goddess, but Salvatore has thirteen New York times bestselling novels. He is more powerful than AO, so, if he wants drow culture to be based on his wet dreams, who are we to say no?” M’kayla leaped back into the fray only to have her shapely bottom paddled by one of her Sorority sisters.

The sexual tension was too much. All the blood ran from J’kin and Pelham’s big heads to their little heads and the two men passed out. Nothing much happened for Kalbar, whose only interest so far had been in the designer pillow cases the obviously spoiled sorority brats had been using. Still, upon seeing the straight men of the party pass out, Kalbar feigned his own interest and joined them on the floor…which he rather liked.

Lylah was also overcome but not in the same way. The pillow fight looked like too much fun so she stripped and leaped into the fray.

What the Fellowship did not realize was that the pillow fight was not a drow priestess ritual combat, it was a drow priestess ritual spell – Mass Tease. While the Sorority sisters had talked orally, seeming to argue, they had used drow hand sign to set up the ruse.

Only the White Warlock seemed unaffected. The girls played on, but nothing seemed to happen. M’kayla looked at the Warlock expectantly.

The Warlock shrugged. “Gimme a break, I’m old. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.”

M’kayla leapt up and quickly brewed a potion of heroism from ground Viagra and Budweiser. She poured the potent brew down the old man’s mouth and in moments he was joining in on the fun.

Just as the Drow sorority sirens were about to have their way with the Fellowship, a disembodied voice echoed through the room.

“We thinks you all have forgotten that M’kayla used to be M’kayl. We thinks you need reminding.” It was the voice of Gromnir!

M’kayla hissed at the unseen voice and clawed at the air.

“We think we are immune to your claws and your teasing. We are disembodied after all and have no hormones or genitals or blood or brain. We think we cannot be killed or teased until we pass out. Ha! Good fun!”

Gromnir’s words dispelled the drow sorority sirens’ magic. With a growl of “ewww” they leapt to their feet and dragged M’kayla out of the pillowfight.

Sir Kalbar stared angrily at M’kayla. “You tried to betray us!” He growled.

M’kayla shrugged, and looked at Kalbar like Johnny Depp looking at Orlando Bloom over a flintlock in PotC. “Drow,” was all she said.

The rest of the Fellowship simply nodded.

“You must punish her.” Suggested one of the drow clerics. “And then you must punish all of us.”

The other girls nodded enthusiastically.

“And then…the oral sex.” The drow cleric suggested.

Pelham, J’kin, the Warlock and Lylah all smiled and started forward but Kalbar, immune to the drow cleric’s mass sexual suggestion by virtue of his enchanted swim wear, stopped them.

“No, the peril is to great!” Kalbar stated. Though the others argued, the words of Gromnir still weighed upon their minds and they relented. The Fellowship left Alpha Alpha Faen-Tlabbar, dragging a petulant M’kayla along as they went.

“We should leave Menzoberranzan,” the ever-practical Sgt. Pelham stated, “’tis a silly place.”

[Mikayla]

Somewhere between Chapter 1 and Chapter 2

The Huntress’ Blades Trilogy Insert….The Thousand Swedes.

***
And so it came to pass that the Fellowship of the Forum made its way along the perilous slopes of the Spine of the World….

***

Voice: Whoa! Whoa! Stop RIGHT there. In the last chapter, the Fellowship was in Menzoberranzan, on their way to Ched Nasad I think, and now they are on the surface? At the Spine of the World? There is no consistency!

This is a WotC inspired writing…consistency is NOT required. It is not even valued as far as this writer can tell.

Voice: Oh..yeah, right, ok, carry on…

***

And so it came to pass that the Fellowship of the Forum made its way along the perilous slopes of the Spine of the World. Few places in all Faerun were as inhospitable as the frozen north in winter … except for the dark passages of the Underdark…and the gray fields of Thay…and the Jungles of Chult…and the dark streets of Westgate…and and the war-torn forest of Cormanthor…and the arid, shade filled wastes of Anauroch…and….oh alright, all of Faerun is bloody death trap. What of it? This is “Dungeons & Dragons” not “Farms & Oxen.”

Anyway, the cold was bitter and so were the members of the Fellowship. The sting of being forcibly removed from the warm, cozy, and decidedly over-sexed chambers of Alfa-Alfa-Faen Tlabbar had left most of the men in the party despondent, not to mention blue-balled. All except Sir Kalbar, of course, who was happy to be clear of that drow populated den of adolescent, heterosexual male fantasy. How was he, Sir Kalbar, supposed to remain the center of attention while a bunch of nubile, bisexual drow priestesses in skimpy lingerie got it on together in front of the Fellowship? There was a reason paladins such as Sir Kalbar hated the drow so – the damn dark elves were always stealing the limelight.

As Sir Kalbar contemplated how to return the Fellowship’s focus to him, a terrible, thundering noise split the silence of the peaceful mountain day.

“Avalanche?” Asked Ava.

“No, not an avalanche –orcs!” Yelled Sgt. Pelham, pointing to an enormous horde of persons running down the mountainside towards the Fellowship. “It must be King Obould Many-Arrows’ army!”

J’kin, the not-so-stereo-typical elf with the totally-stereotypical-super-keen-elven-eyesight looked at the onrushing horde. “No, they are not orcs, they are human barbarians! They must be Uthgardt tribesmen!”

Sure enough, hundreds of blond and redheaded human barbarians in silly looking horned helmets descended down the mountainside and surrounded the Fellowship. Each of them wore a yellow number over their hides and armor, the kind of thing marathon runners wear. They were numbered from 1 to 1000.

Sir Kalbar surveyed the gathered horde. “They are NOT Uthgardt tribesmen. They are SWEDES. It’s a thousand ALFA Swedes.” He pointed into the crowd. “Look, there is Boomer, and Luther, and idoru, Fredricus, Voran, Sven, Joos, RikardK and Voersaa.”

The members of the Fellowship nodded in unison. “Oh…Swedes. Right” They said.

“But I am not Swedish! I am Danish!” Yelled Voersaa.

“And we are Norwegian, not Swedish!” Yelled Murky, standing beside Krbang, Zicada and Garm Greystaff.

The members of the Fellowship nodded in unison. “Oh…Swedes. Right” They said.

“Hey!” M’kayla called out from her drift-disc. “There are a lot of Swedes in ALFA, but not a thousand! And you!” She pointed at Luther. “Didn’t we just see you as a Zhent Captain over in the desert? What are you doing here? And that guy,” she now pointed at Boomer, “didn’t I see him in Waterdeep? What is he doing here? And you!” M’kayla yelled, pointing at RikardK. “Aren’t you one of my flunkie males in Skullport? What are YOU doing here?”

“Multiple PCs.” Luther replied with a smile. “We are legion!” The assembled horde of Swedes laughed in a silly, totally un-American, Swedish-chuckling kind of way.

“Uh…..no.” M’kayla said, wagging one slender, well manicured finger in front of Luther’s face. “The multiple PCs thing was never approved.” M’kayla quickly summoned an extra-planar ALFA-Dead Horse and half the Horde promptly road off on it.

Sir Kalbar regarded the remaining horde contemptuously and drew his sword.

Sgt. Pelham stepped between the paladin and the wall of ALFA-Swedes. “Do you have a leader? What do you want?”

A man stepped forward from the crowd. His number was 345, but his number was green not yellow like the rest.

“Hello there, I am Swift.” Said number 345. “I am the Shop Steward for this local and we have certain grievances with the ALFA-Elite we would like to address.”

Whitey frowned. “Your accent is different than the others. And I thought you were a Player Representative, not a … a….what did you call yourself?”

“A Shop Steward.” Swift said happily. “Once I was a Player Rep, its true, but we found the Player Rep system was a mere placebo offered to the masses by the ALFA-Elite and was not a true engine for social change in ALFA. So, we Unionized!”

“A Union?!? You are a bunch of Socialists!” Yelled an enraged Sir Kalbar.

“Err...who are the socialists?” Asked Sir Pelham.

“Adherents to various economic and political theories advocating collective or governmental ownership and administration of the means of production and distribution of goods.” Answered M’kayla. “Here, the socialists Kalbar refers to are a group of people who would generally pay higher taxes than those seen in the United Servers of ALFA in return for certain guaranteed social programs, such as education and healthcare.”

“Oh, you mean Swedes.” Said Pelham.

“Right.” Said M’kayla.

Swift continued. “My first union success was the organization of Union Local 1701, comprised of United Federation Security Personnel. The local was affectionately known as the ‘Red Shirts.’” Swift smiled proudly.

“A union of Red Shirts?!? Now that is downright Communist!” Yelled a further enraged Sir Kalbar.

“Err.what is a communist?” Asked Sir Pelham.

“The communist regime Kalbar is referring to was a totalitarian eastern oligarchy typically characterized by a militarily aggressive foreign policy, mistreatment of its own citizens and an unnatural obsession with the color red.” Answered M’kayla, always up on her trivia.

“Oh, you mean Thayans.” Said Pelham.

“Right.” Said M’kayla.

“Anyway,” said Swift, “I have organized King Obould’s orcs into a local of the AFL-CIO – the Affiliation of Flunkies & Lackeys / Confederation of Interserver Orcs. I myself, am Orc number 345!” Swift smiled proudly.

All the Swedes in the horde turned to face Swift. “But we are not orcs!” They yelled, “we are Swedes!”

Swift looked around at all the yellow numbers, then at his own green number, and suddenly realized his Australian accent was different than their Swedish one.

“Uh oh.” Swift said.

And with that the horde threw Orc number 345 off the side of the mountain, killing him instantly.

Despite the no Multiple PC rule and the sudden death of Orc 345, the Fellowship was still faced with a rather large horde of angry Swedes.

Whitey launched into a frightening chant, his arms waving about, summoning great arcane power promising horrendous devastation on a scale as yet unseen by the fellowship or Sweden – he was casting the most powerful of all the Missile Storm spells! With the incantation complete, a typhoon of arcane energy erupted around the mage in a terrible display of magical power and then…

…a single Swede fell dead.

“What in the hells?” Whitey cried, his expression a mixture of disappointment and shock.

A man who looked frighteningly like the Platter Peanuts mascot walked up. . “Hi! I am Creslyn, you should have read my article in this month’s copy of Popular Arcanist, 47 Spells ALFA Nerfed and What You Need To Know About Them.”

“That’s it! I QUIT!” Yelled the Warlock, who turned to stomp off down the mountain.

“Come on, its not that bad.” Yelled the Fellowship.

“I know,” replied the Warlock, “but real-life calls…”

“Err.what is a real life?” Asked Sir Pelham.

“The real-life Whitey refers to is what those who are not addicted to computer role-playing games experience when awake and is typically characterized by sunlight, work, socialization and stimulation of the three senses not ordinarily used by those in the computer gaming world – taste, touch and smell.” Answered M’kayla, always up on her trivia.

“Oh, you mean that thing normal girls do.” Said Pelham.

“Right.” Said M’kayla, who then frowned suddenly and looked for support from Wynna or Ava. “Hey wait a second…”

With spells out of the question, Sir Kalbar reached out and grabbed the two helmet horns of the nearest Swede, who like all his brethren, was wearing one of those silly, horned, Hollywood Viking helmets. Kalbar gave the helmet a little a twist, and with the leverage afforded by the horns, broke the Swede’s neck. Kalbar then rinsed and repeated. The Swedes fell like wheat before a scythe. The rest of the Fellowship was so impressed, they too joined in and in mere moments the entire horde was slain.

“Wow! How did that happen?” Asked Ava.

“Eurofags.” Replied Kalbar matter-of-factly. “They never could fight on their own, why do you think we had to bail them out of Global Plot I and Global Plot II?”

“Ahem.” Said Ava. “Don’t get all swollen with pride just yet, look, they are regenerating.”

The Fellowship looked and sure enough, the hundreds of Swedes they had just slain were all regenerating. Within moments, the horde would be back on its feet.

“How can they do that?” Asked Sgt. Pelham.

“Socialized Medicine.” Replied M’kayla. “They all get free, quality healthcare on demand. No insurance or HMOs needed.”

Kalbar squinted in anger. “Socialized medicine? Their evil really knows no limits does it?” The Free-Market Paladin spit in disgust.

“Enough!” Yelled J’kin. “We must escape, or they will rise again and with the growing strength of the EU, eventually we will not be able to overcome them with force alone! I always knew the problem with ALFA was its growing numbers of regenerating Eurofags…”

Just then the entire fellowship was teleported back to Menzoberranzan, saving them from the regenerating and numerous, if absurdly effete, horde of Swedes.

Leadfeather looked upon the party proudly. “Welcome back. Now, I want to discuss the Fellowship’s levels and teleportation. While I am all for the Fellowship being together and adventuring across ALFA, the Fellowship’s members simply have to start at First Level. And no more teleporting off to other servers, like The Frozen North, for ad hoc gaming in between regularly scheduled sessions. You have to walk between servers like everyone else. You guys are not special. No exceptions.”

“Huh? Who are you?” Asked M’kayla, the bewildered, arrogant, yet still ravishingly beautiful drow princess-priestess.

Leadfeather was immediately crestfallen. “Who am I? I am Leadfeather. You said I was your hero in the forums. Twice.” He looked as if he was going to cry.

“Oh…Leadfeather.” M’kayla said. Immediately Leadfeather smiled again. The drow princess stepped close to LF and put her arms around his shoulders. Her full, round, soft breasts pressed up against his chest and he could smell her delicate perfume. She leaned in close to him, nuzzling his neck for a moment then just grazed his ear with her soft, pouty lips.

“Oh sugar,” M’kayla purred, “you have to understand. ‘You are my hero’ is just an expression, sort of like another expression I am very fond of: ‘What have you done for me lately?’” And with that, M’kayla sank her fangs into LF and drained all his blood. She drew her fangs out with a sigh and licked her lips, letting LF’s dying body fall to the ground.

As LF fell he looked up at her. “But…I just teleported you out of great danger!”

M’kayla smiled a beautiful, sanguine, fanged smile. “Yes, but what have you done for me lately.” She shook her head in exasperation at LF’s corpse. “That teleportation was so, like, 5 seconds ago. Oh, and sugar, I am special. Trust me on that.”

“Special like ‘Rode the short-bus to school special’ ” Someone muttered.

The Fellowship gathered around LF’s dead body and did the ALFA ‘Nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah’ victory ritual and dance while they kicked at him mercilessly.

“Who was that again?” Asked Ava.

“I dunno,” replied M’kayla. “Ironbird? Nickelwing? Something like that.”

“Ok, now what?” Asked the ever-practical Sgt. Pelham.

“We go east to Ched Nasad.” M’kayla looked around at the Fellowship’s surroundings. A green, reflective sign over the street read “Narbondellyn Exit, 1/4 Mile, Junction Tunnel Without Truth – East, ½ Mile.”

“We want the Tunnel exit.” M’kayla said. The Fellowship mounted up on B’dget Rent-a-Discs and floated out of Menzo.

As they headed east on Underdark 5 toward the Tunnel Without Truth, Kalbar sat silently wondering about the death of Leadfeather at the hands of M’kayla. The drowess had simply slain LF out of hand, and the rest of the party had then celebrated his death and desecrated his body…

…and Kalbar was fine with that – what disturbed the Paladin was Leadfeather’s suggestion the Fellowship was not special. If they were not special, then…well…all kinds of bad things could happen to them. ALFA was rumored to have Permadeath after all. Worse yet, if Kalbar was not special, how was he going to get all the attention he needed? He was special, he just knew it. Now, however, it seemed he might have to prove it. Suddenly, Kalbar felt as if the weight of the world had landed on his shoulders…..

[Mikayla]

Lord of the ALFA, The Two Servers

Chapter 3: The Ultimate Evil.

And so it came to pass that the Fellowship of the Forum came unto the City of Shimmering Webs, Ched Nasad. As the fellowship entered a drow female greeted them. She offered the Fellowship’s members places in various drow houses, merchant companies and mercenary bands. The Fellowship thought these offers odd, and turned to M’kayla for explanation.

The demonic drow priestess just shrugged. “Its Beta, what do you want?”

The Fellowship nodded in understanding.

A trio of intimidating drow then approached the Fellowship. The trio was led by an obviously agitated female who was flanked by two males, one large, the other shifty and graceful. Just as the obviously agitated female was about to speak, a human voice resounded through out the city.

“W00t!” Said the human. “Dr0w 0ver h3r3! Time to pwn! Phat l3wt for all!” The brown-armored human rushed forward, sword held high and was immediately cut down by the intimidating drow trio.

“What was that? And what was he saying?” Asked M’kayla.

“A rivvil – a human.” Said the agitated female. “Iblith keep pouring in from a portal which appeared recently. We kill them, but they keep coming. And we have no idea what language they are speaking.”

Kalbar leaned over and whispered to M’kayla. “Do you know these drow?”

“Yes, this is Faerylransalyn, Lady of the Dead, the Revenancer.” M’kayla said, indicating the agitated female.

Kalbar smiled and gripped his sword hilt. “So, she is a goddess of revenge and necromancy who creates undead for unspeakably evil purposes and should therefore be destroyed by the righteous?” Asked the paladin eagerly. It seemed Kalbar finally had his chance to go toe to toe with an ‘ultimate evil.’ This was shaping up to be the pinnacle of his career in killing-things-for-goodness-and-mercy.

M’kayla frowned at Kalbar. “Not exactly. She is really more the ALFA-Drow Goddess of Scripting. She animates the Underdark’s NPCs. The revenge mostly has to do with things we women don’t talk about with you men. Just leave it alone, trust me.”


Disappointed, Kalbar let his sword rest in its sheath. “Who is this large male then?” Kalbar asked.

“Well, that is Nhamretarm, Champion of Lolth and The Spider that Waits.”

Kalbar brightened. “So, is he a warrior of darkness, whose blades seek the hearts of the good to further the evil plans of his mistress and therefore he should be destroyed by the righteous?” Kalbar’s hand went back to his sword. The day might get better after all.

M’kayla shook her head. “No, he is the ALFA-Drow God of the Web (server). He sometimes thinks he is a renegade male, but mostly, he just guards what we build. Kill him, and the web (server) we are standing on will fall and we be lost in the void.”

Kalbar furrowed his brows. It seemed fate mocked him at every turn. One of these days, Kalbar was going to get around that turn faster than fate and punch fate’s lights out.

Suddenly, another human appeared yelling “Dr0w! phat l3wt!” He was quickly cut down by the trio of drow.

“Who then is the other male?” Kalbar asked impatiently, his sword slipping back into its sheath.

“The other male is Vendaerun, the Masked Lord.” M’kayla answered.

“Ahh….so is he an evil drow god of assassins and killers, who cowardly strikes from darkness and then disappears before being seen, and therefore should be destroyed by the righteous?” Kalbar asked, his sword once again beginning to slip out of its sheath.

“Nope.” M’kayla said cheerfully. “He is mostly the ALFA-Drow God of Those Who Hate Girls Because They Could Not Get Dates At the Academy.” The priestess shrugged. “Oh, and he makes cool stuff in the toolset.”

Kalbar fumed. How could there be no ultimate evil for him to fight here?

