Anthology: Once Around the Realms

"Thanks!" Passepout answered sarcastically.

"I didn't mean any slight, I just couldn't see anything. It's as if I am suddenly psionically blind."

"Maybe that's what happened at the gate. You mentioned that mythal stuff can mess the magic up."

"No, it's not the mythal," Volo said with a certain amount of trepidation. "I fear it might be me. I should have sensed our visitor's approach last night, but I didn't. At the time I wrote it off to the fatigue of the road, but now I'm not quite sure."

"What do you think happened?"

"I don't know, but I fear that my magics have gone away."

"You don't suppose that grouchy old Khelben put some sort of whammy on you?"

"You mean when he bonded us to the jewels? I don't know. Maybe."

Passepout, now fully recovered from his terrifying adventure beyond the gate, stood up and once again brushed the dirt of the road from his robes.

That's why I don't trust wizards. They're always out to play some joke on you. I hear that even Elminster likes to have his fun with the likes of us."

"Elminster!" Volo exclaimed. "He can help us. I'm sure that he can undo any dampening spell that Khelben cast on us. We must head to Shadowdale immediately!"

"Immediately?" asked a slightly apprehensive Passepout.

"Immediately!" Volo insisted. "The sooner I get my magics back under control, the sooner we can accelerate our distribution of the gems and thus clear the good name of Volothamp Geddarm, master traveler. There is no time to rest. Surely you must feel refreshed from your impromptu nap. I would have thought that you would like to see this whole thing over as soon as possible."

"Agreed, Master Volo," Passepout said cautiously, "but it wasn't my own feelings I was referring to."

"Then whose?" boomed Volo in a voice that echoed throughout the ruins.

"Theirs," answered Passepout. He pointed to a band of orcs who now blocked their only avenue of escape and were cagily closing in.

The orcs were an ugly bunch, obviously in search of treasure and fun. Unfortunately, one orc's fun is usually another person's torture, and neither Volo nor Passepout were adequately armed to fend off an attack.

"We're doomed," Passepout cried, once again ready to go weak-kneed.

"Now, hold on there, partner," said Volo. "Even without my magics we still have a chance. Lucky for us, orcs are stupid."

"Oh, you mean you can't read their thoughts, either," said the master thespian, temporarily relieved of his panic.

"Observe," Volo offered in a hushed tone. He approached the band and exclaimed, "Thank Eo you have arrived. I was beginning to worry that you might not come, and with such lovely weather it would be a shame to have to reschedule the show."

The orcs stopped their approach as Volo neared them.

"You there!" said Volo, approaching the leader. "You look like a stalwart fellow, an adventurer's adventurer if I might say. I bet the little woman is proud of you."

The lead orc scratched his head, feebly trying to figure out the curious human whom he formerly marked as their next victim.

"You know, you orcs lead such interesting lives. Right, Passepout?"

"Sure," said the thespian, hoping that his master would let him in on whatever he had planned.

"Don't dawdle, my good fellow. These orcs are in a hurry to get to Halruaa."

"Oh, yeah, right," replied Passepout, finally catching on.

"After all, we can't hog the gate all day."

"Of course not," the thespian agreed.

Volo put his arm around the head orc's shoulder and began to lead him over to the place of the gate.

"Now you have to hurry or someone will get the treasure before you."

"Treasure!" the band of orcs shouted.

"Well, yes, treasure. Halruaa is a land of treasure, and it's right through there," the master traveler instructed, motioning to the gate that still led to the domain of the beholder.

Immediately the orcs began to push and shove toward the gate.

"Halt!" grunted the head orc, still slightly skeptical of the two strange humans, yet eager to be the first through the gate if indeed treasure lay on the other side.

Passepout rushed to the other side of the leader in hopes of assisting his master in egging him on.

"You'd better hurry," he encouraged, then opening the bag of gems from Khelben he reached in and pulled out a handful. "See! There's lots more than this on the other side."

On the pile of green that rested in Passepout's palm, a single gem of red glowed into prominence.

The head orc snatched the glowing red gem, and while Passepout quickly returned the rest to the sack, he proceeded to swallow it in a loud gulp.

"Not looking for treasure!" the orc replied, backing away from the gate. "Looking for lunch!"

With that the head orc approached the corpulent thespian, salivating at the meal that he was about to behold.

Passepout smelled the stink of orc's breath closing in on him, and felt himself going faint. He cried, "Oh, no! Not again!" as he looked to Master Volo for assurance.

Unfortunately, the look in the master traveler's eyes indicated that there wasn't any, and the brave gazetteer was preparing himself to meet his doom.

RESCUED BY A CATLASH or Good Company Is Always Appreciated, Especially When It Shows Up In the Nick of Time

Snap!

Crack!

Out of nowhere the lashes of a seven-strand whip sailed over the heads of the orcs, and slashed and cracked on the head of their leader, diverting his attention from his prey.

Snap!

Crack!

Again the whip came crashing down, its lashes striking two more orcs who quickly separated, diving left and right to clear a path between the holder of the whip and the orc leader and his prey.

Standing eight feet away was a tall, muscular yet thin woman with long brown hair, hard green eyes, and a seven-stranded whip whose twelve-foot range was deceptively disguised as two feet at rest. Behind her stood a band of no less than ten equally fearsome female warriors.

"We have been rescued by Amazons!" Passepout rejoiced.

Volo, knowing that Amazons were not indigenous to this area, nevertheless breathed a sigh of relief over the fortunate arrival of their rescuers and heard the orc leader mutter an orcish curse as he realized that his band was both outnumbered and outskilled.

One of the orc band, however, was neither as intelligent nor as perceptive as his leader, and with a loud war whoop, raised his blackened blade into the air and charged the newly arrived pack of humans.

An auburn-haired beauty, just slightly shorter than the company's leader, insinuated herself forward, and with lightning reflexes unleashed her rapier, skewering the oncoming orc before he had even realized that he was within striking range. With equal skill and facility, she withdraw her blade from the brute body, pausing only momentarily to wipe her blade on her victim's tunic to remove the remaining black flecks of orcish blood from its silver sheen.

Another equally foolish orc, dagger in hand, unaware that his comrade had already met his end, lunged forward at the bearer of the catlash who had dared to strike his father, the orc leader. His lunge, however, was quickly intercepted, blocked by the intervention of a quarterstaff whose bearer had vaulted herself forward to protect her leader. Thrown off-balance, the orc dropped his dagger and fell forward. He found himself pummeled across the side of his bovine visage by the oaken staff and spun around by its bearer, his orcish windpipe cut off from life-giving air by the staff that was now braced below his chin, his body coming to rest on the redhead's armored chest with his feet three inches off the ground. The former attacker's face was quickly turning white from asphyxiation.

Others in the orc band contemplated joining in when the orc leader barked an order, they all laid down their weapons.