[BtVS/D&D3.5] A Stomp Through the Realms

[weirdbutgifted]

Scraped from here.

Chapter 1












Summary: A while back, Dantrag posted a challenge called 'A Stomp Through The Realms', which I have reposted below. This is an attempt to meet that challenge in most details, with only minor deviation. In short, during the incident with Acathla at the end of season two, a diversion to the canon events occurs and Angel, Buffy, Xander and Giles are sucked though the portal, ending in Faerûn separated from each other. This is the story of their experiences there, and the challenges they must meet and overcome in the process. To the best of my ability there will be no bashing or Super! characters, and though Xander and Buffy will have more screen time at the start, it is because they have the most achieve in the character development area.



Level of Critique: Following a suggestion made some time ago, I will state that I am happy to receive all levels of response from '+1' "nice work/this sucks" to PKiller's Level 5 Crit (though I'd be surprised if anyone was willing to take the time), and anything in between. I'm not an experienced author, and I post here in the hope of improving, so feel free to rip it to shreds (figuratively speaking), without worrying about my ego - I promise not to lash out at anything you say and to give any advice offered serious thought.



In Universe Canon: D&D 3.5 generally, 4 doesn't exist as per the challenge. As this includes D&D and I know there are several people on the forum with nigh encyclopaedic knowledge - this is fluff, not game mechanics. That said, my aim is that you should always be able to see how I could have come up with the fluff from the mechanics, and nothing should get the response "That's impossible". By that I mean I may play fast and loose with things like number of attacks, damage and the number crunching etc., but if you think I've screwed up say, racial characteristics, please let me know and if I'll either change it or explain why I'm doing it that way.



Distribution: The forum here initially, with links to story posts above. FF.net and TtH once people have had a chance to complain about errors, and the CrW archive if more than a couple of people post in the thread.



The Challenge: Originally Posted by Dantrag
During the climax of Buffy's season 2, just after Willow successfully performs the soul curse on Angelus, Acathla's portal becomes more active. The portal rapidly expands a short way outside Angelus' mansion and sucks up everything including all the people nearby into it. Fortunately for the world that only includes four people: Buffy, the now restored Angel, Xander and an injured Giles. Angel's blood closes the portal behind them meaning that their world will not be destroyed this time.



The heroes do catch a break in the sense that they do not end up in hell. Instead they end up in Forgotten Realms, but are separated from one another. Each one ends up in a different location on the continent of Faerun. Now trapped in a strange world they must do their best to survive while trying to find the others, not knowing if they are even alive while trying to find a way home.


Be warned though, Faerun is not a paradise. Danger lurks around every corner and the power games played by mortals and deities alike can swallow the unsuspecting ones alive. Those who survive may not be all that sane anymore.



Things to keep in mind:



- No bashing. Buffy did her best, but it wasn't enough and Angel is not responsible for what Angelus did. Xander will still dislike Angel and will hate Angelus like Giles does, those feelings are overshadowed by their fear that Buffy might be dead. Buffy and Angel do not initially know that Xander and Giles were also sucked in, thus their initial worry should be about one another.


- All four characters will start up with their canon abilities:



* That means Buffy will have her standard slayer powers, fighting skills and some knowledge about the supernatural in her home world.



* Angel will have his curse with the "Perfect Happiness"-clause, normal vampire abilities for their home world and he will remain vulnerable to sunlight at first (there are temporary ways for vampires to protect themselves against sunlight in Faerun in the form of spells and items). Until he gets one he has to be careful. Angel does have some skill with magic as well.



* Giles will have some fighting skills and knowledge about weapons, supernatural and his abilities with magic.



* Xander is the least experienced one. His soldier memories are very hazy and while he gets some flashes now and then, most of them are gone. The Hyena may reside in his mind, but Xander does not converse with it nor does he have any control over it should it come out. Due to the fact that Xander is somewhat of a comic, fantasy book and video game geek and because he is the character with no powers, it will be up to you to decide if Xander has knowledge about the realms or not. How accurate that knowledge is, is up to you. I give this boon because I want each of the characters to survive at least for a while and Xander at the moment has the lowest change skill and knowledge wise.


- Faerun is a dangerous place so they will have to learn the lay of the land to survive. Xander is the largest blank slate, but any canon powers and knowledge they have can work for the basis of many potential character classes. They are not very powerful at this point so there are plenty of things that can easily kill them. That means Buffy will not be going head to toe with the likes of Demogorgon or Asmodeus. They'd kill her so fast it would not even be funny.


- All characters must end up in the same time line. Please do not use the event known as Spellplague, because it shifted and completely destroyed a large amount of Faerun's characters, deities and inner workings thus destroying many potential plot points. Other than that any year is acceptable. If you want them to end up with in the time of a young Elminster Aruman do so. If you want to include the Baldur's Gate -game plot this means that the event must take place after the Time of Troubles. Drizzt Do'Urden and his friends are an option as well.


- Where they end up is up to you as well, though keep in mind Giles is injured and will need some help so ending up in the middle of nowhere would be bad for him.



- Pairings are free, except for slash (male or female for the main characters). None of the affected Buffy-characters have shown that they are gay so please keep it that way. Though please keep in mind that Xander's luck with women isn't always the best. With his luck he would end up falling through the portal straight into a bathtub, while Dove Falconhand is taking a bath in it. Yes, that one was a hint; Xander needs the most help to survive and one of the Seven Sisters would be a perfect candidate to help him Just note that later on most of them are already married or in a relationship.



- No God-characters. They will not become deities, they may grow strong if you wish but I want them to stay mortal (undead in Angel's case).


- The rest of the plot is for you to decide. Who will live, who will die, who will stay and who will return will be up to you.