“I have heard of these beings,” said Whitey, “but there are more ALFA-Drow Gods and Goddesses. Where are they?”

“Yes, there are more.” M’kayla replied. “There is Akilistraee, ALFA-Drow Goddess of Mooning, but you won’t see her. We never do. She lives somewhere on the surface. Her mooning goes over better up there. And then there is Ghostadaur, known as ‘That Which Lurks’ and the ‘Incomprehensible Evil.’”

“Ah,” exclaimed Kalbar, reaching for his sword, “is he the ‘Incomprehensible Evil because what he does is so horrid and despicable it defies all mortal comprehension?” Finally, it seemed as if he would have an ultimate evil to slay.

M’kayla frowned at Kalbar once again. “No, we call him that because we cannot understand most of what he says. All we have ever figured out is that the city of Sshamath is ‘precious’ to him and he wants it all for himself. Big whoopee.”

“Oh.” Said Kalbar, more than a little disappointed.

From the portal, two more surfacers appeared, yelling “W00t! Phat l3wt!” The two surfacers attacked heedless of the danger. This time, the intruding surfacers were slain by the drow trio AND the fellowship.

“Bah, these are not the Drow Gods of WotC canon.” Said Whitey dismissively, pointing at the drow trio.

“We don’t listen to WotC here,” said Faerylransalyn, “we have FotC instead.”

“Huh?” Asked Kalbar. “Is FotC like WotC? A big, greedy, incompetent corporation filled with people whose only goal in life is to suck the fun out of a great hobby by bleeding the pockets dry of all the hobby’s fans through endless ‘updated editions’ which cost more than some cars?” Now Kalbar knew he had found the ultimate evil. Anything that even resembled WotC deserved to meet the business end of the Paladin’s sword.

“Uh..no. FotC is just my son.” Faerylransalyn said. “He does some scripting.” Faerylransalyn shrugged.

Once again Kalbar let his sword back down into its scabbard. He was sooooo frustrated. There had to be SOME greater evil here to slay – this was the Underdark after all! Sir Headuphisass had long preached the evils of the Underdark. Suddenly, Kalbar realized a drow Goddess was missing. He smiled, and gripped his sword’s hilt again.

“Well then, where is the Spider Bitch?” Asked Kalbar, eager to slay something in the name of goodness and mercy. The gods of compassion, light, truth and righteousness wanted blood and Kalbar would give it to them!

Faerylransalyn pointed at M’kayla. “M’kaylolth is right there you dumbass. You are traveling with her. I guess Paladins really are Lawful Stupid.”

Kalbar looked at M’kayla. “YOU are M’kaylolth, the drow Demon Queen of Spiders?”

M’kayla shrugged. “In my off time, yeah, pretty much hun.”

“How is that possible? You are always here with us?” Asked Ava.

“Well, with NU in Beta, the whole Demon Queen of Spiders thing is really just a part-time gig. Evenings and weekends you know. If I am lucky, I may get fulltime work when NU goes live. Then maybe I will finally get health benefits and dental.”

Kalbar finally had an ultimate evil to fight. “I will slay you, M’kaylolth, Goddess of Spiders and Drow and progenitor of countless evil plots to enslave the good peoples, destroy their civilizations, and dominate all of Toril!” Kalbar drew his sword and raised it high, summoning the power of Tyr.

“Uh…” M’kayla said. “Wait a second. I don’t do all that, I am just the ALFA Drow Goddess of Parody, T-Girls and Demon Sex.”

Kalbar just smiled happily. “Close enough!”

And with that, the Paladin swung his glowing great sword at M’kayla, aka M’kaylolth, the drow-fiend priestess……


Will Kalbar slay M’kayla?

Will M’kayla get health benefits in time if he does?

Why do stupid, funny sounding surfacers keep appearing and attacking?

Will any one ever collect the ‘phat l3wt’?

What lies through the portal?

Tune in next time, as the Lord of the ALFA continues…..

[Mikayla]

Chapter 2.3.5

The Taking of LotA, 1,2,3.


It has been determined by the producers of the LOTA that the LOTA is no longer a functioning Parody. Indeed, rather than acting as a parody, the LOTA has BECOME the INSTITUTION and should now BE the SUBJECT of parody. The parody has become the norm, the revolutionary has become the government, the ass has become the elephant, down is now up, wrong is now right, cats and dogs sleeping together….it is a mad, mad, mad, mad, mad world.

In short….Mikayla has become “the Man.”

Knowing Mikayla as we do, we know how disturbing this is for her. I am sure you sympathize. Therefore, the LOTA will be discontinued indefinitely until such time as Mikayla loses her ‘authority’ and ‘respect’ and regains her ‘street cred’ as a muck raker, instigator and pain in the ass for the powers that be! Power to the people!

For those still lost on what has happened here, imagine if you will that Michael Moore woke up one day to find himself President of the United States, CEO of General Motors and Pope. Yes, it is THAT disturbing.

Mikayla will NOT be “the Man.”

Therefore, Mikayla will now hijack her own parody with the help of her crack team of scantily clad, bisexual drow priestess-thread-hijackers (who have been proven effective enough to hijack ANY thread no matter how substantive the underlying discussion).

What do we plan to do with the LOTA? What do we want? All will be made clear in due time. For the moment, just continue on with your daily lives. Do NOT call the police, do NOT use the Bat-Sign, and do not even THINK of PMing Mikayla. We will return the LOTA once our demands are met…IF we feel like it.

Viva la raza!

[Mikayla]

Lord of the ALFA, The Two Servers

Chapter 4, The Big Boom

***

[Author’s note: Though recently taken hostage by myself, I will continue to pen chapters of the LotA even if under the threat of life and limb. I may be a merciless hostage taker, but I will not be silenced, even by my own hand!]

Sir Kalbar’s blade swung through an overhead arc towards M’kayla. His attack caught the drow priestess off guard and she was ill prepared to defend herself against the wrathful paladin. Just as Kalbar’s greatsword was about to cut her down, it was knocked from Kalbar’s grasp by small stone traveling at an unbelievable velocity. The paladin looked to M’kayla, but the stunned look on the priestess’ face told him she had little to do with his disarming.

“The stone came from over there!” Cried an excited Ava.

“What is it?” Asked Kalbar.

“It’s a goblin worg-rider!” Yelled Whitey.

“It’s a halfling out-rider!” Yelled Ava.

“No…it’s a guy in a skirt on a sheep!” Yelled the sharp-eyed J’Kin.

“It’s The Burt!” Yelled the fellowship in unison.

“Aye, the Burt it is.” Said the Burt, a sling in his hand.

“Why did you knock my sword out of my hand the Burt?” Asked Kalbar. “If I recall correctly, you bear the drow no love. Indeed, I once thought of you as being generally ‘good’, sheep-buggering aside that is.”

“I hate the drow as much as anyone.” Replied the Burt. “Drow are ‘teh suck.’ This drow however, is the Matron-Saint of Demon Sex, and I am all about Demon Sex. If you kill her, Menzo will never get built, if Menzo never gets built, I will never have a chance to cyber Demon Sex. So, I cannot let you kill her.”

“Uh…the Burt…you DO realize ALFA has certain enforced policies regarding sexual behavior on its servers, right? And that, like, you are never going to get to have demon sex on Menzo, right?” Asked Sgt. Pelham, the always practical, but lately missing.

“No?” Asked the Burt, sounding rather small and disappointed.

“No.” Said Sgt. Pelham, shaking his head sadly. “In fact, your fondness for sheep has not gone unnoticed by the powers that be. Sad to say, but since Wynna is not here, I am afraid I am going to have to kill you in the name of goodness, family values, decency and censorship.”

The Burt gulped in fear as Pelham drew his sword. Thinking quickly, the Burt pulled out a haggis and cast Stinking Cloud, an innate power of Scotsmen (ECL –1). Sgt. Pelham and the other members of the Fellowship gagged as the Burt rode off on his sheep.

“Ewww,” was all they could say.

M’kayla took advantage of the Fellowship’s momentary discomfort and dropped a darkness spell. By memory, she sprinted in the direction of the portal the Ched Nasad DMs had pointed to. As she cleared the sphere of darkness, she saw the portal just ahead and she dove through heedless of where it might take her. Anywhere was better than under the paladin’s sword.

Or so she thought….

***

“And what is your name?” Asked an officious sounding male voice in the common tongue.

“I am Killemall23.” Replied a younger male voice.

M’kayla could hear fine, but all she could see was a great white blur. Light? She must be outdoors. It was cold. Too cold.

“Then from hence forth,” said the officious voice, “thou shall be known as Sir Killemall23, Player of ALFA!” Several people applauded. “The password will be sent to your email. Next!”

M’kayla’s vision began to return. Ahead of her, a man in plate armor holding a sword stood in front of a group of similarly armored and armed men. One man in the group stepped forward. “I am next.”

“Kneel” said the first man in an officious voice. The second man did so. “What is your name?” Asked the first man.

“I am Killanoob42.” Said the kneeling man.

“Then from hence forth,” said the first man in an officious voice, “thou shall be known as Sir Killanoob42, Player of ALFA!” Several people applauded. “The password will be sent to your email. Next!”

Heedless of her own security M’kayla walked up to the men.

“What in Lolth’s name is going on here?” Asked the drow priestess.

The first, officious man smiled. “I am an OAS DM and I am letting new players into ALFA. I will get to you in a moment honey, but you will have to wait your turn. Oh, and you have to prove you are worthy.”

M’kayla frowned. “What does that mean?”

“You have to have pwned at least 4 other PCs, 12 kobolds, 24 goblins or 48 drow or drow PCs.” Said the man.

“Huh?” M’kayla shook her head. “Nevermind, look, didn’t I see you on a social server like, two nights ago? You did not even know what ALFA is. What the HELL is going on?”

The man smiled. “Well, two days ago, I did not know about ALFA. Yesterday, I found the OAS and became a member. Today, I became an OAS DM and now I am making new players. We are going to PWN ALFA!” The crowd cheered. One of the men in the crowd drew a sword and charged into the portal, conveniently named “Drow Starting Area”, screaming “W00t! phat l3wt!” and passed through the magical gate on his way to Ched.

The smiling man looked to M’kayla. “It seems ALFA stands for a ‘A Land For Abuse.’” The crowd laughed. The man turned to the men. “Who wants to pwn this drow female? I know she looks uber, but remember, the DMs just give the drow PCs uber looking stuff so we can take it from them. Average CR of a drow on the OAS is like 1/32. Who wants her?”

All of the men raised their hands. M’kayla frowned and fired off a burst of forum fire incinerating the noobs where they stood.

The smiling man stopped smiling. “Hey…no fair.”

“Shut up. Where is Thrasy? He is supposed to be handling things like this.”

The OAS DM nodded fearfully. “Yes ma’am, but he is distracted by the current hostage situation in Tervale.”

M’kayla frowned again and stomped off to Tervale. There she found a ring of cops and on lookers surrounding a small cabin on the outskirts of town. Inside, a man was yelling.

“Alright, one false move and the FTP gets it! Do you hear me? Alright, here are my demands, I want all of Waterdeep given back to my control, and I want the OAS shutdown, and I want to squash all those noobs let into ALFA by the OAS, and I want to run for Admin again, and if I want to resign, well, I get to, and then I want to run again…and resign, and basically, you had all better comply with all the rules of ALFA, just like I do, you know, except for that time I threatened to make Waterdeep run at a different time scale than the rest of ALFA, and and and I want all those lousy such ass DMs gone, you know, the ones who don’t know what they are doing and drop magic items they shouldn’t drop like the time I dropped a…a….never mind about that, and I want…”

M’kayla blinked. “Who is this nut job?”

“A disgruntled DM and app reviewer.” Thrasy answered. “Ever since the new OAS came online, well, we have been phasing out the app reviewers. He got laid off and did not take it too well.”

The man kept yelling. “And I want Duck and all those other underground bastards kicked out because they are all hypocrites and they suck and I should know because I was one of them and…uh…nevermind about that either, but like, I care, I really really really care about ALFA…but I quit dammit. I totally quit. But like I am not going to leave. I am gonna,…um….hang around see, like, I am QUIT, but I am gonna be in chat a lot, and uh….well…yeah, but I am gone! You all pushed me to far and ALFA is doomed and its gonna die and it sucks, but I want to be an HDM again. Yeah, I want to be an HDM again. Fuck the Admin, but I want ….”

M’kayla shook her head. “Wow, so, like, what are you going to do?”

Thrasy shrugged. “Well, we will call in SWAAT, the Special Wacko Admin Assassination Team, and take him out before he can kill the FTP.”

The man inside kept yelling. “AND I care. Did I mention that? I really really really care! I only want whats best for ALFA. I gave ALFA everything, I put it all on the line, I put my heart and my soul into it, I loved it, I nursed it, I gave it everything I had and they just took everything away from me, they spit on me, they abused me, they….

M’kayla shook her head again. “For the love of Lolth. And I thought I was a drama queen and martyr.”

Thrasy did not respond, as he was too busy coordinating the efforts of the SWAAT. Without warning, the SWAAT made their move. Clad all in black, they moved in and cut off the yelling man’s chances to be HDM of ALFA 004.

The yelling stopped. For a moment, all was silent.

And then ALFA went BOOM…………

[to be continued…maybe…if I care…]

[Mikayla]

Lord of the ALFA, The Two Servers

Chapter 5….the Chapter with out Title….

***


When M’kayla’s darkness lightened and the Burt’s stinkcloud lifted, only three figures remained in the Underdark cavern where moments before the Fellowship had met with the ALFA-gods of the drow.

Kalbar, Ava and Whitey looked about quizzically.

“Hmmph. Where did everyone go?” Asked Kalbar, somewhat miffed that he had not been able to kill M’kayla.

Ava just shook her head. “I don’t know, but I imagine the ALFA-drow gods had better things to do.”

Whitey walked around the group, examining the area for any trace of those who had gone missing.

“There is no sign of Pelham,” the Warlock said finally. “But J’kin left us a note. It says ‘Thay or Bust’.”

“Thay? Isn’t that the evilest of nations in the far reaches of the Unapproachable East?

“Sort of.” The Warlock said. “Thay is actually in the middle of the Unapproachable East, between Impiltur and the far eastern realms of the Golden Horde which lead on to Kara-tur.”

“Fine then, Thay is in the Middle East, whatever.” Kalbar replied dismissively. “Sir Headuphisass has written extensively about the United Servers of ALFA’s foreign policies, and I believe the USA should never allow a true sovereign server to emerge in the Middle East. And rightly so. People who are not us, and who do not believe in our gods and our goodness are therefore evil by definition and should be put to the sword. In the name of goodliness and justice of course. Now, that Thayan dictator, what is his name, Sadaam?”

“Szass Tam actually.” Said Whitey.

“Sadaam, SzassTam, whatever, anyway, we need to find a reason to invade his country, kill him and his people, and steal their magic. For goodness, justice and mercy.” Kalbar stated. “Now, I know that certain liberal, chaotic bards and scholars have written a play about the USA, Sir Headuphisass and our illustrious leaders, like Vice President Duck, but everything they say in that play, all their ‘facts’ and assertions, are just a bunch of bullshit.”

“You have seen the play?” Asked Whitey, wondering how Kalbar could have seen the play while traveling the Underdark with the Fellowship.

“Uh, no.” Said Kalbar. “But I do not need to see something to know it sucks, nor do I need to know someone’s ideas to know I disagree and that they are obviously lying and wrong.”

“Uh, yes, you do.” Replied the Warlock.

“No he doesn’t, he is Sir Kalbar, and he is just dreamy. And always right.” Offered Ava.

Kalbar frowned. “Ava, you ignorant slut.”

“See,” Ava said, “he is sooooo right.”

“I called you an ignorant slut Ava.” Kalbar said, somewhat confused.

“Oh.” Said Ava. “I do not really need to listen to you to know you are always right, nor do I need to know your ideas to know I think you are hot in a swimsuit.”

Whitey shook his head. “You two were made for each other.”

Ava frowned. “Oh yeah? Well why don’t you shave that squirrel off you face you old geezer?”

"Because I am his familiar." Said the squirrel on Whitey's chin. "That is why!" Whitey just shrugged and nodded.

“So, off we go, through the portal!” And Kalbar went, through the portal.

Ava and Whitey and the Squirrel all looked at each other, then followed Kalbar through the portal.

***

The three remaining members of the Fellowhip, and Whitey’s beard-squirrel, found themselves on the surface in a green field. A nearby sign read “Welcome to Daggerdale, Farming Capital of ALFA. Daggersprings 1 Mile, Daggerfalls 10 Miles, Oredeep 15 Miles, Food, Inn, Healing, Spawns Next Exit.”

To the west, the fellowship could see a strange mushroom shaped cloud rising far far away.

A group of adventurers approached. There was two men, one human and one dwarf, and there were two women, one elven and one smurf, and a small human looking girl-child who seemed to be growing up and getting older even as Kalbar watched. Must be a soap-opera child he thought.

“Hail and well met.” Called out Kalbar. “What is that cloud in yonder west?”

“That is Waterdeep, or what is left of it.” The female elf answered. “Seems some disgruntled ex-DM/App-Reviewer named Osama-Bin-Boomer took hostages, and when SWAAT moved in on him, well, he had a bomb – thing is, the bomb went off in Waterdeep. Took the server down just like that.”

Kalbar smiled. “Perfect, that will be a perfect excuse…err…justification to invade the Middle East, take down that Szasstam guy and steal the Thayan’s magic.”

“Uh, I don’t think the Thayans had anything to do with the bombing of Waterdeep.” Said the elf woman.

“Au contraire.” Kalbar replied. “I am sure they have Waterdeep Mod Destroyers (“WMDs”) stockpiled all over their country. And even if they don’t, I am sure we will find a link between them and that terrorist Osama-Bin-Boomer. And if not, well, hell, that Szasstam guy is a baaaaad man. And if that is not enough, we will figure something else out. Hell, if we can rig Alustriel’s election, we can find an excuse to invade the Thayans. So there.”

Kalbar looked over the newly arrived adventurers. The elven woman who kept talking appeared to be the leader so Kalbar addressed her. “Oh, do forgive me my fair Lady-Elf, I am Sir Kalbar, Paladin and Knight of Tyr, Champion of Justice, Truth and Law.”

“Lady Elf? I am no elf you idiot, I am Arien Ironstar, daughter of Babras Ironstar and an Ironstar Dwarf!”

Kalbar raised an eyebrow. “You are a … dwarf?”

The woman nodded. “Yes! True, I started as an elf, but then I became a dwarf. This human is my companion and husband, the child is my daughter Keriwen, the dwarf here is my cousin Hignar, and the gnome is Soipa.”

“Gnome? That one is blue and has three eyes. She is a deformed Smurf.” These people are looney. Kalbar thought. “Clearly, there is something quite wrong with all of you. A human mixing with a transracial elf/dwarf woman to have a child? And a three-eyed smurf/gnome and … well … an ugly dwarf? You are an affront to family values and common decency. I am afraid I am going to have to slaughter you all.”

The fight was brief. Very brief. Indeed, it took only a single combat round before Kalbar, Ava and Whitey were on their butts bleeding, bruised and beaten.

“Hey.” Kalbar exclaimed. “How did that happen?”

The adventurers laughed. “Well, while you spend all your time posting about Sir Headuphisass and matching wits with Ava and Whitey in the forums, we have actually been PLAYING the game. Our toons kick ass! You three are a bunch of n00bs!” And with that the adventurers strode off laughing.

In a brief moment, Kalbar's wounds had healed completely.

"How did that happen?" Ava asked.

"He is a troll." Whitey answered.

“Is it true? Am I really a noob? Am I really a troll? Am I really a noob-troll? I should have joined the Purple Dragons. I am too tired for all this now.” Said Kalbar in the throes of self-doubt.

“Yes dear, all of that is true,” replied Ava, “but you still look good in a swimsuit.”

Yes, he surely does, thought the White Warlock.....

[Mikayla]

Lord of the ALFA, The Comic Book Experience/Graphic Novel


[Author’s note: To fully enjoy this Part of the LOTA, you will need some knowledge of Comic Book characters. If you lack such knowledge, it is not my fault you will not find this as funny as you might otherwise. On the other hand, if you lack much comic book knowledge, it means you probably had or have a real life and some hope of finding a significant other, so, who cares if this part of the LOTA is not that funny too you?]

***

Unexpectedly, the entire Fellowship of the Forums was reunited, but something was amiss.

“Whoa…we all look…different.” Said Sgt. Pelham. “Way different in fact.”

“Duh.” Replied Ava.

“Why am I in a wheelchair?” Asked Whitey. “Wait…wait a second…something is tingling in my head, I seem…I seem to be having a thought!”

Needless to say, the Fellowship was shocked.

“Hey! What do you mean you are all shocked?” Whitey yelled.

“We did not say a thing.” M’kayla replied.

“No, you didn’t.” Said Whitey thoughtfully. “I must have read your minds! And M’kayla…you are a one twisted chick. What are the Dark Yellow Pages?”

M’kayla quickly begin doing her best imitation of the psychic defense ‘Mind Blank’ by pretending she was President Bush.

“Wow, you can read minds?” Asked Ava. “You must be like a super-hero or something.”

Whitey nodded. “Yes, yes, that is it. We have all left ALFA for the alternate reality of City of Heroes, we have all become…Superheroes!” Said the Warlock excitedly. “Now, WHO are we in this alternate universe? I can read minds and I am confined to a wheel chair; obviously, I am Professor W. Which is totally unfair because I am a total martial arts god and I should be kicking ass like Daredevil, but noooooooo, what do I get? A big brain. Lot of good that ever did anyone. I had a big brain in ALFA and did it ever do anyone any good? Noooooo, no one ever listened to me. No one ever..”

Ava slapped Professor W.

“Right,” said Professor W. “Now, who are the rest of you?” Professor W looked from one member to the next.

“Sgt. Pelham, you are wearing a PVC fetish body suit and mask, have no real superpowers, but instead rely on common sense, practicality, gadgets, training and tactical ability. Clearly, you are Pel-man. Your Pel-mobile should be around here somewhere. Go find it, we will need it. And watch for the Pel-sign in the sky.”

Professor W next turned to Kalbar. “Well Kalbar, you are tall, good looking, possessed of great strength, apparent invulnerability, 1950’s morality, and a chin as big as Rhode Island. You also have a rather large ‘K’ on your red, white and blue spandex. Clearly, you are SuperKal. Since I can read your mind I know your secret identity as a gay swimsuit model who need only dash into any all-male bathhouse to assume your superhero persona, but what I cannot determine is your secret vulnerability – kryptonite would be too cliché but there is something out there that will render you powerless. Hopefully we will discover it before it is too late.”

SuperKal puffed out his chest and chin. “Invulnerability? I do not know.”

Professor W turned to Ava. “Hmm…black PVC fetish outfit and mask like Pel-man’s, whip, little itty-bitty but very sexy cat ears and long, sensuous and hopefully talented tail. Clearly, you are Ava-woman.”

Ava-woman smiled and cracked her whip. “Fucking me-ow baby!” She laughed. “What do you think of me now SuperKal?”

SuperKal was staring off in the direction of the PVC clad Pel-man. “Huh? Oh what, did you say something?” SuperKal turned back to face Ava-woman and smiled toothily.

Ava-woman just frowned.

Professor W turned to J’kin next. “Well…lets see, you are dressed in jeans and flannel, you are still mean as hell, capable of taking great punishment, and you have some nasty claws there. Clearly, you are WolverBain.”

WolverBain lit up a cigar. “What of it ya’ cripple?”

Professor W blushed bright red. “Oohhhh! If I was not in this stupid wheel chair I would martial arts your ass all over the place. Why, I could flip, chop, cut, throw …”

Ava slapped Professor W.

“Right,” said Professor W. “Now, M’kayla, lets see. You are more independent than the rest, you come from a long line of Sohei monks, you are a martial arts master and you are wearing thigh-high red boots, a black thong and bra, sexy pseudo Geisha make up and carrying a Katanna – Clearly you are ‘S/he’.”

S/he shrugged. “Hei.” S/he said.

“Now, I wonder why we have been gathered together like this.” Professor W mused aloud.

As if in answer to his question, a regal looking woman flew down to the party in an invisible jet. Now, since it was invisible, how did the party know she was in a jet? For that matter, how did the regal looking woman read the gauges, find the peddles, hold the joystick, fill it the plane with gas or perform any routine maintenance at all on the ‘invisible’ jet?

Don’t ask stupid questions.

The regal looking female stepped from the invisible jet (don’t even ask how she released herself from the invisible harness with its invisble buckles, then found the invisible canopy controls, then released the invisible ladder-thingy and climbed down it…).

“Wonder Wynna I presume.” Professor W said.

“I reckon so.” Said Wonder Wynna, casually twirling her magic lariat. “Well, y’all are probably wonderin’ what y’all are doin’ here, an’ I reckin’ I ought ta be tellin’ ya. There be some bad fellas headin’ this way, and they aim to do some bad things to ALFA. Its yer job to cut ‘em off at the pass. If’n ye hurry, ye might get there in time.”

“Why not just wait at the server portal where they have to go to connect to ALFA?” Asked Professor W.

Wonder Wynna frowned. “Well well…look at the big brain on wheel-chair boy. Fine, do things your way.” And with that, Wonder Wynna climbed back into her invisible jet and flew off. Don’t even ask how she found her invisible jet after getting out of it, or how she found the throttle, or how she knew she had enough fuel to fly anywhere (since the damn fuel gauge is invisible too…just don’t ask).

Just as she was leaving a enormously fat man in a white suit, a nerdy man with four mechanical arms, and some nightmare version of a clown came towards the Super Fellows.

“Look!” Said SuperKal. “Its Kingcheese, Duck-Octopus and McJoker!”

“Those must be the villains Wonder Wynna spoke about.” Said Professor W.

“No need to worry.” Said SuperKal. “We outnumber them 6 to 3.”

“Or 2 to 1 if you reduce it.” Offered Professor W.

“Oooh, look at the big brain on Professor W.” SuperKal mocked. “Why don’t you start rolling towards them professor, by the time you get there and find a handicap space to park in, I will have kicked all their asses. Oops. I mean, I will have subdued them.”

Professor W began to protest but Ava-woman slapped him.

Smiling, SuperKal flew off to meet the three incoming villains chin first.

Duck-Octopus pulled a thin, rectangular box out from beneath his mad-scientist lab coat, opened it and pulled out a thin silver disc. Suddenly, SuperKal fell from the sky, powerless.

“What is it? Kryptonite?” Called out Pel-Man.

“No. Its my other secret vulnerability. Its..its..it’s the Truth About The Bush Administration. Its so horrible, I cannot bear to look at it or even discuss it.”

Duck-Octopus laughed an evil super-villain laugh and tossed the bootlegged Fahrenheit 9/11 DVD at SuperKal, paralyzing the now helpless hero.

“Kill them all!” Yelled Duck-Octopus.

KingCheese and McJoker bounded forward.

“We still out number them.” Said Pel-Man, pulling a Pel-gadget from his Pel-belt.

“Do ‘we’?” Asked S/he, who suddenly slashed at Ava-Woman with her katanna, killing her instantly.

Ava-Woman popped back to life. “One life gone, 8 respawns left. Me-ow…”

WolverBain popped his claws, spit his cigar out of his mouth, and growled at S/he. “I don’t care how much you look like my lost love, Mariko, I am gonna’ cut you up for that. I just want to know one thing – why? S/he is a martial arts warrior of great honor. What you just did was the height of treachery, sneakiness and dirty-pool.”

S/he smiled. “Because I am not really S/he.” S/he morphed. Her body shape stayed the same – perfect long legs, huge unbelievably perky breast, and unrealistically narrow waist, but her skin turned blue and her hair turned red.

WolverBain’s eyes went wide. “You are not S/he at all – you are MystiKayla!”

“Yep.” MystiKayla laughed. “S/he was really just a clever little play on a comic character’s name, but what do I really have in common with an honorable Japanese martial arts hero? Nothing. Now, Mystique on the other hand is a shape-changing, bisexual, quasi-villainess with kids. Hell, that’s my real life.” With a dancer’s grace she flipped back and kicked WolverBain in the face. MystiKayla quickly assumed the form of deathstrike and extended her own adamantine claws. WolverBain recovered from the kick and launched into a furious assault on the form-shifting vixen.

Meanwhile, KingCheese squared off against Pel-Man who began tossing out one Pel-gadget after another. Professor W and Ava-Woman faced Duck-Octopus and McJoker respectively.

“pH3ar my l337 martial arts powers you villain!” Yelled Professor W.

Duck-Octopus laughed. One of the villains mechanical arms snaked behind Professor W and released the brake on his wheel chair while another mechanical arm gave the chair a good solid push. Professor W began rolling towards a blazing-inferno/sphere of annihilation/swirling-machinery of death. Who would save the big-brained professor?

McJoker swooped in on Ava-Woman who lashed out with her whip. As the lash struck, McJoker fell to his knees. “More please?” He asked.

“Sure.” Ava-Woman giggled. She let him have it with the whip and the two enjoyed themselves immensely.

Meanwhile, WolverBain was in desperate battle with MystiKayla. Her razor sharp talons tore at him repeatedly. She was unbelievably fast, and WolverBain could not parry her blows. Desperately, he dropped his defenses and she slashed across his throat laughing. WolverBain took the pain and ignored the wound which would have been fatal for anyone else. Just as MystiKayla moved in for the kill, WolverBain drove a clawed fist into her perfectly sculpted abdomen. She gasped in shock. WolverBain lifted the impaled villainess up off her feet, and held her there. She clawed at him, but her strength faded and she went limp as held her aloft.

Meanwhile, Pel-Man through a Pel-Grapple to Professor W who tied it to his wheelchair. As the KingCheese came at Pel-Man swinging his KingCheese club, Pel-Man looped the other end of the Pel-Grapple to KingCheese’s fat leg. The pull of Professor W’s runaway wheel chair pulled KingCheese off of his feet and the immense villain rolled towards the same blazing-inferno/sphere of annihilation/swirling-machinery of death that threatened the Professor.

Just as Professor W was about to be burned/annihilated/machined, Ava-Woman’s whip caught his chair and pulled him to safety. Astonished, the Professor looked over to see a bound, gagged, whipped and quite happy McJoker at Ava-Woman’s feet. The KingCheese was not so fortunate, and he was soon melted/annihilated/chopped-into-those-little-cocktail-party-cheese-cubes.

WolverBain looked to Pel-Man, Ava, Professor W and the rather embarrassed and somewhat weepy SuperKal. He dropped MystiKayla from his claws at their feet.

Just as he was about to say something witty like James Bond does just after disposing of a villain, a silver streak flashed through the sky and came to rest in front of the party.

A nearly naked, silver man, with long flowing silver hair, riding upon an enormous silver can of spam stood before them.

“It is the Silver Spammer!” Said Professor W.

“Aye, once called Fionn, I am now the Silver Spammer, herald of Galactus-Dragon, Eater of Worlds.”

“Galactus-Dragon?” Asked WolverBain. “As in a spin off of Galactus, one of the most powerful of all Marvel Supervillains, and Gauntlet Dragon, one of ALFA’s most annoying little twerps?”

The Silver Spammer nodded.

“Why? Why does that little turd-avatar-haivng punk get to be ‘Galactus-Dragon in the LOTA Comic?” Asked an astonished WolverBain.

“Because,” the Silver Spammer said grimly, “in the world of comics, the adolescent male is king.”

“Oh yeah, right.” Said the remaining superfellows.

***


What will happen? Will Galactus-Dragon eat the remaining Super-Fellows? Will WolverBain eat the fallen MystiKayla? Will any one ever respect the l337 martial arts skills of Professor W?

Find out next week,

Same Pel-time,

Same Pel-channel!

[Mikayla]

Lord of the ALFA, The Graphic Novel, Issue #2

***

M’kayla awoke the rubble of a ruined gothic building beneath a sunless, blood red sky. That this was some fiendish outer plane seemed obvious to her, but it was clearly not the Demonweb Pits. How did she get here? She remembered her death at the claws of WolverBain quite vividly. She ran her hands along her stomach but felt no wound. Still, if she was dead, her soul belonged to Lolth, and the Spider Queen livedin the Demon Web, not in Hell.

“Welcome.” Said a woman’s voice.

M’kayla turned to see who addressed her. A tall, red skinned woman of clearly fiendish origin sat behind M’kayla atop a mound of skulls. The drow-priestess stood and faced her. M’kayla eyed the diabolic woman closely for a moment. The woman looked familiar.

“I know you,” M’kayla said. “You are the comic-book character whose portrait I used for my Baldur’s Gate II character, Caina.” M’kayla smiled remembering the script-hak she had installed allowing her female character to use the romance plots with the female NPCs. Nights with Viconia DeVir were sweet indeed. If only such scripts had been written for the NWN OC. M’kayla turned her attention back to the demoness. “I don’t remember your name though.”

The red-skinned demoness frowned. “Purgatori you ungrateful little twat.”

“Oh yeah, right. Whatever. So, like what is this all about? You are a devil, this is hell, I am dead?”

Purgatori smiled. “Not quite. I am a vampire who became a demon; this is San Francisco at sunset, just with a lot of fog, and you are undead.”

“Undead?”

“Yes. A vampire in fact, or at least, in part.” Purgatori smiled and licked a tiny bit of blood off her lips. “I found you after the Silver Spammer led everyone off to go fight Galactus-Dragon. You were not quite dead yet. So…I had a snack. You. Now you are undead.”

“Why?” M’kayla asked.

Purgtori laughed. “Because I am the comic-book matron saint of vampiric demon lesbians from San Francisco.”

Quickly, M’kayla checked the internet and found that Purgatori was not lying. She was a vampire demon lesbian from San Francisco. Too cool! And more interestingly, her arch-enemy was Lady Death – who was all white. M’kayla’s arch nemesis was none other than Wynna, oft called the White Lady! The parallels were just creepy – and pretty forced. “Wow. Who knew?” M’kayla said.

“Souvarine.”

“Oh yeah, good point. He mentioned you in a PM.” M’kayla nodded. “Anyway, this is totally not going to work. No one will believe a vampire demon lesbian drow thing. They will scream power-gamer and all that.” M’kayla pointed out.

“That, my dear, is your problem. Ciao darling.” And with that Purgatori waved a little wand and M’kayla, now M’kaylatori, found herself back where she had last seen the Super-Fellows.

Now, where were they? M’kayla wondered. She did not have to wonder for long.

***

“I AM GALACTUS-DRAGON,” a great voice thundered, “EATER OF PERSISTANT WORLDS.” Galactus-Dragon stood before the Super-Fellows, looming over them like a building. He was at least 100’ tall in his current incarnation. The Silver Spammer had told them he was actually much bigger, but had used WinRAR to take a smaller form for those using modem connections. Apparently Galactus-Dragon was actually comprised of the subconscious feelings of the ALFA universes inhabitants and thus, he was enourmous, but insane. Or something like that. Its comic-book land so explanations are really secondary to the cool powers, awesome action and big, barely covered breasts misanthropic comic readers crave.

“What do you want?” Asked Professor W.

“TO EAT YOUR SERVERS AND ADMIN. I WILL EAT THE PIRATE ISLES FIRST, THEN PERHAPS YOUR DM ADMIN OR OTHERS.”

“Bah! I told you all this would happen. At least a year ago I wrote all about this threat and no one in ALFA listened to me! Now you are all doomed! ALFA will fall! All because you didn’t …”

Ava slapped Professor W.

“Right,” said the professor, “well, I have a plan to defeat Galactus-Dragon. Unfortunately, it will take me no less than 5,000 words to write out and implement, so, somebody stall him for a while.”

Ava looked on in frustration as Professor W started typing away furiously. She turned to Galactus-Dragon.

“Why do you want to eat The Pirate Isles?” Ava-woman asked.

“TO HELP ALFA. YOU SEE ALFA NEEDS LIVE SERVERS. LIVE SERVERS ARE MADE BY DMS. DMS ARE HUMAN. HUMANS ARE FLAWED. THEREFORE, DMS AND LIVE SERVERS ARE FLAWED. FLAWS MUST BE ELIMINATED. THEREFORE, DMS AND LIVE SERVERS MUST BE ELIMINATED.”

“Huh?” Asked the Super-Fellows.

“Well, why do you want to eat our Admin?”

“TO HELP ALFA. ALFA NEEDS LEADERS. LEADERS ARE HUMAN. HUMANS ARE FLAWED. TO HAVE BETTER LEADERSHIP, THE FLAWS MUST BE ELIMINATED; THEREFORE, I MUST ELIMINATE THE HUMANS. TO SAVE YOUR LEADERSHIP, I MUST DESTROY ALL YOUR LEADERS.”

“Huh?” Asked the Super-Fellows.

“Well, you cannot just go around eating servers and DMs and Admin.”

“YES I CAN. IT’S THE RULES. HUMANS ARE FLAWED, SO THEY MAKE RULES TO PROTECT THEMSELVES. SINCE HUMANS ARE FLAWED, THEY BREAK RULES. HUMANS BREAKING RULES MAY BE DESTROYED ACCORDING TO THE RULES EVEN IF IT MEANS DESTROYING ALL THE HUMANS THE RULES ARE MADE TO PROTECT.”

“So, really what you are saying is that in order to save ALFA you must destroy it.”

“YES.”

“That is totally insane and destructive!” Replied Ava.

Galactus-Dragon looked sideways at Ava like Johnny Depp looking sideways at Orlando Bloom over a flintlock in Pirates of the Caribean. “VILLAIN.” Was all he said.

“What a freak.” Mumbled WolverBain. “Lets kick his butt!” WolverBain extended his claws with an animalist growl and leapt to the attack. Galactus-Dragon raised an arm to defend himself but WolverBain simply tore into it, rending the metal apart with ease. Still, it was clear to see that WolverBain’s claws, while deadly, were simply to small to stop a problem as large as the one presented by Galactus-Dragon. Galactus-Dragon produced claws of his own from his other fist and struck back at WolverBain. The two men traded blow for blow, slash for slash in a bloody fight without quarter.

Suddenly, Ava had an idea. “SuperKal, get up there!”

SuperKal, recently humbled by the Farenheit 9/11 DVD, looked up. “Do you really think I can defeat Galactus-Dragon?” He asked hopefully. If Ava believe in him, perhaps he could resume his status and foremost champion of good and mercy and justice and killing-of-people-who-are-different.

“No, I don’t think you can defeat Galactus-Dragon” Ava said, “but I think with all those claws flying around I would finally get to see you and mother fight shirtless!” Ava-woman hopped up and down excitedly. “Me-owwww!”

SuperKal nodded. “Fair enough.” And with that, SuperKal launched to the attack.

“Hey!!” Called out Zicada, freshly appearing from out of nowhere. “Why aren’t you people all in chat?”

M’kaylatori appeared behind Zicada, bit him in the neck, and drained all his blood and threw his body aside. “Because chat sux0rs.”

Galactus-Dragon swatted WolverBain to the side sending the clawed superhero crashing into a large mound of dirt that was sticking up out of the ground. The force with which he was slapped disoriented WolverBain and he had trouble climbing out of the earth spur….(sorry…)

SuperKal was next and though Galactus-Dragon was immensely huge, SuperKal’s chin could not be stopped and soon Galactus-Dragon surrendered. SuperKal was about to deliver the killing blow when Professor W stopped him.

“Do not kill him SuperKal! We must show mercy.” Professor W yelled.

“No no, we only have to show mercy to fetuses. Once a fetus becomes a person, we can bomb it, starve it, shoot it, imprison it, torture it or even let it see Michael Moore movies if we want.” SuperKal replied.

“No no.” Replied Professor W. “It’s a woman’s choice whether she wants to expose her fetus to a Michael Moor movie or not. But once that fetus is born and becomes a human, it has an inalienable right to life, liberty and the freedom from being subjected to rabid documentaries.”

Quickly the two men fell to bickering. An orc bearing the holy symbol of the lawful good gods ran onto the field and smashed SuperKal in the back of the head. There was much applause from the 1000 Swedes, but SuperKal was not vanquished and he quickly retaliated. Joos stood up and bashed the United Servers of ALFA and was quickly slapped down by both the orc and the newly arrived El Oso Del Cuidado. Though both bear and weasel still bore the scars of their earlier napalming, they stood side by side bitch slapping the hapless Joos whose Swedish-ness prevented him from being an effective combatant.

Others leaped into the fray as well. Caoimhin Fearghul jumped on SuperKal’s back only to be distracted by a well meaning if poorly prepared coach. Hurlshot and Alaytes threw themselves into the melee as well and then, SuperKal came to face to face with Cassiel!…Long thought banished back to the UK, Cassiel had actually been preparing his evil plots in the land of Toril under a secret identity and had been lurking about ALFA looking for an opportune moment to strike. Now was just such a time. Oddly enough, Cassiel was dressed all in white with something that looked like a pope hat on his head.

“Who are you supposed to be?” Asked SuperKal.

“Uh..the White King. Cassiel Shaw. You know, leader of the Hellfire Club and all that.”

“Huh?” Asked SuperKal.

“Well, it was either this or ‘Captain Britain’ and that sounded pretty lame. Its not like there a lot of cool British Super-Heroes. Its not my fault Mikayla made us all dress up as super-heroes. What a dumb idea. Who else do we British have? Tank girl?” Cassiel responded sheepishly.

“Takn girl would kick your butt!” SuperKal replied. Quickly he kicked Cassiel in the nuts.

“That was evil!” Said a red-faced Cassiel, doubling over with pain.

“Naw,” Kalbar replied happily, “you deserved it.”

And with that they all fell to fighting.

M’kaylatori sat back and watched for a page, then two, then three, then six.

Suddenly, the evil Galactus-Dragon stood tall again, this time, a thousand feet tall. He looked invincible.

“NOW ALL ALFA SHALL BE DESTROYED TO SAVE ALFA!” The monstrous evil villain bellowed. He raised his great, glowing fists and all beneath him yelled like little girls.

But the fists never landed.

Galactus-Dragon fell suddenly, dead as doornail.

The crowd looked on stunned.

Standing behind the fallen villain was a bald man, laffing quietly to himself.

The bald man stopped laffing for a moment and looked up at the stunned crowd. “well..yawls will never guess who went and gots hisself his very own DM-Kill button..heh betcha yer weren’t exspectin’ that…” the bald man laffed again, “now, ye think this deader gots any swag?”

M’kaylatori flew up and away from the crowd. She did not care for their arguments. As a demonic, vampiric, drow, she thought pretty much everyone should be killed and/or shown Michael Moore films. No one was sacred. Still, what the villain had said made her think. Maybe ALFA was evil, and maybe, just maybe, she should do something about it…..

[Mikayla]

Lord of the ALFA, The Two Servers

Chapter 6, With Claw and Fang….

***

[Author’s note: The title of this chapter was inspired by something I saw in chat recently. I left my computer on and chat running one day because Zicada told me too – Zic really promotes the 24/7 chat thing – and when I returned a couple of my peeps had been discussing me and my PC in the Skullport chat. One of them asked the other how he thought I would react to something he was planning. The reply? ‘With claw and fang…’ I was rather flattered and inspired.]

***

In Character.

M’kayla’s feet landed on smooth stone as she came through the other side of the portal. She had been sprinting when she made her jump into the magical gate and her momentum carried her a few steps further after leaving it. She was in a dark chamber of indeterminate size and while she would ordinarily secure the room immediately she had something more urgent to do: she had to disable the portal. Quickly she turned around and looked at the portal opening behind her. The portal was a swirling blur of dark blues and pin points of light framed by a stone archway. M’kayla quickly dispelled the magic of the portal and the nightmarish nightscape came to a halt and then went black. The drow priestess knew the dispel would only work for moments. She had to find a better way to disable the portal.

An idea came to her. She pulled a small block of granite from her spell component pouch and began a prayer. She brought her hands up and began to move them as if sculpting, and sculpt she did. Stone materialized from both sides of the archway and began to grow across the portal opening, shaped by M’kayla’s gestures. The priestess brought the stone together and formed a wall across the portal barring passage.

Just as M’kayla finished her spell she felt someone or something grab her hair and jerk her head back. A knife flashed before her eyes and she felt a razor edged blade at her throat.

“Move or speak and I will cut your throat.” The voice was male and the language the common tongue of the surface. The man’s voice was insistent, but relatively calm considering the gravity of the threat. M’kayla guessed the man was human or half orc or something equally loathsome. She thought briefly about dropping a sphere of darkness or perhaps spreading her wings, but the man’s grip on her hair was tight and his knife well placed. She would not likely survive an escape attempt.

Two more men, both humans, appeared in front of M’kayla. They wore black armor and the symbols embossed on their breastplates seemed familiar to her. Then she remembered. These men were wearing the armor of Zhent soldiers. One of the two humans relieved M’kayla of the silk sash that served as her baldric while the other took her whip. Her spell component pouch was taken next, then her short sword and her daggers. Item by item the men stripped her until nothing remained but her armor. A rope was looped into a noose, passed over her head, and tightened around her throat.

M’kayla realized she was probably going to die and die badly. Getting killed in battle was one thing, but falling into the hands of one’s enemies was another. They could torture her to death at their leisure now. The mere thought of it almost caused her to wet herself.

The man behind M’kayla released her hair and kicked her forward while pulling on the rope, tightening it further. She fell to her knees and would have fallen face first but the rope stopped her.

“Now, where does that portal lead?” Asked the man behind her. M’kayla choked for a moment and grabbed at the rope around her neck with both hands. She loosened the noose just enough to allow her to breath and speak.

“Why should I tell you iblith?” She hissed.

The man’s voice stayed calm. “Because there are many ways to die. Some are quick and painless, some are not. It is your choice. You can go to your spider-bitch quickly and intact, or we can take our time violating you before sending you on to the pits.”

The offer was simple but deceitful. M’kayla knew that no matter what she said the man would probably not restrain himself or his men. She was not only going to die, she was going to get raped as well. She coughed and pulled at the rope stalling for time, trying to think. The man behind her stepped around into M’kayla’s view. He bent down and cupped her chin, forcing her to look up at him.

“Listen, you…” His eyes went wide as he saw M’kayla’s face. He and stood up suddenly and drew his short sword from its sheath, leveling the blade at the kneeling priestess.

“You!” He yelled. The man’s voice was no longer calm. M’kayla looked up. The man before her was blond and pretty by human standards, adorned in the same black Zhent breastplate as the others. The skin on his left arm and neck was wrinkled and withered looking and his left hand was wrapped in filthy, blood stained rags. He appeared to be missing one or more fingers from that wounded hand. He stepped forward aiming a sword thrust toward’s M’kayla’s breast when one of the other men grabbed him.

“M’lord Captain, the portal!” Said the second man. “We must know about the portal. And the stone barrier.” The second man looked behind M’kayla. “And there is our own priest to think about.”

The scarred, blond man pulled away but did not thrust his sword through the drow priestess at his feet. M’kayla realized this man must be one of the Zhents she and the others had fought at the Tower of An’valar. She could not help but smile a little.

The blond stepped up to M’kayla, sword outstretched. “What are you doing here?”

The question made M’kayla think. What was she doing here? The events of the last few ten-days began to run through her mind…

***

The fellowship had turned west and retreated back down the Black Road after the battle at An’valar. M’kayla had led them almost all the way back to Silverymoon before taking them through caves seldom trod by human or surface elves. Those caves descended into the depths and the fellowship soon found itself at a wretched outpost of underdark life known as ‘Daemon’s Landing.’ From there, M’kayla had arranged passage with a drow smuggler who would take the fellowship down river to a portal that could send the party to the Mines of Tethyamar past the eastern edge of the Anauroch desert. The portal was within a few days walk of Ched Nasad and had been used by those seeking to pillage the dwarven ruins of Tethymar. M’kayla learned of its existence from a member of Menzoberranzan’s Bregan D’Arthe she had captured and interrogated while she was still the Valsharess. Those Bregan D’Arthe mercenaries were always so full of useful information. A shame they were so protective of it – generally, one had to separate skin from flesh and soul from body to get those stubborn mercenaries to talk. Pity.

On the way to the portal, the smuggler had betrayed the fellowship, but that was to be expected and the fellowship had been ready. The smuggler and his associates were dispatched and their black bodies left in the cold waters of the underdark river on which they had made their villainous living. Though she had never been to the portal, M’kayla was able to find it with the help of her divination magics, the clues given to her by the tortured mercenary, and the maps left by the treacherous smugglers. M’kayla knew the portal would likely be guarded, like all portals in the underdark. Portals attracted people, people were food, and so portals attracted predators. Anything from hook horrors, to umber hulks to a portal drake might be found at such a gateway.

What M’kayla was not prepared for was a full-fledged war party of Ilythiiri. The fellowship had found themselves face to face with a large band of drow from Ched Nasad. It seemed that a number of desperate rivvil had recently jumped through the portal along with some enslaved creatures. The rather territorial and paranoid Matron Mothers of Ched decided that such incursions needed to stop and so they dispatched a war party.

The war party was led by a high priestess, Faeryl Auvryndar of House Auvryndar, fourth House of Ched Nasad. Though supported by the usual panoply of drow warriors, wizards, and assassins, she was also supported by an unusually large contingent of undead. And she had not been pleased to find the fellowship creeping behind her position around the portal. An exchange of words followed, between the fellowship and the Auvryndar, an exchange M’kayla rather wished had not happened. Faeryl Auvryndar, it seemed, knew all about M’kayla as the Valsharess and all about her recently aborted plans. Faeryl was only too happy to tell the astonished fellowship what their Valsharess had been doing in the underdark prior to her appearance on the surface. While the members of the fellowship knew M’kayla was a high priestess of Lolth, they had little idea of all the evil she had recently engineered beneath the western lands. Surface raids, kidnappings, murder, enslavement and worst of all – an attempt to unify the powers of the underdark to launch an assault on the surface the likes of which none now living could recall.

The revelation was too much for Sir Kalbar. The paladin heard Faeryl’s words and knew them to be true and he knew he could no longer abide M’kayla’s continued presence. Though surrounded by the Auvryndar drow, and uncertain of what they would do, Kalbar appeared willing to trade his life for M’kayla’s to end her evil. He had drawn his sword and attacked. M’kayla, who had been plotting her escape from the moment the Auvryndar appeared, dropped a globe of darkness at her feet and sprinted in the direction of the portal through the pitch black. She had mentally measure the distance while the Auvryndar had been talking and her estimate was close enough. Though blinded by her own darkness, when she jumped, she passed through the portal. And right into the hands of the Zhents.

***

M’kayla took a moment to take in her surroundings. In front of her stood the pretty but scarred blond man and two other Zhent soldiers. Behind her was a third black armored warrior who appeared to be standing guard over a fourth who lay motionless on a bedroll spread across the cold stone floor. The motionless man was without helmet, greaves or vambraces, but M’kayla could tell his armor was not the same as the others. She surmised that the man was the priest of Bane who had fought beside the Zhent captain at An’valar. He did not look well to say the least.

Rather than answer the Zhent captain’s question, M’kayla nodded towards the downed man. “What is wrong with him?” She asked in the surfacer’s common tongue.

The blond warrior straightened and looked at his fallen comrade. “I don’t know. Shade magic. They have been chasing us since the battle. He seems to be … fading. He was struck by shadow in the form of a wyvern. Poisoned perhaps, I don’t know.”

M’kayla looked around the chamber at the warriors, all of whom wore ragged, filthy bandages like the one wrapped around the captain’s hand. She barely suppressed a smile. “And so now you are without a healer?”

The captain’s lips flattened in a look of resignation. “Yes.” The blond man pointed with his sword. “Heal him and I will consider sparing your life.”

Sure you will. M’kayla thought. The moment the priest of Bane awoke the Captain would cut her throat. Or rape her. Or both.

“Very well, I shall heal him if you wish.” M’kayla said.

The blond man’s studied the drowess for a moment. “Why should I trust you?” He asked.

“You have little to lose.” She replied evenly. That much seemed true. The priest was not likely going to get better on his own after all.

The blond man smiled flatly and motioned one of his men to watch the chamber’s exit. “Alright.”

M’kayla expected a stream of ridiculously redundant death threats but none came. The blond man seemed to understand that she understood the situation. And she did. Probably better than the captain thought.

M’kayla rose, and the man holding the free end of the noose gave her enough slack to walk to the downed priest of Bane. M’kayla gestured at her spell component pouch which one of the others carried. The blond man shook his head. M’kayla shrugged and smiled. She had to try: you never knew how foolish someone might be.

The drow priestess kneeled over the motionless human and examined him. The back of his neck and right shoulder were red, swollen and hard. She felt beneath him and found the wound. It very well could have been a wyvern sting and poison was, most likely, the cause of the man’s incapacitation.

The source of the man’s wound did not really matter to M’kayla. With a smooth motion she extended the manicured nails of one hand into her natural demonic claws and slashed the priest’s throat open. Blood sprayed from the wound and she licked at it. Quickly, she slashed her hand back across the dying man’s ravaged throat and this time her fiendish claws scraped neck bone.

M’kayla was jerked off her knees and on to her back by the noose which tightened around her neck choking her. She was dragged backwards across the stone and she could hear the men yelling. The blond man appeared over her, fury in his eyes, sword in hand. He placed the tip of her blade against her breast and snarled. “See you in the pits you whore!”

“Wait!” M’kayla sputtered out, using her natural drow power of suggestion. The captain hesitated.

“Kill me and you have no healer.” She gasped. “Your wounds will fester, you will never get passed my stone wall, you will not learn what is beyond the portal and you will die of fever or worse in this cave.”

The blond man, red faced with rage, stood up straight. He closed his eyes for a moment, gripping his sword with white-knuckles until his arm was shaking. The man growled something in a human tongue that M’kayla did not understand. She felt herself pulled by the noose and dragged across the floor. She watched as the men looped the free end of the noose rope around a gargoyle carved atop a pillar in the chamber. Then they pulled. M’kayla was lifted up to a standing position but still the men kept pulling. Slowly, her feet left the ground and she began to strangle on the noose. She tried to extend her claws to tear the rope apart but the Zhents grabbed her arms and tied them behind her back. Her face felt hot, flush with blood and she could barely get any air at all.

The men pulled on the rope again and she was lifted further into the air. Her long, lithe legs began to kick as she fought for breath. Instinctively, the drow priestess used her innate levitation ability to relieve the pressure. The humans noticed the drowess had become almost weightless. At their captain’s command, they pulled the rope tighter, forcing M’kayla’s back up against the gargoyle around which the rope had been thrown. Once she was firmly pressed against the gargoyle, the men gave the rope another good yank to tighten the noose. One of the men then secured the free end of the line to another column. M’kayla’s choked and kicked madly. Her lungs burned and she writhed to get free of the noose. Her struggles were in vain. The rope held. Below M’kayla, the men had gathered in a small circle and seemed to be talking amongst themselves.

Gradually M’kayla lost sight of the men as her vision dimmed. Her body returned to its native fiendish form. Her kicking slowed and the burning in her lungs seemed to give way to an almost euphoric feeling. Her hands and feet tingled and the tingling moved up through her legs and arms. Her body stopped its writhing and began to convulse ever so slightly. She forgot where she was. She forgot about the men who were killing her. She forgot how she came here and ultimately, she forgot about herself. Consciousness slipped away unnoticed, it’s passing a subtle mercy.

Pain exploded in her head and she awoke with her lungs on fire again. She could not see clearly, but she knew she was on her side, gasping for breath, taking in huge mouthfuls of air as fast as she could. She tried to move but found her arms still bound behind her back. She tried to stand but her legs were numb and not responsive. They flailed spastically as she tried to get to her knees. Someone was speaking. She felt a hand slap her face.

“Calm down and breath.” Said a man’s voice. M’kayla did what she was told: she relaxed and she breathed. Then she opened her eyes. The scarred blond man kneeled in front of her.

“We have a proposition for you.” Said the blond man.

Needless to say, he had her full attention.

***

The proposition was simple: Mutual aid in the face of a mutual threat. The Zhents were being hounded by a group of shadovar and a shade wizard following the destruction of the Zhentarim’s army in the field. The blond man, a Zhent captain named Luther, had narrowly escaped death at the battle which saw the back of the Zhent army broken by the forces of the shades. He and many other survivors fled east, away from the Anauroch and away from the shades but the shades were not content to simply let their defeated adversaries flee. Small groups of shadovar led by shade arcanists pursued their scattered foes from the battle.

Luther, the now-dead priest of Bane and a group of warriors had banded together to make good their escape. The band came across a dead Zhent as they traveled. Thinking the man had been slain by roving bands of Shadovar, the Bane-priest spoke with the dead man and questioned him. Questioning revealed the dead man had not been killed by the shades or shadovar. It seemed he had actually been killed by his comrades because he had been wounded previously and was moving too slow. The dead man’s comrades were following a dismounted skymage who was headed to a portal in the mines of Tethyamar. The wizard would not tell the men where the portal led other than to say the shades would not follow. When this particular warrior could no longer keep up, they killed him to keep him from telling the pursuing Shadovar where the band was headed.

Luther and the Bane-priest thought the portal was as good a destination as any so they headed towards the mines. The Shadovar were close behind. Time and time again they skirmished with the servants of the shades until at the gates of the mines themselves, a shade arcanist made his presence known. Most of Luther’s men had been killed, and a shadowy wyvern had poisoned the priest, but the shade and its servants had been driven off temporarily. Luther knew it was only a matter of time until the shade returned with greater numbers of servants. The Zhent captain led his men to the portal. There, the Bane-priest collapsed, finally succumbing to the poison coursing through his veins. Luther sent two of his men through the portal to scout the other side, but neither ever returned.

M’kayla knew why. Faeyrl Auvryndar and her band had killed or captured them. The skymage and his group must have been the first incursion that caused the Nasadrians to take note. Faeryl and her warband were sent to the portal in response and now all that waited on the other side of the portal for the Zhents was death or enslavement. Unfortunately, Luther was right about the shade. Soon, the arcanist would be back and he would be bringing more shadovar with him, or worse yet, another shade.

And so, trapped between their mutual enemies, Zhent and drow formed an unholy alliance. Little did they know what their impromptu truce would mean for all of Faerun….

[Mikayla]

Lord of the ALFA, The Two Servers.

Chapter 7, The Spider, the Mask, the Moon and the Beast…

***

[Author’s Note: This chapter is In-Character and follows the events of Chapter 6, With Claw and Fang, that is published in the ALFA Herald.]

***

In the pitch black of M’kayla’s globe of darkness, Sir Kalbar, the Paladin of Tyr, could not see the drow-fiend running for the portal, but he knew she was. As the other drow priestess, the one called Faeryl, had been speaking, Kalbar had noticed M’kayla silently counting the paces to the portal entrance. Clearly she was planning her escape, and that meant she did not believe the fellowship was going to get passed the drow guarding the portal, not without a fight anyway. Kalbar began looking for his own way out, one that would allow the rest of the fellowship to escape as well. He looked at the faces of his companions as the drow spoke. Lylah was clearly terrified; Pelham resolutely grim; J’kin a ball of barely contained rage; and the Warlock, well, he just clutched his staff, and held his other hand free. The old man’s eyes flickered from one drow to another, from one shadowy corner to another, seeking any sign that the dark elves were set to attack. Kalbar remembered the old man had intimated that if they encountered hostile drow, or if they ever had to kill M’kayla, the first thing he would do was cast a spell that would bring daylight to darkness.

With all the pieces laid before him, Kalbar was able to see his escape. Now he had to make it happen. With a grim look he turned his attention to the drow priestess who was addressing them. Kalbar begin to ask her questions about M’kayla, about the ‘Valsharess.’ Faeryl seemed only too happy to share what she knew of M’kayla’s evil. She spoke of M’kayla’s rumored alliance with several houses and several cities as well as the beholders. She spoke of the assassins M’kayla was rumored to be sending into Waterdeep.

As she spoke Kalbar let his anger grow and that only served to elicit even more tales of evil from Faeryl. The Auvryndar priestess seemed to be enjoying the Paladin’s rising furor.

The anger was feigned, of course. Kalbar knew more than he needed about M’kayla. After seeing her fiendish form and nature at An’valar, there was nothing to be said that could shock him about her. She was no less than a fiend and that said it all.

As Faeryl spoke Kalbar turned his great sword in his hand. The Auvryndar Priestess spoke even faster now, her voice laced with laughter and contempt. Kalbar spared the briefest of glances at the Warlock and hoped the old man could see where this was leading. With no other warning, the Paladin turned on M’kayla and raised his sword high. Too high. M’kayla had a split second to react and she did. She summoned a darkness that no one, not even the drow, could see through. Just as Kalbar knew she would. He heard the quick, soft footfalls of her feet as she sprinted for the portal. Good girl he thought.

The Auvryndar drow began to yell but Kalbar could not understand them.

An instant later, the dark was banished with a light so bright it hurt even Kalbar’s eyes for a moment. It was as if the hand of Ao had ripped open the earth to expose the subterranean chamber to the light of day. The Warlock had done his job.

“The portal, now!” Kalbar yelled, turning his great blade on the Auvryndar Priestess. Faeryl, eyes shut tight against the blazing daylight, was no stranger to fighting blind or the use of light as a weapon. Neither were her bodyguards. Her Elderboy raised a shield in front the priestess even though he could not see her. Their coordination was the result of many, many years of practice. Kalbar was astonished. Still, the fellowship had a chance to escape.

Lylah sprinted toward the portal only to see the swirling magical field slow, stop, and then go dim. She leapt through anyway. And appeared on the other side of the arch, amidst the Auvryndar who were falling back from the daylight.

“Its not working!” Lylah cried out.

Faeryl yelled, “Gul,” the drow word for Ghost. A robed and cowled male at the far end of the chamber muttered incoherently and something above the fellowship began to move. Kalbar looked up, eyes wide. Dozens of hairless, naked, gray skinned humanoids were detaching themselves from the stalactites of the ceiling and scampering like insects down the walls of the cavern. A few, hanging from lower formations, simply released their grip and dropped to the floor. One landed near Kalbar and the Paladin looked into the face of his new adversary. The creature appeared to have once been elf, or even drow. Now, however, it was clearly a thing of the grave. Red eyes, sharpened teeth, rotting flesh crawling with spiders and exposed bone told Kalbar this thing was no longer one of the living.

As the undead gathered, the fellowship backed away from the walls around the now dead portal. Kalbar and Pelham exchanged a look, nodded, and then both revealed their holy symbols, calling on the power of their respective gods to vanquish that which did not live and yet still tread the world. The undead creatures nearest the fellowship were burned to ash by the holy power of the two knights. Still, more scampered down from the walls or dropped from the ceiling. Again the knights presented their symbols and their power and again a wave of undead were destroyed.

The creatures created and commanded by the drow wizard known as the Ghost knew no fear, however, and they pressed forward. More were destroyed by the holy power of the knights. The wizard muttered again, and more of his undead appeared, rushing past the Auvryndar drow who, by now, had recovered from the light and were taking up a defensive position around the besieged fellowship.

J’kin drew an enchanted arrow, notched, pulled and fired. The shaft ran through the forehead of one of the undead that had not been destroyed by the holy power of the knights. The undead fell to its knees, its unlife destroyed, but as it fell, hundreds of palm-sized spiders fled from its rapidly decaying body and surged towards the sun-elf. J’kin’s eyes went wide and he backed away from the swarm of undead arachnids which now pursued him. The Warlock saw the coming swarm and summoned fire from his hands, burning away the entire swarm.

More undead poured in and the two knights destroyed wave after wave. As they did, the cowled wizard called Gul dispelled the Warlock’s daylight. The cavern was dim again, lit now only by the feint glow of the luminescent lichens and the soft glow of colored faerie fires surrounding the fellowship’s members, placed there by the drow as the surfacers fought the undead.

Kalbar and Pelham raised their holy symbols again, and again another rank of the hideous abominations was destroyed. Then there were no more of the creatures. Smoldering piles of ash filled the cavern, but not a single one of the undead remained.

“Is that the best you can do?” Yelled Kalbar.

A feminine laugh was his response. “Not hardly.” He heard Faeryl say. “Nhamre!” Shouted the priestess, “Kill them. Kill them all.”

Something moved in the darkness behind where the drow had gathered at the entrance to the cavern. Something huge. Kalbar squinted, trying to see. From the gloom emerged an enormous, bestial figure at least eight feet tall. It had four arms; two long, nearly dragging on the ground, that ended in wicked claws, and two shorter arms, each of which carried a thick-bladed short sword with an elaborate hilt and hand guard. The creature’s head was elongated, like a wolf, and crowned with a long, white mane that flowed from its head, over its misshapen shoulders and down its back. Over the creatures’ torso was vest of black, glossy chain that Kalbar assumed was either mithril or adamantine. The rest of the beast was covered in a thick, blue-gray fur.

Behind the beast, Faeryl smiled wickedly. “This is Nhamre, a draegloth.” She looked at Kalbar. “You will like him, I think. You have much in common. Nhamre is a soldier-priest, like you. We do not call such warriors ‘Paladins’ or ‘Knights’ however, we call them ‘Judicators.’” She smiled again and turned to Nhamre. “Your lord Selvetarm wishes their blood – I think you best deliver it to him.”

The beast smiled revealing rows of uneven, fanged teeth that were the stuff of nightmares. “Xas….” It said.

Kalbar looked over his shoulder at the Warlock. The old man clutched his staff tightly and nodded at the beast. “It is a half-fiend, like M’kayla, but born of a glabrezu rather than a succubus or incubus.”

“Charming.” Kalbar replied. The paladin turned to face the approaching monster. “Can you do something about it?”

“It is born of drow, and like all such creatures, highly resistant to magic.” Offered the Warlock.

“Of course. Naturally.” Kalbar frowned and watched his knew opponent come forward. The beast’s step was sure and quick, more light-footed than Kalbar would have guessed for such an enormous thing. This was not going to be easy. “Well, get the portal working then.” Damnable wizards. Weren’t they supposed to be useful?

A brace of J’kin’s arrows whistled over Kalbar’s shoulder and struck the chain mail tunic of the beast but did not penetrate. A second brace flew past, but these were aimed lower and tore into the creature’s leg near the knee. The beast howled in pain and rage and sprinted forward on its wounded leg. Nhamre reached out with his long arms to rend the paladin apart. Kalbar feigned a withdrawal and then stepped towards the charging beast bringing his great sword up to meet the creature’s claws. While Kalbar was sure those claws were deadly, they were not capable of parrying a sword. Kalbar would fight the claws first, disable them, and then move in on the beast. Fighting the draegloth would be like fighting a bear or hunting cat in the wild with a sword.

The beast was ready for Kalbar’s tactic. It pulled its long, clawed arms back and met Kalbar’s blade with crossed short swords. With a twist of its wrists, the elaborate hand-guards of the short blades locked around the paladin’s sword. Too late Kalbar saw what the beast meant to do. Even as the Paladin tried to withdraw his weapon, the beast moved past Kalbar’s side, moving its small arms in a wide circle as it did. Kalbar tried desperately to bend and step with the beast’s move. The draegloth was too fast and too strong. In a heartbeat, the creature tore Kalbar’s great sword free from the paladin’s grasp and sent it tumbling across the cavern floor.

Sir Pelham flanked the four-armed beast and thrust his own sword at the creature’s upper armpit. The beast deflected Pelham’s blow with its great, clawed arm, saving its life but wounding its limb.

Behind the melee, the portal came to life. The Warlock pushed Lylah through and she disappeared. The Warlock called out to the others. “Run, now!”

And then Lylah reappeared. J’kin pulled up short of the portal.

“There is a stone wall on the other side.” Lylah said quickly. “There is no way past it, I struck it, and fell back into the portal.”

A few yards away, Pelham and Kalbar circled Nhamre. Kalbar had drawn a short sword and alternately did his best to create an opening for Pelham, but the beast seemed perfectly capable of fighting with all its arms at once and had no trouble engaging multiple opponents coming from different directions. From the gloom, a spray of glowing, magical missiles appeared and unerringly struck Kalbar and Pelham. A volley of small, black crossbow bolts followed, though these were aimed at the trio near the portal. One struck Lylah in the shoulder, tearing through the thin silk of her gown’s strap. A stream of red blood trickled down the milky white skin of her cleavage. Two other bolts struck the robes of the warlock, but neither could penetrate the protective spell on his skin. J’kin, blessed with incredible reflexes, ducked, rolled and tumbled away from the portal, untouched by any of the dark-elves’ missiles.

Something small passed by the warlock, flying from the back of the chamber towards the corridor from which the Auvryndar drow now shot at the party. It looked and moved like a sling bullet, but when it struck the wall near the corridor entrance, it exploded into a light as bright as the one the warlock had summoned. For an instant, the drow in the chamber entry were lit up and blinded.

A voice called out from behind the fellowship.

“If you want to live, come with me.” Said a cloaked man, barely visible in the darkness.

The five members of the fellowship ran towards him, leaving the blinded and stunned draegloth behind. The cloaked man turned and threw glittering powder into the air while chanting. A glowing, blue ring appeared in the air, a magical door not entirely unlike the barricaded portal. The man leapt through and the fellowship followed. When the last of the fellowship was through, a shadow detached itself from the wall and slipped into the summoned portal. And then the magical blue ring was gone.

***

J’kin was the first of the fellowship to appear on the other side. He appeared in another dim chamber, though this one appeared artificial, a stone room carved by magic. The cloaked figure that had summoned the portal turned to greet him but was met by the sun elf’s sword at his neck.

“I’m no stranger to your kind.” J’kin growled. “I know you are dhaerow.”

The cloaked figure nodded and pulled back his hood, revealing a black skinned face and white hair.

One by one the rest of the fellowship appeared. None but the newly revealed drow male noticed the shadow that slipped in last.

“Speak drow, before I run you through. What treachery is this? What game do you play?” J’kin gripped the drow by his robe tightly, holding the tip of his enchanted sword to the drow’s neck.

“Not every ilythiiri worships the spider-whore.” The man said. “I am Sorn Duskryn, a follower of the Masked Lord, and no friend to the spider-kissers you were fighting.”

“Then why were you there?” Asked the Warlock.

Sorn raised a white eyebrow. “Spying of course. I wished to see what the Matron’s war party planned to do with this little portal. Let us say, I am always interested to know where the spider-whore’s bitches plan on going.”

“How were you able to just walk in there?” the Warlock asked. “Why didn’t the other drow find you. Surely they would expect to encounter spies and others adept at stealth.”

Sorn smiled. “There are few as adept at stealth as the followers of the masked lord. Isn’t that right Vendrin?”

A shadow appeared behind Lylah, the shadow that had slipped in through the portal last. It took shape, a drow male, long white hair flowing, and a sword in both hands, either of which could find Lylah’s or Pelham’s back in a blink.

“This is Vendrin Claddeth, another of Vhaerun’s faithful. You are lucky. Most never actually see him.” Sorn smirked. Vendrin watched the fellowship impassively.

“What do you want?” Asked Kalbar.

“What do we want?” Asked Sorn. “What do we want? A great and powerful question that is. In sum, we would like to throw down the matriarchy of the spider-whore, to gut her villainous priestesses and set our people free of Lolth’s miserable tyranny.”

Kalbar frowned slightly, but J’kin spoke first. “What has that to do with us?”

Now Vendrin smiled, and spoke for the first time. “Everything it would seem…..”

[Mikayla]

Lord of the ALFA, The Two Servers.

Chapter 8. All the Admin’s Men.

***

Far beneath the surface of Toril,….

[Voice] Excuse me.

What?

[Voice] So, like, why is this called ‘The Two Servers’?

It’s a clever and creative mixing of J.R.R. Tolkien’s title for the second book of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, The Two Towers, and the computer game milieu in which ALFA and NWN take place.

[Voice] Yeah, yeah, I get that part, but what I don’t get is how it ties into the story. I mean, in the first ‘book’ of the LotA, The Fellowship of the Forum, you also spoofed a Lord of the Rings title – the Fellowship of the Ring. You also tied in the spoofed name to what was happening in the story. There was a Fellowship of the Forum in your ‘book’, the Fellowship of the Forum. Indeed, your Fellowship survived the first LotA book and went on through the first few chapters of The Two Servers – really, everything up until when M’kayla leaves, thus breaking the Fellowship, should have been in the first LotA ‘book.’ Regardless, I still do not see how you tie in the title, The Two Servers, to the story. What two servers? Your characters are traversing way more servers than that, or so it would seem. What is the point? Where is the tie in? Without a tie-in, your ‘spoof’ is merely as shallow play on words and not nearly so creative and clever as you make it out to be.

**Frowns.**

Look, over there, the Goodrich blimp.

[Voice.] Huh? Goodrich doesn’t have a …….oowwww…..arrghh…..

**Pulls bloody dagger out of the body of the disembodied voice…..(neat trick that…)**

And now, where was I?

***

Far beneath the surface of Toril, the remnants of the Fellowship of the Forum, Sir Kalbar and Ava, spoke in urgent tones with two drow, Sorn and Vendrin….sadly, they had been speaking in ‘urgent’ tones for several weeks now and in the interim, J’kin was called away by a family emergency and Pelham simply lost interest in saving the world and decided to take up another hobby. Whitey had remained, but he had picked up an apprentice in The Burt and the two of them were busy trying to become the ALFA Herald’s first investigative reporters. At the moment, they were arranging a secret meeting in an underdark garage with a source who would tell them the identity of the villain behind the threat to ALFA.

“Those Lolthian’s are EVIL.” Said Sorn.

The Burt looked up. “Not THAT evil. In my first ALFA expose I have proven that M’kayla, ALFA’s “Dark” Matron, is actually NOT evil. Look here.” The Burt pulled out a grainy black and white photo. Though somewhat blurred, it was clear that M’kayla’s PC was frolicking by a large carved rock in a field of flowers with pixies and the ‘good’ drow goddess Eilistraee herself.

“Let me see that!” Barked Sorn. The Vhaerunite wizard grabbed the photo and shook his head. Then something caught his eye. “Hey! Vendrin, isn’t this the rock you are standing by in your head-shot picture you used to audition for our Vhaerun-club?”

“Uh…..” Vendrin began to blush. “No….?” Vendrin said tentatively.

M’kayla appeared and pointed at Vendrin. “He worshipped Eilistraee first! He is one of Shirle’Illois’s boys over at the Temple of Eilistraee! He turned to ‘good’ a long time ago!” She stuck her tongue out at Vendrin who flipped her off. The three drow immediately set to bickering about who was the ‘real’ good one and who had stayed true to their evil roots.

Sir Kalbar, the self-proclaimed savior of everything, was focused on his own issues. “What about Robotech? Greatest cartoon ever or what? Discuss.”

The others looked at Kalbar quizzically for a moment.

“Is he right in the head?” Asked Sorn.

Ava shrugged. “As right in the head a gay swimsuit model can be.”

“Ohh….” Said the others.

“I think he is looking a bit green actually.” Commented Vendrin. “Maybe he is sick.”

Everyone just shrugged and returned to discussing their current predicament in the underdark.

“We are trying to discover why the Lolthians are doubling the guards on every portal to the surface.” Sorn said. “Normally, they do not place guards at the portals. They rather like the occasional interloper to show up. The portals are a source of slaves.”

“Perhaps it is the Shades.” Offered the Ava. “We encountered a massive Shade presence above. Perhaps the Lolthians are wary of an invasion.”

“Its PARIS HILTON!” Cried Sir Kalbar. “The Lolthians are afraid its PARIS HILTON. That skanky ‘ho has invaded all forms of media throughout the world. She is EVERYWHERE and invading every home and every conversation. I cannot stand her. I cannot stand to hear about her, I cannot stand to see her; I cannot even stand to THINK about her!”

“Uh…then why did you bring her up?” Asked M’kayla. “Seems like you might just be obsessed with her.”

“I am NOT obsessed with her!” Answered the irate paladin. “I do not want anyone talking about her, looking at her, f**king her or even thinking about her! I hate her! I hate her skanky thinness, I hate her dog, I hate her….” Kalbar went on and on and on.

“He is so not right in the head.” Commented Sorn, who then wondered why he was suddenly channeling M’kayla’s way of speaking.

“And he seems to be getting greener. And taller.” Commented Vendrin.

“I think its an ALFA insider.” Commented Whitey. “The Burt and I have a source who will soon reveal just who is behind the nefarious plots currently undermining ALFA.” Whitey paused for effect. “We are pretty sure it’s a conspiracy that goes all the way to the top – Vice President and DM Admin for Life, Duck may be involved.”

Bored with those around her, Ava clicked on the television to see ALFA-Toril’s latest reality show, ‘The Player-Representative.’ DM Admin Thrasymachus, also known simply as The Thrasy, had three of the Player-Reps in his boardroom. “Swift, you’re fired.” Said The Thrasy authoritatively.

The ALFA-news came on after “The Player Rep.” and announced that Vice President Duck would not be seeking another term. Though often called a ‘lame Duck’, it was now official.

Whitey and Burt both looked at each other. “You thinking what I am thinking?” Asked Whitey.

“Aye, its all been staged by the Duck.” Answered the Burt. “We better talk to our insider.” Quickly, Whitey and The Burt raced off to an underdark parking garage to meet their ‘source.’ Coincidentally, Ava excused herself to the powder room.

Soon, all of ALFA was discussing who should be the next DM Admin and who would be fired by The Thrasy next on “The Player-Rep.” Names and nominations dropped like leaves from a tree. Some were crushed, some were let lie, while others were picked up, held and cherished….yeah right….

Sir Kalbar had his own ideas of course. “Stratfor – Iran! Discuss!”

A few people turned to look at Kalbar, who by now, had turned bright green and grown to height of no less than 9 feet tall.

“He has become a full-on troll.” Quipped one ALFAn.

“No no, his posts are full of substance.” Retorted Ava, now returning from her brief foray to the ‘powder room.” “Didn’t you read his thread on Fahrenheit 9/11? Besides, Kalbar is so cute in swimwear.”

“His thread on Fahrenheit 9/11?” Asked M’kayla’s Press Secretary for the Black House. “This is a thread that doesn’t require us to actually read it to know it is filled with factual inaccuracies.”

The Burt and Whitey barged in excitedly, hastily scribbled notes in their hands. “It IS a conspiracy! The Admin are resigning one by one so they can grab power. Duck is the latest and he is the ringleader. They are trying to take over ALFA by resigning!” Yelled the two intrepid reporters in unison.

Duck swam up, lamely, to defend himself. “Uh…that does not make sense. If I was seeking power, why would I resign?”

The Burt growled at The Duck. “My VolVo got totaled in your ALFA-Quake Duck, and you are responsible for that!”

“That’s right!” Yelled Whitey. “Duck is to blame for everything. He is the one who dropped ALFA into the crapper by squeezing out the LoG!”

“Um, Whitey, ALFA-Quake is over, and its been over for months.” Said Duck. “Let it go.”

“I have let go of ALFA-Quake!” Cried Whitey. “I am totally over ALFA-Quake. But even though I am totally over it, Duck is still responsible for ALFA-Quake! That skanky Duck has taken over all forms of control throughout ALFA. He is EVERYWHERE and invading every server and every game. I cannot stand him. I cannot stand to hear about his ALFA-Quake, I cannot stand to see what ALFA-Quake has wrought in ALFA; I cannot even stand to THINK about ALFA-Quake!”

“Uh…then why did you bring it up?” Asked M’kayla. “Seems like you might just be obsessed with it.”

“I am NOT obsessed with ALFA-Quake!” Answered the irate Whitey. “I do not want anyone talking about it, looking at it, f**king it or even thinking about it! I hate it! I hate what ALFA-Quake has wrought, I hate how ALFA-Quake went down, I hate talking about ALFA-Quake….” Whitey went on and on and on.

“What?” Yelled Duck indignantly. “I am not at fault, and what’s more, I am resigning! What has ALFA-Quake to do with anything now?”

“Clearly you are trying to grab more power in ALFA!” Shouted Whitey and The Burt in unison.

“Who told you this?” Asked Duck.

“Our source.” Said Whitey and The Burt confidently. “Deep throat.”

“Deep throat?” Duck furrowed his brows. “You mean the White House insider with the deep raspy voice who snitched out Nixon to Woodward and Bernstein?”

“No,” said Whitey and The Burt, “we mean the chick who offered us deep throat to publish all these smears about you.”

“But who…” Duck began to ask, but he was suddenly cut off.

“Hey, I think a woman should be made ALFA Admin.” Said Ava. “I think ALFA needs a female perspective. Women know how to dee….to build relationships.” Ava smiled.

“Yes, Ava is the perfect candidate.” Said Whitey, a look of great satisfaction on his face. “She is excellent at … ‘building relationships’.” More ALFA men joined in to tout Ava’s ‘relationship building’ ability. A LOT more men.

Duck and Wynna pointed at Borgia who was working away tirelessly in the compliance department. “But, Borgia’s a hard worker, loyal ALFAn, good guy and all around great candidate for the job.”

“Yes,” said Whitey, “but can he ‘build relationships’, nudge nudge, wink wink, know-what-I-mean, know-what-I-mean?”

Borgia looked around a bit stunned. “Um, I would be a good DM Admin because I have been doing many of the jobs a DM Admin is supposed to do, I am deeply committed to ALFA, I know the guidelines, rules, manuals and game, and I will devote myself 110% to this job.”

“Yes,” said The Burt, “but can you ‘build relationships’, nudge nudge, wink wink, know-what-I-mean, know-what-I-mean?”

Meanwhile, throngs of happy men were posting ‘Ava for DM Admin – She ‘Builds Relationships’ posters all over ALFA. Borgia was overwhelmed. He began to wonder if he could build a relationship with Ava too.

As the debate grew more intense, a noob named JudasOxfordsomethingorother walked in. He had just been killed in CvC action and was looking for a little justice. For dead guy, he looked pretty good. Stormseeker decided to help out the dead man seek justice and soon, the two of them were demanding new rules for CvC in ALFA. The justice seekers wanted OOC tells, DM clearance, agreed upon rules and a host of other OSHA (Office of Saving Hopeless ALFAns) approved regulations.

The candidates for DM Admin ignored the issue at first, then began to seek out polls and research the appropriate position…so to speak…

M’kayla, never a fan of OSHA (unless it helped her personally), walked over and burned JudasOxfordsomethingorother to the ground with a burst of forum fire, killing him instantly, and without an OOC tell.

Galadorn appeared and denounced M’kayla and her evil practices, such as simply murdering people she did not like without warning. M’kayla briefly thought about defending herself by showing Galadorn the expose by Burt and the now infamous ‘nude M’kayla/Eilistraee’ pics which had made their way onto the internet. Interestingly, in the internet version the ‘frolicking’ looked a lot more like sex and Eilistraee and M’kayla looked a lot more like Paris Hilton and Ava…..

M’kayla decided against all that however, and simply stabbed Galadorn in the back and then skinned him so she could put a care-bear-skin run in front of her fire. Sometimes, the simplest way was the best way.

Meanwhile, some one had come to notice the giant banner of TORIL waving behind Ava. Ava quickly pulled it down and replaced it with a giant banner of ALFA. It was kind of spooky.

Traind suddenly portaled in from his own dimension and yelled “ALFA sucks!”

Many ALFAns were somewhat bewildered by his sudden appearance, coming so quickly after his rather loud, and rude, departure in which he kissed off ALFA ‘for good.’ Collectively, the ALFAns were all like “Dude, didn’t you like, go away? Didn’t you say you were having a great real life and sex and stuff? Dude, why are you hear?”

“Because ALFA sucks!” Cried Traind. “ALFA is doooooooomed. ALFA will soon be gone from the face of the world. I cannot stand ALFA. I cannot stand to hear about ALFA, I cannot stand to read ALFA’s forums; I cannot even stand to THINK about ALFA!”

“Uh…then why did you come back and post in ALFA?” Asked M’kayla. “Seems like you might just be obsessed with ALFA.”

“I am NOT obsessed with ALFA!” Answered the irate Traind. “I do not want anyone talking about ALFA, looking at ALFA, f**king ALFA or even thinking about ALFA! I hate ALFA! I hate posting in ALFA, I hate reading about ALFA, I hate ALFA….” Traind went on and on and on.

Kalbar continued to rant about Paris Hilton, Whitey continued to rant about ALFA-Quake, and Traind continued to rant about ALFA. Duck tried lamely to defend himself, Burt continued to cry about his wrecked VolVo, Boomer began dropping one senseless post after another and the debate about OSHAs standards for CvC continued long into the night.

As ALFAn turned on ALFAn in one pointless argument after another, Ava stepped back and looked to M’kayla. “So,” said Ava playfully, “wanna build a relationship? Nudge, nudge, wink, wink, know what I mean, know what I mean?”

***


Far away from the summer wildfires of ALFA’s boards, the true nemesis of ALFA looked on through a scrying pool. The nemesis could see the Fellowship of the Forum was cracked, its tenuous bonds of loyalty strained by recent events, and its progress slowed by the bog of ALFA politics and M’kayla’s writer’s block. The nemesis began to laugh and the laughter did not stop…………..

[Mikayla]

For the Herald. Its long, 6,800+ words, I hope thats ok, and its in character, so not particularly funny. Hopefully people will read it anyway.


***

The Lord of the ALFA, The Two Servers.

Chapter 9, Revelations

***
Author’s note: This chapter is in character. Why? Because I have gotten bored of writing the parody stuff and at the moment I do not feel very funny. If and when ALFA strikes me as silly once again, I will return to the parody. Of course, the whole GENRE is silly, even when taken seriously, but hey, we are all nerds so we can live with it. I hope you enjoy.

***

Faerun was slowly shattering like a brittle stone wall struck by a catapult rock. In this case, the catapult rock was the city of the shades, and it had struck Faerun in the desert of Anauroch. From that desolate point of impact ever-lengthening fissures of chaos and destruction radiated outward. After the Battle of An’valar, the Shades had made their presence known decisively. The Zhent armies were broken and retreating. Only the Shadovar armies now walked the Black Road. Shade scouts had left the desert for populated lands, skirmishing with locals, sewing discord and setting the populace to panic. Another fissure rose up from the east to meet the chaos caused the Shades: Red sailed Thayan warships invaded the harbor of Selgaunt and the forces of the Zulkirs crossed blades with the forces of the Hulorn. Trapped between the two evils were the lands of Cormyr, Sembia and the Dales. Though only Selgaunt was currently under attack, all those fair lands were under shadow.

West of the Anauroch, the people of towns like Loudwater trembled in fear of what might be coming their way. They knew whatever shadow had fallen over the Anauroch was dark indeed; the Zhent supply lines had been cut and now garrisons like the one at Lorkh found themselves cut off from their eastern brethren. Suddenly, the ever-present threat of the Zhentarim did not seem quite so bad to the people of Loudwater, and many of the Black Network’s fiercest enemies found themselves wishing their old foes had put up a better fight. The evil you know is always less frightening that the evil you do not.

North of Loudwater, the leaders of the Silvermarches had started discussing the new threat amongst themselves, though many, like King Bruenor Battlehammer, far removed from the desolate wastes of the Anauroch, found it hard to be too concerned with a threat so distant. King Obould Many-Arrows and his orc horde were much closer, as were the frost giants. In the Dales the news of the Zhent defeat spread slowly and was often not believed. The Zhent garrisons near the Dales, unlike the ones in the west, had not been cut off from Zhentil Keep and so their garrisons were still being maintained. Most were undermanned as a result of the great destruction wrought upon their army, but the Zhents were nothing if not disciplined military men. They maintained their forts and their regular patrols thus maintaining an illusion of strength. Long accustomed to a nearly invincible Zhentarim, the people of the Dales found it hard to believe the Black Network had been shattered.

Some people in the dales did know the truth. Some had been there when the Shades had demolished the Zhent army. One of those persons was Captain Luther, formally of the Zhent military under the Black Network’s Beholder caravan mistress. Luther now approached the gates of Daggerfalls with several of his men. Gone were their black Zhentarim breastplates, greaves and vambraces. Those readily identifiable armor pieces had been left behind days before in the Desertmouth mountains. Luther and his entourage, such as they were, now traveled incognito.

One of Luther’s entourage could not travel anonymously simply by shedding her armor. Indeed, the more skin she showed the less likely she was to go unnoticed. M’kayla’s tamest appearance was that of a drow female, and that appearance would be enough to bring out the warriors of Daggerfalls, the rangers and druids of Daggersprings and the dwarves of Oredeep. Only a few years had passed since M’kayla’s sisters in arms had led a deadly raid on Daggerdale, leaving its three most respected priestesses dead. The Night of Three Knives was not a night many dale residents would soon forget. Though M’kayla had nothing to do with the raid, the folk of the dale would not likely stay their sword hands if they saw her. The hatred of the drow ran deep here; as deep as the wounds the drow had carved into the hearts of the dale’s people.

To avoid inflaming that hate, M’kayla used her spells to remain invisible. Luther and his men could not see her either, but she stayed close to them, especially Luther, as they made their way through the green hills and valleys. To reduce the chance of being noticed, she tried to walk directly behind Luther with another of his men directly behind her. In this way, they hoped to minimize the chance someone would notice her steps or find her tracks.

The Daggerfall gate was tricky. There were numerous freedom fighters manning the gates by day, and at night, the great wooden portals were closed. Luther’s band stopped at the campsite just outside the city gates, sending its members off to the various shops that had sprung up at the crossroads. In the meantime, Luther and M’kayla observed the gate guards. Neither could discern what, if anything, the guards might have that would detect M’kayla’s invisible form and not knowing worried them both.

“I can get in the city on my own.” M’kayla whispered.

Luther turned from the gate, sat and pulled a whetstone from a pouch on his belt. He looked down to conceal his face, drew his short sword, and set to sharpening it. “How?” He asked in a low voice.

M’kayla, still unseen, knelt beside him keeping her eyes on the distant gate guards. “I can remain unseen, and I have wings.”

The former Zhent captain nodded just slightly. “Alright. Then what? You will have to meet us somewhere. There is a tavern, the Dagger I think its called, or the Broken Dagger. I believe its to right as you enter this gate. Do you think you can find it?”

M’kayla thought for a moment. She did not know much about human ‘cities’ other than they were stinking cesspools of filth. She had seen several on her journey with the Fellowship, and she had not been impressed. Some were larger than Menzoberranzan or Ched Nasad, but none were as grand, sophisticated or clean. Human settlements were ugly collections of simple stone or wood hovels surrounded by the simplest of defenses: walls. Pathetic. The defense glyphs, shriekers, ensorcelled creatures and other magical wards which protected the Qu’ellars of the Ilythiiri were so much more advanced than what the human’s possessed it was hard for her to consider the humans much more than pink orcs despite their fantastic success as a race. Only the elven influenced city of Silverymoon with its Mythallars had impressed M’kayla to any degree. That city sparkled like a diamond with the unholy light of the Darthiir and their traitorous Seldarine. It was a city as bright and horrid as Menzoberranzan was dark and fantastic. M’kayla had never been more uneasy than she had been in Silverymoon. That place was simply wrong.

Regardless of how she felt about surface settlements, there was still the problem at hand. Could she find this tavern? She spoke the common tongue of the humans and she could read their alphabet, but humans often used signs and markers not words; too many illiterates among their number. Again, pathetic. Perhaps with their short, brutal life spans, many simply did not have time to learn to read. It did not matter; M’kayla had other means of location at her disposal. She could find the tavern, or at least, she could find Luther.

“Xas. Yes.” She answered finally. “I will be able to find it.”

Luther nodded subtly again. “Good. We will wait in the common room.” He muttered. “When you find the tavern, wait outside, across the street. Every half hour or so I will send one of my men out to smoke a pipe, piss or take a walk. You can make contact then and my man can lead you to where we will be staying.”

“Alright.” M’kayla replied. “Are you sure entering the town is necessary?”

“Yes.” Luther said softly. “The person, the spy, we need to speak with lives within the walls. She has what we need and we will get it from her.”

“Indeed.” M’kayla said, still staring at the guards. M’kayla still wondered though, would what Luther thought they needed actually help?

***

West of Daggerfalls, another woman was traveling incognito. This woman did not, however, share M’kayla’s black skin, white hair or fiendish origins. She was a human woman, of average height, slender build and pale skin. Her ash blond hair was tied back in two braids and tucked inside her cloak. She wore her hood over her head, more for concealment against the sun than against prying eyes. Her fair skin, though weathered by years of hard living, was still prone to burning. The gray skies of her home in the Silvermarches were more than a month behind her. From Silverymoon, she had headed east, across the sun-bleached wastes of the Anauroch. Though now out of the desert, the sun above the Desertmouth mountains was just as bright. The only difference was that occasionally during the day she would receive some relief from the occasional rainstorms that seemed to come and go from nowhere.

Though slight in build, the woman rode an enormous war horse. When prepared for battle, the beast would not only carry the woman, but her heavy plate armor and its own barding. Behind the huge warhorse followed another large equine. The second horse was a pack animal and carried the woman’s armor and the warhorse’s barding while they traveled. Though of similar size and strength as the warhorse, the packhorse had a much different temperament. The woman’s war trained mount would fearlessly fight almost anything the woman directed it to while the packhorse balked at almost anything it was unfamiliar with. Frustrated, the woman had wanted to release the packhorse many times during her journey. That was an idle fantasy, however, as she needed the extra carrying capacity. This was a long journey and though the woman’s warhorse was brave, loyal and strong, its endurance was not infinite. Without the packhorse, the woman would have to wear her heavy armor and the warhorse would have to wear its barding. Both rider and mount would quickly tire and this journey would either slow to a crawl or come to a halt altogether.

Now her packhorse was balking again. She pulled at the tether, but the animal would not move. She considered wrapping the tether around her saddle horn and trying to drag the beast forward, but that rarely seemed to work. The slender woman dismounted and walked back to the packhorse, speaking to it in a soft voice. She usually had more luck trying to coax the moody animal to move than trying to force it. As she approached the obstinate animal, she pulled her hood back. Wynna the White was not easily given to anger, but sometimes she felt she would rather eat this animal than put up with its fickle moods any longer.

Behind the packhorse, Wynna’s two companions came up the trail. The first of her companions was a bearded human male, tall, but slender, and of middle years. He was a wizard of sorts, called Murky. He had set out with Wynna from Silverymoon. Murky’s charge had been to see Wynna across the Anauroch unmolested. With the sudden appearance of the shades, this task had turned out to be somewhat harder than anticipated, but they had succeeded none-the-less. Murky brought his mount to a halt behind Wynna’s stubborn pack animal. After more than a month of traveling, he was all too familiar with the packhorse’s backside and its propensity for stopping on short notice for little or no reason. More than once, he had considered ‘educating’ the horse with his magic, but Wynna would not hear of it. She was too kind.

Wynna’s second companion, was the gnome Fionn, now short an arm. Fionn had lost the limb when a beholder at the Tower of An’valar had petrified him. The gnome’s petrified form had fallen from the heights of the tower’s upper rim onto the ruined stones below, causing the arm to break off. When Wynna and Murky had come upon the tower and found Fionn, Murky was able to change stone back to flesh, but he could not regenerate Fionn’s severed limb. Wynna was able to stop the bleeding and restore Fionn’s health, but she could not restore his lost limb either. Since being found at the tower, Fionn rode Murky’s packhorse, a similar animal to the one that now halted the small caravan’s progress, though possessed of a more complacent disposition. In its saddlebags Fionn had placed his still petrified right arm. He was nothing if not hopeful.

Wynna stroked the long nose of the stationary pack animal. She looked up to Murky, whose frustration was apparent on his face. She shrugged. The packhorse pulled away from Wynna, reared its head back, neighing. Clearly the animal was spooked, but as far as Wynna had been able to tell, frogs could spook this beast. She looked around the dusty hill trail they were on. She saw nothing but the rough, rolling hills with their tall brown grass. To the right of the trail was a berm crowned with tough, thorned bushes. It would offer as good a vantage point as they could find.

Wynna looked at Murky and Fionn, and motioned to the brush covered rise. “I’ll go have a look ‘n see if I can figure whats spookin’ this beast.” The two men nodded.

Wynna scrambled up the grass-covered berm until she was face to face with the thorny bush. Carefully, she eased into the bush so she could stand atop the rise and look around. As she did, she heard a sharp crack from the other side of the hillock. She froze. Another crack followed, and then the feint sound of low, grumbly voices. Wynna stayed low and pushed her way through the tough, springy brush until she could see through to the other side. There, beyond the berm, in a shallow depression by a pool of water, were two ogres. One picked up a javelin, ridiculously small in its oversized hand, and then thrust the weapon through a long, heavy branch. Crack. The ogre picked up the branch and waved it around. Four javelins protruded at different angles from the improvised club turning it into a crude but deadly weapon. The other ogre was vainly trying to make a human sized breast plate fit somewhere on its body. First it tried its chest, then a bicep, then a thigh. When it could not make the breastplate fit, it picked up another and tried that one. Bits of human sized armor lay scattered all around the ugly beast and Wynna wondered how long this little dress up session had been going on. If ogres were not such foul tempered, dangerous creatures, the scene would have been comical.

Without taking her eyes off the two ogres, Wynna began moving backwards. A branch snapped, then another. Wynna winced. Stealth had never been her forte. The two ogres looked up to where she stood in the brush. The one with the spiked club pointed his newly made weapon at her and yelled. The other beast hurled the armor he had been trying to wear at Wynna. She ducked and the armor crashed through the bushes. Wynna turned to get off the berm but found herself grasped by the thorny vines of the tough scrub she was standing in. This is not good, Wynna thought, not good at all. She managed to draw her longsword as the club-armed ogre rushed the berm.

“Ogres!” She yelled. If nothing else, she owed her companions a warning since she had managed to attract the ogres’ attention.

The club-armed ogre reached the berm and swung its javelin-studded branch at the entangled woman. Wynna did a half turn away from the blow, pushing herself deeper into the brush. Thorns dug into her wherever skin was exposed, but being pricked by thorns beat being skewered by javelins. The ogre’s club crashed through the scrub. One of the embedded javelins scraped down Wynna’s shoulder, ripping through the leather armor she wore, drawing blood. The laceration was ugly and bloody, but not immediately life threatening.

Wynna gritted her teeth in pain and looked at the ogre, anger filling her eyes. “That is quite enough!” She yelled. As the ogre tried to pull its entangled club free of the thorn bush, Wynna used all her strength to step forward and strike down on the ogre’s outstretched arm. “By HELM!” She cried, summoning forth her ability to smite the unrighteous. Her long sword glowed brightly as it fell and cleaved clean through the ogre’s arm at the elbow. The stunned creature blinked in surprised, staring at its truncated stump. Bright red blood shot from the wound in spurts, spraying across the dull green branches of the thorn bush. The ogre stepped back away from the berm, turned and started to stagger away.

The second ogre retrieved its club. Though not studded with javelins, the club’s size and the ogre’s natural strength combined to make it a deadly instrument. The beast charged past its wounded comrade at Wynna, raising its club high. Wynna pulled herself free of the bushes, stumbling forward down the berm into the shallow depression where the ogres were. Just as the ogre swung she tucked and tumbled with her forward momentum. The ogre’s club missed her rolling form, but Wynna was not particularly adept at the fine art of tumbling in combat. Her attempt at a graceful roll turned into an uncontrolled fall and she ended up sprawled out just behind the enraged beast. The ogre turned on her prone form and raised his club again. As he brought it crashing down, Wynna rolled away from it and gained her feet. The ogre recovered from his swing and launched another attack. Wynna sidestepped the blow, using the same move she had on the berm, but much more gracefully now that she was unhindered by the thorn bush. The club struck dirt and Wynna lunged in, thrusting the point of her blade into the ogre’s belly. The beast howled and staggered back, swinging its club defensively from side to side. Though far smaller and weaker, Wynna’s skill was far and away superior to the ogre’s. She feinted left then came on the ogre’s right, slashing across his forearm as he tried to parry. She feinted right then came in on the ogre’s left, a mirror attack of the last, again slashing across the ogre’s forearm as it tried to block. Wynna sidestepped left, another feint, but this time followed the feint with a direct attack instead of waiting for the creature’s parry. The beast, weakened by her slashes and misguided by her feints, was unable to block at all this time. Wynna drove her sword deep into its torso. The beast staggered back, but Wynna did not relent. In a moment, it was over and Wynna stood atop the dead creature, her long sword dripping with its blood.

The other ogre had managed to stagger over to the small pool of water where it had fallen to its knees, weak with blood loss. It thrust the bleeding stump of its arm into the mud at the edge of the pool, trying to staunch the flow. Wynna adjusted her grip on her long sword and took a step towards the kneeling beast when a flurry of bright, sparkling magic missiles flew past her and into the remaining ogre. The beast screamed as the spell struck home, arching its back in pain. As the last of the five missiles struck, the beast fell face first into the pool, quite dead.

Wynna looked over her shoulder to see Murky standing atop the berm in the thorn bush. She wiped her sweaty, blood-splattered brow and nodded at the smiling wizard. She looked around the depression where she was standing. The area was roughly bowl shaped with a pond perhaps thirty feet across at its center. Wynna saw no stream, and so surmised the water was a natural spring. Pieces of black armor were strewn about haphazardly. Wynna examined one of the breastplates. The markings were familiar. Zhents. She wondered if they were still alive or if the ogres had gotten them. It was possible that if the Zhents were deserters or refugees from the recent battle, they might have discarded the armor. It was also possible the Zhents had simply become a meal for the ogres. The pond was the sort of watering hole predators like the ogres would hunt.

As she wandered about the depression looking for any sign of the missing Zhents, Murky and Fionn joined her with the horses in tow. Wynna smiled as the horses drank from the pool. The encounter had been a bit of a revelation. Her packhorse had sensed the ogres long before the other animals or their riders. Wynna would pay more attention to the beast next time. A dull, throbbing pain reminded Wynna of her wound. She laid her hands on her bloody shoulder and healed the laceration. She glanced once more at the packhorse. She would pay much more attention to the animal next time.

She looked to the wizard. “What do you think, Murky? Did the Zhents leave this stuff behind, or did they just get eaten?”

“What does it matter?” Asked the wizard.

“Well, I would like to know if we have four more enemies to look out for or not.” She replied. “I suppose there is also the possibility that if the ogres got them, they might not all be dead yet. Though they may be Zhents, they are still people. Maybe if we were able to rescue them, they might be able to tell us more about those damnable shades.”

Murky looked around the watering hole. “Well, I’m no ranger, but I do not see any bodies or bones. No sign of any human carcasses at all.”

“I don’t think the ogres got them.” Said Fionn. Murky and Wynna looked over at the one-armed gnome who was holding pointing at a table sized stone near the watering hole with his one hand. “I think they ran into something a little worse.”

The stone was squarish, with a relatively smooth top-face that sloped towards the water. On the top-face was a carving. Though the carving was crude, it was clearly a spider. In the body of the carved spider was etched a single rune that looked to Wynna like Espruar. Dark reddish-brown streaks ran across the top of the stone and down its side. One did not have to be a ranger to recognize the stone had been transformed into an improvised altar to the Spider Queen.

Fionn looked over at Wynna. “I recognize that rune. M’kayla has been here.”

***

Far to the east of the Desertmouth Mountains and Daggerfalls, the remainder of the fellowship traveled with the drow wizard Sorn and his shadowy comrade, Vendrin, beneath the lush green canopy of the Cormanthor forest. After their escape from Matron Faeryl’s forces, the two drow had led the remainder of the fellowship to another, more secret portal. Only the Vhaerun worshippers of House Jaelre knew of this second portal. The Jaelre used it to send their spies to watch over Ched Nasad. To remain hidden, the portal did not lead directly into Ched Nasad, nor did it lead directly to the Jaelre stronghold. Instead, it connected a small, obscure, Underdark grotto with a long-since abandoned ruin in the same ancient forest where the Jaelre now made their home.

Upon their escape from the Underdark, the party had traveled as fast as they could through the great wood for a full day. The trek was led by Sorn with Vendrin taking up the rear. The assassin had done what he could to erase the signs of the party’s passage. Once safely away from the portal, they had made camp. There, they discussed the recent events. The former members of the fellowship were loath to reveal anything of their mission, so Sorn explained all that the Jaelre knew. The Lolthians of Ched Nasad had mobilized the armies of the noble houses and every passage, portal and cavern near the city was being watched. Never in all their years of watching the City of Shimmering Webs had the Jaelre spies seen such cooperation among the city’s houses.


The Qu’ellars were ordinarily embroiled in sinister plots more convoluted than any Underdark waterway. Now it seemed as if all the backbiting and treachery had been washed away. The city was presenting a united front, and that worried the Jaelre. While the Vhaerun worshippers of House Jaelre were far away in the forest of Cormanthor, linked to Ched Nasad only by a secret portal, the uniting of an entire Lolthian city was something to take seriously. Whatever united Ched Nasad might very well unite Maerimydra, a Lolthian city that lay beneath the dales. The Jaelre needed to find out why the Nasadrians had come together. If it was an isolated incident, unique to Ched Nasad, then so be it. If it were something else, however, such as a change in the Way of Lolth, then House Jaelre would have to act. Sorn and Vendrin had been dispatched to find out.

The fellowship related what they knew of the shades and the shadovar, recounting their fight at the ruined tower of An’valar. The answer to the riddle seemed clear. The Nasadrians were uniting because the shades had returned. Ched Nasad was not too distant from Anauroch, at least in the paranoid minds of the drow. The ancestors of the Nasadrians had seen the ancient empire of Netheril rise and fall and knew all to well of its wizard-leaders’ dangerous skills and ambitions. Their descendants, the modern residents of Ched Nasad, had not forgotten. Sorn passed on this information to his superiors at House Jaelre via a magical sending.

After speaking of the shades and the threat posed by their return, the party had rested through the night until morning. Now, the party walked east towards the Jaelre stronghold. Sorn had told the fellowship his superiors in House Jaelre wished to speak of the shades with those who had actually fought them. The Jaelre leaders also wished to discuss the possibility of uniting with others against the formidable threat posed by the Shades. The fellowship, naturally unnerved by the prospect of encountering more dark elves, reluctantly agreed. Lilah, Kalbar, Pelham and the White Warlock saw it as an opportunity to develop an ally against a common enemy. J’kin outwardly agreed, but in truth, saw the journey as an opportunity to travel in relative safety to the stronghold of one of his enemies. From there, he could escape easily enough. The N’vaehlar stronghold was also in this forest.

As they walked between the great trees of the forest, Sorn signed to Vendrin in the drow silent language. I have just received a reply to my sending. A war party has been dispatched and will meet us shortly. Now that we know what has united the Nasadrians, the humans are to be killed. Their knowledge of our portal and presence will die with them this day. The elf we will take alive for sacrifice. He can take his knowledge with him to his traitor’s hell in Arvandor.

Vendrin nodded slightly but did not otherwise respond. He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder at the humans and the darthiir called J’kin. Sorn’s message sent Vendrin’s mind to work. Like most drow raised in cities such as Menzoberranzan and Ched Nasad, Vendrin viewed life as a great savva game. Each act in life was as a move in Savva. For every move, there would be a move by the other side. The trick was to see all the moves available, the responses, and so forth playing out each combination to its end. Then you picked the one that led to the end you wanted.

The current situation was difficult. Sorn’s message had made Vendrin’s next goal clear, but the question was how to achieve that goal. What moves could he make? Which should he make? It took only a minute for Vendrin to run through all the moves and counter moves and come to a decision. His next move would be high risk and have an enormous cost, but the stakes had never been greater. In life, as in savva, great gains often required great sacrifices. Like most successful drow, once he had played out the moves in his mind and decided upon one, Vendrin did not hesitate.

The assassin signed to Sorn, doing his best to conceal his hands from the fellowship with his body. I have a plan. We should use tap code. The surfacers have traveled with that Spider-Kisser, M’kayla. They may have learned some bits of sign. Drow tap code was an offshoot of the silent tongue. It was slow and tedious, but extraordinarily secure. Two drow could clasp hands, cup fingers, and tap in each other’s palms effectively communicating while concealing their communications from all observers, even those who knew the code.

Sorn nodded slightly and held out his left hand to Vendrin as they walked. Vendrin took his hand and began tapping. As he did so, the assassin surreptitiously drew a thin, enchanted dagger with his left hand, holding the weapon in his fist, blade down. With no warning, Vendrin stopped tapping, gripped Sorn’s hand, and twisted it hard forcing the mage’s arm to bend behind his body. Sorn grunted in pain, staggered forward and fell to one knee as his arm was twisted. Though surprised, Sorn was a drow just like Vendrin and no stranger to treachery. Even as the mage’s knee hit the soft soil of the forest, his off hand was already bringing a wand to bear on the assassin. Unfortunately for Sorn, Vendrin was prepared and moved faster.

In one fluid motion Vendrin turned in towards Sorn and dragged the blade of his dagger across the side of Sorn’s neck. A jet of bright red blood erupted from the wound and Sorn’s eyes went wide with shock. Still holding the dagger overhand, Vendrin prepared for the coup-de-grace thrust down into Sorn’s back. Before he could strike, the bleeding mage disappeared with a small flash of light. Vendrin no longer felt the mage’s hand in his own. Sorn had not pulled free; he simply was no longer there.

Vendrin looked around in a circle, drawing his longer sword as he did. Sorn was nowhere to be seen. The damn wizard must have had a contingency spell or something , Vendrin thought. No matter, wherever he was teleporting to, Sorn would arrive with his carotid artery cut. Unless he teleported into the arms of a cleric, the mage would be dead within minutes.

Behind Vendrin, the fellowship had drawn their weapons and taken up a defensive stand. J’kin notched two arrows to his bowstring and circled warily to Vendrin’s left. Pelham and Kalbar had raised their shields and their swords and now stood between Vendrin and the spell casters who in turn, readied their magic.

Vendrin frowned. “I am not your enemy.” The drow said aloud. “But your enemy approaches. The Jaelre have sent a war party to kill you. They have no more use for you and would rather see you dead than let you keep your knowledge of their portal. They will be here soon.”

Kalbar began to advance on Vendrin, leveling his sword at the lithe assassin. “I believe I am through granting the boon of trust to any of your race, drow.”

Vendrin backed away from the large human slowly and sheathed his weapons. The assassin held up his hands. “I can prove it. And I can prove that I am not your enemy.” Slowly, under the wary gaze of the humans and the elf, Vendrin opened a bag of holding and from that bag of holding retrieved a folded piece of black felt adorned with arcane symbols embroidered with silver thread. The Warlock recognized the symbols as ones of concealment, used to prevent scrying and divinations. Whatever was wrapped in that felt would be well hidden indeed. Carefully, the assassin unfolded the magical black cloth revealing a small silver object.

“My real holy symbol.” Vendrin said, holding up the object. It was tiny silver figure of a naked drow female dancing in front of a crescent moon.

Kalbar stopped his advance but did not lower his sword. Vendrin could see this was going to take some explaining. He only hoped he could convince the surfacers he was telling the truth before the rest of the Jaelre found them and proved it the hard way.

***

M’kayla’s feet touched down on the cobbled streets of Daggerfalls without a sound. Her boots, crafted by the drow, were enchanted for stealth. Once grounded, she transformed from her winged, fiendish form to her smaller drow form. She pulled up the hood of her piwafi and then wrapped the dark, drow-made cloak around her body. The piwafi had been badly damaged over the course of her travels, especially at An’valar, but her mending spells had managed to keep it together. Though no longer as useful as it once was, it still helped conceal her form. Even without the cloak, M’kayla was still invisible thanks to her spells, but she was all too aware that some people and some creatures would be able to penetrate that relatively common defense. The piwafi added another layer to her protection. Unseen and unheard she made her way through the streets in the direction Luther had indicated.

With the aid of her divination magic M’kayla found the tavern quickly. She nestled into a shadowed nook across the narrow cobbled street and watched the tavern door. The night air was crisp and cold. While the piwafi was useful for concealment, it was not particularly warm. M’kayla shivered in the dark, watched and waited.

Time dragged and the priestess grew impatient. She guessed an hour or more had passed and still none of Luther’s men had come out. She waited until the street was clear then crossed. Silently, she crept around the tavern until she found a window. Warm yellow light spilled into the dark through grimy glass and with it came the sound of people talking, laughing and singing. M’kayla peered through the window.

Inside, a mixed crowd of humans, dwarves, halflings and surface elves were drinking and eating while a musician played a stringed instrument. A gorgeous, red haired woman accompanied him, dancing for the crowd and playing a flute. Occasionally she would pause her flute playing to sing, and the music she made with her voice was far more enchanting than any instrument. She sang of great deeds and low, of good times and bad, of places near and of places far.

The crowd clearly appreciated the musical duo. They clapped with the beat, sang with the chorus, and roared their approval with each melody’s climax. M’kayla could see something she could not readily identify on faces of many in the crowd. There was lust there, which was to be expected, but there was something more. Lust was a part of it, but not the sum of it. The flame-haired woman was more than just beautiful and the men who watched her wanted more than just to mate with her. M’kayla did not understand, but she could see that the singer’s performance drew to the surface the tenderest feelings of those who watched. One couple near the window drew closer as the singer crooned her way through a particularly haunting ballad. The male was human, the female a surface elf. The man held the woman and rocked her as the singer sang. A smiling child ran through the crowd, approached the couple and hopped up into the outstretched arms of the elf woman. The trio laughed and smiled. Other couples kissed, while groups of comrades, brothers, sisters and friends drank and ate. The musicians played on.

Outside, a cold rain began to fall. M’kayla remained standing in front of the window, her cloak slowly soaking through, watching the tavern scene with fascination. She had never seen such warmth, such playfulness and such ease amongst people. It was nothing like how she had imagined the society of the surfacers. It was crude, to be sure. The songs were short and simple, their rhymes and rhythms the stuff Ilythiiri children could devise. Nevertheless, the songs had a strong effect on those who listened and the people in the tavern shared a carefree way that was unknown in the Underdark. As she shivered in the rain, M’kayla wondered if she could touch that warmth. Could she ever be held like that elf woman? Would anyone ever look at her like they looked at the singer? M’kayla knew that she was as beautiful as both the elf woman and the red haired singer. Indeed, with her drow and succubus blood, M’kayla was sure that she was even more beautiful. Still, no one had ever held her like the human held the elf woman, and no one had ever looked at M’kayla like those people looked at the singer. Many had gazed at M’kayla with lust in their eye, or fear, or hate, or all of those. But none gazed with that warmth, that longing that she saw in these people’s eyes.

“It is not for you.” Said a voice from behind M’kayla. The voice was melodious, resonant and deep. It had a dark, seductive quality to it like a fine liqueur. “Lover, child, family. These things are not your life.” M’kayla did not turn from the window. She recognized the voice. There was no mistaking it and there was no need to confirm with her eyes what she heard with her ears. She knew she was still invisible, but she also knew such magic could not fool the person who now addressed her.

“Why not? Am I not as beautiful as those women? Why can I not have what they have?” She asked.

“You are more beautiful then they are, and infinitely more exotic to human eyes I am sure, but it will not avail you.” The voice replied. “Go in and find out for yourself. See how they react to your particular ‘beauty.’” The voice stifled a chuckle. “Even if they set aside your black skin and wings, what then? You cannot dance, you cannot sing and you most certainly cannot love. Your talents lie elsewhere. You can lead, you can worship your goddess and you can kill. You inspire fear and awe, not love and loyalty. You may inspire lust, but such lust will come to nothing. You have the appearance of a succubus, but you have the mind of a marillith. You are a priestess, a general, not a temptress. What you see through that glass is not your life, it is someone else’s. It is a life not meant for you.”

“Then what is for me?” M’kayla replied. “What is my life? And if it is my life, why can’t I live it as I choose?”

“Because you are who you are, and nothing you do can change that. You can pretend to be something you are not, you can try. Take a lover if you can find one. Have a child, start a family the way the surfacers do. It will not matter. In the end, you will not be able to deny who and what you are.”

“And who and what am I?” M’kayla asked softly.

“You are Ilythiiri, a priestess of Lolth and a child of the abyss.” He replied. “Your destiny is not to be someone’s mother or lover. You are no singer in a tavern or dancing girl. Your destiny is to be Valsharess.” His voice was so smooth, so strong, M’kayla could not resist its dark allure.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, M’kayla turned from the warm light of the tavern window to look at the man who stood behind her. Though his form was that of an unusually attractive human male, M’kayla knew he was far from human. His eyes gave him away. Other people, not as attuned to the abyss as M’kayla, would see only clear blue orbs the color of the deepest seas. M’kayla, however, could see past the superficial beauty to the cold, soulless depths that lay below the deceptively placid surface. This was no common mortal, this was the incubus Eliazar, and even among demons, Eliazar was uncommon. He was an enchanter of no small power and had ambitions as grand as the Demon Princes themselves.

Standing in the cold rain of Daggerfalls’ dark streets, M’kayla met Eliazar’s gaze and smiled, revealing her fangs. “Hello father, its been a long time.”

***

[Mikayla]

Lord of the ALFA, The Two Servers

Chapter 10: Of Ducks and Shades…..

***

Silverymoon.


Former United Servers of ALFA Vice-President Duck Chainey-Burns watched a crowd of protesters outside waving signs and singing songs. Throngs of protesters had come to Silverymoon to leer and jeer at the Presidential candidates. Mother led the ‘You all suck and I will save you from yourselves’ party while Indio led the ‘Dudes, basically everything is cool’ party. Fire against water. Revolution against Reform. Bad boy against Bad boy gone good. Meanwhile, Traind tried to get his Naderesque independent party off the ground – sadly, he was the only member. Write in candidates like Wynna, Mikayla, Whitey and even ‘Alfred E. Newman’ had more support.

Most of the protestors were camped outside the White Lady’s house waiting to hear from the candidates on the issues of the day, such as the war against the shades, multiple PCs, and inter-server magic treaties. This group, however, was protesting right out side Duck’s door. It was very puzzling.

“Why are they protesting against me?” Asked Duck. “I resigned as Vice-President, and I have nothing to do with this election.”

Duck’s chief of staff, Leadfeather-Smithers answered. “Because they think it is all a power grab sir.”

Duck frowned. “Smithers, how is resigning from my post as a Vice President a power grab? Who are these people? What are they thinking?”

“The usual crowd of mothers and freaks. I don’t know what they are thinking sir, I will go ask.” Leadfeather-Smithers walked out to meet the crowd who promptly set him on fire. Duck swore under his breath. What was wrong with these people? Duck suddenly knew what he had to do. There was only one thing that would show these people once and for all that he did not want to rule ALFA-Toril.

Duck made his way to the roof of his house, a rope in one hand, and a short sword in the other. Once on the roof, he began securing the rope to his weather vane. A shadow passed over him. Duck looked up to see a cloaked, hooded figure whose face was completely obscured.

“Who are you?” Duck asked. “What are…” Duck paused. “I know you.”

“Of course you do.” Answered the cloaked figure.

“What are you doing here?” Duck asked.

The cloaked figure nodded to the rope and then the sword. “I have come to collect you.”

Duck straightened. “You are ALFA’s real enemy, aren’t you?”

The cloaked figure let out a laugh, a deep rolling chuckle that chilled Duck to his flippers. “Yes. Of course I am. Who else? What else?”

Duck looked out at the crowd assembled on his lawn, protesting. Even now they were burning some poor duck in effigy. “They think I am the real enemy, the grand schemer behind ALFA’s woes, the great villain behind all of this.”

The cloaked figure chuckled again. “Indeed they do think that, but you are not. Even if you wished to harm ALFA, you could not do a fraction of the harm that I could do. That I will do. That I am doing. I was, I am and I always will be. You will see that soon.”

Duck frowned again. “I know you well enough. I am not afraid of you, I just don’t like you.” With that, Duck finished tying the rope to the weather vane on his house. He fashioned the other end of the rope into a noose and slipped it over his head. With a last look at the cloaked figure, Duck drew his short sword and stepped to the edge of the roof.

“People of ALFA” Duck yelled. “I am not your enemy! I wished only to help ALFA-Toril. My resignation was obviously not enough to assuage your fears and suspicions, so, I will do something more. Something to show you once and for all I do NOT wish to rule ALFA!” With that, Duck thrust his short sword into his stomach and leapt from the roof. He was simultaneously hung and eviscerated.

“D’oh!” Exclaimed the crowd’s leader.

The crowd of ALFAns fell silent. They stared at the lifeless body of the man they had come to hate and revile as the source of all of ALFA’s woes. Long had they suspected him of plotting to rule all of ALFA-Toril. Now, he hung before them dead, having taken his life with his own hand.

Suddenly, a voice broke the silence.

“That gutless Duck plans to rule ALFA from the grave! We have to stop him! Death to the Lich-Duck!”

Quickly, the crowd realized that Duck was even more devious, more evil, more despicable and more power hungry than they had ever imagined. The fiendishness of someone who would resign from the second highest office in the land, then choose not to run for the highest office, then who would actually kill themselves to prove they were not seeking power was positively diabolical! Obviously it was all a Machiavellian ruse to rule ALFA-Toril! “Death to the gutless Lich-Duck!” They yelled.

“D’oh!” Said Duck’s lifeless body.

The protests continued long into the night. Meanwhile, the weather vane from which Duck’s body hung turned to the east……

***

The Forest of Cormanthor.

“I hate nature.” Said M’kayla as she walked with Luther and his remaining Zhentarim men, Thaegen and Magile.

Luther laughed. “I can see that. It does not look like the bush agrees with you.”

“The ‘bush’?” M’kayla asked.

“Yes, the ‘bush.’ Its just a nickname for the wilds. So, while away from our strongholds or cities, we are in the ‘bush.’”

M’kayla frowned and tried to disentangle herself from the thorny vines of one particularly nasty shrub. “Well, I hate the bush.”

A booming voice that could only come from someone with a large, comic book like chin, answered. Naturally, the only person with a chin that big and silly was the Half-Troll Paladin, Sir Kalbar.

“The bush has been certified as wonderful, acceptable and fun to be in by the United Servers of ALFA, the Circle of Seven Conservatives, the Dwarves of Oildeep and many other right-thinking rangers, druids and barbarians.” Exclaimed Sir Kalbar. “I am surprised you would out yourself as an outright liar!”

M’kayla frowned again. “But I am not lying. I do hate the bush.”

Kalbar grinned. “Liar! The bush is wonderful, many right-thinking people have said so.”

“Whatever. Good bye Kalbar.” M’kayla held up her palm in the universally recognized ‘talk to the hand’ gesture.

“But I love you.” Said Kalbar in a small voice. M’kayla knew the sullen Half-Troll was telling the truth, but Kalbar was just one of those boys who teased for attention. The best revenge on him was not to fight him or punish him, but simply to ignore him.

A rustling noise caught the attention of all those gathered around. M’kayla, Luther, Sir Kalbar, J’Kin, Ava, Whitey, Pelham, and Thaegen formed a circle and readied their weapons and spells. Magile prepared a turnip – it was ripe after all.

Suddenly, a gaggle of child-sized adventurers burst through the undergrowth into the glade, running at full speed in their little armored costumes. The circled heroes breathed a sigh of relief.

“Its just Nooblins.” Said M’kayla.

“Nooblins?” Asked Kalbar. “Are those anything like noobs? Noobs are just new players.”

M’kayla nodded. “Yeah, noobs are new players, but these aren’t noobs, they’re nooblins which are like a mix of noobs and goblins. ALFA-Toril has been flooded with them since that portal to Tervale opened up. It seems hordes of nooblins are streaming through on a daily basis, running in packs across the plains of ALFA-Toril, gobbling up low-level spawns. Sort of like the cicadas, but you know, way more annoying.”

The nooblin horde ran up to the circle of heroes. The nooblin-chief carried a shield painted with a red tiger. He was speaking quickly as he ran. “Spawns? Spawns? We’re hunting spawns, seen any spawns? Statics? Seen any statics? We’re hunting statics. Where’s the loot?” He did not even slow to a walk as he queried the heroes.

“Damn nooblins!” Said Mxlm. The frustrated ALFAn promptly put the smack-down on the nooblin-chief with the flat of his sword. A pendant fell off the nooblin-chief, but the chief did not seem to notice – he had three more just like it on gold chains around his neck. A wandering muse silently picked up the pendant and examined it. After looking at the pendant, she looked sad.

The nooblin-chief frowned and led his gaggle of nooblins to the ALFA-Trak station. “Half a dozen ALFA-Rail Passes please.”

“Business or pleasure…errr…wait….role-playing or power-gaming?” Asked the station agent.

“Powergaming.” Answered the leader.

“Reason for powergaming?” Asked the station agent.

“Must exceed level of the last person to lay the smack-down on me. Err, I mean, my character is a barbaric guy who is not nice and whose sole purpose in life is to kill stuff and collect loot.” Answered the nooblin-chief.

“Um, that is two ‘sole’ purposes, but very well, here are your ALFA-Rail Passes. These passes are good on all ALFA servers but be sure to have your ALFA Visas on you at all times. Happy hunting.”

The nooblin-chief quickly pulled out a hand full of “Shadowdale Spawn Maps” to his followers.

“Where did you get those?” Asked a curious nooblin.

“Same guy that stands on the corner selling ‘Hollywood Star Maps.’” Replied the nooblin-chief. “There is a whole series of ‘em.” He held up spawn and static guides to Waterdeep, The Frozen North and other ALFA servers. “Every tourist bureau carries ‘em now. Lets go!” With that, the nooblin horde ran off as fast as it had come.

The muse held up the nooblin-chief’s pendant to the crowd.

Kalbar grabbed it. “This pendant is very powerful, far more powerful than anything a little nooblin should be carrying. Where did he get it?”

The muse pointed to the inscription on the back. Made in Daggerford.

“I should have guessed!” Said Kalbar. “The Special Economic Zone of the People’s Republic of Daggerford. They make everything there. Toys, counterfeit golf clubs, Malar Amulets – everything! Damn cheap-labor-having communists. With their enormous, mindless population they can out produce everyone. Did you know they are all named ‘Rick’? They just give every Rick a number to tell them apart!”

“As the newly elected Vice President of the United Servers of ALFA, and as Kat-Woman, I will handle this.” Said Ava. Quickly, she pulled out her Kat-Phone and dialed a number. “Hi Rick, its Kat-Woman, I need to talk to Rick. No no, the other Rick. No, I mean the other, other Rick. Yeah, THAT Rick. Thanks, I’ll wait.” Ava looked the pendant over. It was a perfect copy of a Malar Amulet. Damn those Ricks were good. First it was cheap music cassettes, then DVDs, now, lesser artifacts. “Hello Rick? Yes, we seem to have one of your amulets here. You do? You know? Yes, well you also know this pendant violates the standards for Amulets contained in Article IV, Section 3, Paragraph 2, sub-paragraph (a) clause (i) of the interserver Magic Using Devices Document. You didn’t know? Why not? The standards are spelled out quite clearly in the M.U.D.D. What’s that? You are ‘so sorry’? You will issue a manufacturer’s recall? Alright. That will do. Say ‘hi’ to Mrs. Rick and all the little Ricks. You too. Bye.” Ava hung up and quickly dialed another number on her Kat-Phone. “Thrasy, its Kat-Woman, what can you tell me about a nooblin-chief who carries a shield with a red-tiger on it?”

“Well” Thrasy answered, “so far we have stories filtering in about the Red Tiger Nooblins from the temple of Orc Paladins, the Coven of Witches, a Ranger of the Woods, a sad muse and over 7,400 people named Rick. Don’t worry, I will handle it.”

Suddenly, a loud rustling noise approached. The nooblins were back, but this time they were larger. Indeed, no longer were they nooblins, they had become Hobnooblins. Their ALFA Rail Passes were well worn and their ALFA-visas were stamped on all their pages. On their backs were large sacks labeled “Property Of Northern Cormyr Post Office.”

“Looks like I will be handling it first.” Said Mxlm, drawing his sword and stepping in front of the running hobnooblins. Mxlm barely got his blade out when the gaggle of hobnooblins ran him over and through, pounding him into dust. The hobnooblins did not even pause in their running and they disappeared as fast as they had come.

“Weren’t those the same nooblins…err…hobnooblins… Mxlm just laid the smackdown on?” Hignar asked, walking down the same (NC Mail) trail as the hobnooblins, a well worn copy of the latest version of the M.U.D.D. in his hands.

“They seem to learn fast, and they are getting bigger.” M’kayla said. “They had more Daggerford knock-offs too. I saw at least 3 sets of +3 armor.”

From off in the distance, the hobnooblin-chief yelled. “It’s a bug!”

M’kayla shrugged. “A bug that yields +3 armor? Sounds like a ‘feature’ to me, but whatever. Hey, what’s with all the mail? I thought the hobnooblins’ stated reason for PGing was because they were a bunch of bloodthirsty barbarians. What does delivering mail have to do with being a barbarian? Or being a warrior? Or anything really?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think you’re right, but um, hey, look the Goodrich Blimp.” Hignar said, pointing to an empty sky with one hand while stuffing Daggerford made knock-off immunity rings into his own NC Mailbag. “Well, I would love to talk about it, but I have to be off. My sub-committee of the M.U.D.D. is meeting soon and we have lots of loopholes to make….err….I mean fix. Yeah, that’s it, that’s the ticket. Hey, look, the Christmas Bunny!” Hignar pointed stage left but dashed off stage right.

“None of this matters.” Said Luther. “We have other things to worry about.”

“Yes!” Said Whitey and Kalbar in unison. “The elections!”

“Indio or mother?” Asked Whitey.

“Bush or Kerry?” Asked Kalbar.

“Hin or gnomes?” Asked a freak.

“Turnips or Potatoes?” Asked Magile.

“Are you out of your minds?” Asked Luther. “I am talking about the imminent shade invasion!”

“Oh THAT.” The group said in unison.

From out of the shadows came the Big Cheese of the Shades. “You will all die! The shadovar army cannot be stopped, the Shades are the most powerful mages of all time, Shar is our goddess and I have her direct-dial. We will crush you! We will destroy you! If you even so much as KNOW about us, you fate is sealed! We are INVINCIABLE! Muwahahaha!”

A messenger walked calmly up to the Big Cheese and handed him a note. The Big Cheese, an evil grin still upon his face, read the note. His grin flattened.

“D’oh!” The Big Cheese exclaimed. “I’ve just been informed the Shade invasion of ALFA-Toril has been canceled due to poor ratings. The first season will continue to be aired in syndication on TBS (Totally Bored Servers) but the show has otherwise been discontinued. Reruns of the Hall of Fame Winning Adventure ‘The Bright Blades Quest’ and upcoming episodes of CSI: Westgate will be played in its regularly scheduled time slots. Thank you, that is all.” With that, the Big Cheese of the Shades disappeared into the shadows of obscurity.

“Well,” said J’kin, “that leaves Duck as the great threat to ALFA.”

“Um, nope.” Replied Ava. “Former Vice-President Duck is dead I am afraid.”

“D’oh!” Said J’kin.

M’kayla looked off into the distance wistfully. “The best laid plans of Ducks and Shades often go awry.” She shook her head and looked around and the heroes gathered beneath the leaves of the Cormanthor. “What then is the real threat to ALFA? Who is our enemy?”

A sound like distant thunder rolled towards the heroes. The sound grew louder and louder, until it was so loud it shook the foundations of ALFA-Toril. Through the forest a gaggle of Bugnoobs rushed knocking over trees as they ran. They were outfitted in the finest mass-produced Daggerford knock-offs available; manufacturers’ recall stickers still hung from the mighty enchanted items. The leader of the bugnoobs bore a red-tiger shield. They trampled all before them; rules, standards, traditions, concepts, PCs, spawns and statics. Nothing was safe.

“Thrasy has failed!” Someone yelled. “The nooblins are still growing. They bugnoobs now! They are trying to reproduce. Yes, look, they are trying to create multiple PCs!”

As the heroes looked on in horror they saw that the bugnoobs were, indeed, trying to clone themselves. A few brave ALFAns stepped into the fight, bolstered by the magic of the White Warlock, but the bugnoobs were feisty and immune to the “ALFA’s Deadhorse” spells being thrown at them. Throngs of ALFAns fled in the face of the coming bugnoobs.

Zicada ran by and yelled to the gathered heroes. “Wipe the vault from orbit, it’s the only way to be sure!”

The gathered heroes looked from the on-rushing bugnoobs to each other. The bugnoobs might not be the ultimate threat to ALFA, but at the moment, they were definitely a threat. The heroes gird themselves for war and hoped their kung-fu was strong….

***

Who will win?

Indio or mother?

Powergamers or role-players?

Bush or Kerry?

Hin or gnomes?

Turnips or potatoes?



See ‘Crouching Tiger, Hidden Powergamer’ coming to a server near you.

[Twiggy]

*bump*

Its really time for the next saga in this series.

*nudges Mik*