- Length and type of the story is free for you to decide be it a one-shot, a collection of ficlets or a multi-chapter story. For the ficlets try to write at least 400 words for each.







Disclaimer: This is a non-profit work of fiction and all copyrights and intellectual property of the original works represented within are retained by their original owners.

Prologue – A Drop of Blood​

Xander staggered as he tried to recover from catching his foot on the sidewalk. The herculean effort required was only increased by the dragging weight of Giles' arm draped over his neck; back aching at the effort of supporting the barely conscious elder man after his torture at Angelus' hands. His thoughts drifted back to Buffy, fighting for all their lives in the mansion whose grounds they were just leaving. He had hoped to be halfway to the hospital by now, but he'd just gotten out of the mansion when he realised that the wetness causing his clothes to stick all down the right side wasn't sweat, but the dark red of Giles' blood. It'd taken several minutes to bind the worst of the wounds before they could resume the trek to the hospital.


He paused for a moment to reposition the injured man at his side, cursing once again his general lack of strength and fitness. Ahead on the ground he could see the quickly sharpening shadows made by himself and Giles, looking somewhat like a grotesque, many-legged demon with two… Wait. Shadows? Xander turned awkwardly to look over his shoulder at the mansion.


The mansion that'd vanished, replaced by an expanding sphere of whirling orange light. He stared for a moment in blank incomprehension, before realising with mounting horror that Buffy had failed. She hadn't been able to stop Angelus, and Acathla was going to swallow the world because of it. He briefly thought of throwing himself and Giles forward, away from the light, but what was the point? Where would they run to, with the whole Earth about to meet its end?


The surface of the ball was only a foot from his staring eyes when it slowed drastically, coming to a stop just brushing against him and Giles. A mumbled query from his barely coherent companion jolted him into a reaction and he lifted a hand, not believing there might be a chance at survival. He was only an inch from touching the surface when it started to recede, a pulling sensation on his clothes causing his heart to fill with dread. Both men were yanked off their feet as the ball sucked back in with a whooshing noise, only to vanish inside when it paused at a couple of meters in diameter before collapsing to a point and disappearing with a crack. The last thing Xander felt before he was swallowed by the darkness of unconsciousness was the burning sensation of Giles' arm dragging past at high speed as they were torn apart.

* * *​

Inside the mansion, a few minutes earlier:


Buffy held tightly to Angel, her sword forgotten on the ground to one side as she desperately tried to make sense of what was happening hindered by the adrenaline still racing through her system. She'd finally steeled her heart against the love she held for Angel, moving forward to end it with the death of Angelus when his eyes glowed briefly, and he'd regarded her with a disoriented expression. Despite her fears, it had quickly become obvious what had happened. Pushing aside any questions about how it had occurred, she enfolded him in a hug even as her emotions degenerated into a chaotic tangle. The joy and love at seeing him again clashed with the rage and hate at what Angelus had done, and lying over it all like a shroud was the ever-increasing urgency of the growing portal behind him.


With a sigh she pulled him closer, breathing deeply to engrave in her memory the scent of his hair and skin, the feel of his cool body and strong arms holding her. It was only with thoughts of her mother and friends that she was finally able to steel herself to do what was necessary, pushing away the small voice that screamed futilely against the inevitable. Her mouth tightened, as her hands came up to grasp his shoulders, pushing him gently away.

"Buffy?" He breathed, confused.


"Don't speak, just close your eyes Angel." She replied. "Please, for me?"


He stared at her for a few moments, and then nodded and his eyelids lowered, hiding the confusion in his eyes. Buffy bit her lip for a moment and then leaned forward, pressing her lips to his in a gentle kiss that held all of her passion and regret. As the kiss broke she stepped back and kneeled; her hand fumbled to the side, searching for the sword while keeping her eyes on his face. A stinging pain informed her she'd found it, cutting herself on the blade at the same time. Somehow it seemed appropriate that there be a physical sign of the pain inside and she moved her hand back, taking up the sword. Swiftly rising, she paused briefly to gather herself and make sure of the target before thrusting the blade through his heart with a cry. His eyes flew open, shock and betrayal filling them as their gaze met and her heart broke all over again at everything they contained. He stepped back, staggered from the force of the blow and as she could only watch speechless was consumed by the portal, vanishing in a burst of light.


Unknown to Buffy however, the small amount of mystically empowered Slayer blood still on the blade reacted with the portal, destabilizing the controlled collapse triggered by Angel's blood. The shape went from a smooth oval to a wobbling amorphous shape, with tendrils of light licking out from the surface. Caught in her grief, Buffy stood dumbly in front of the increasingly unstable magical event, desperately trying to come to terms with what had just transpired. The portal cared nothing for such emotional traumas though and passing a tipping point, suddenly expanded in a sphere, leaving Buffy no time to react and absorbing her without trace as it swept past.

 

[weirdbutgifted]

Disclaimer: This is a non-profit work of fiction and all copyrights and intellectual property of the original works represented within are retained by their original owners.

Chapter 1 - Welcome to Hell​

He ran, faceless monsters chasing just out of sight as the endless corridor blurred by to either side, occasional snakelike turns denying him any sight of the pursuers, whose birdlike cries never relented for more than a moment. Suddenly from the wall beside him, arms and a body erupted, bearing him to the ground. He writhed in desperation, as arms that felt like wood ground him into the uneven carpet, the head of his assailant moving up near his neck. Desperately he called for assistance as the monster drew breath, the cries of his pursuers sounding louder and more like birdsong as they drew closer. The monster spat in his ear.


Xander awoke with a cry, shafts of light from the morning sun blinding as it lanced into his eyes. The attempt to sit up foiled before it began by the heavy branches lying across him, pinning him to the forest floor. He struggled for a moment, wriggling out from underneath, before attempting to take stock of the situation. His heart pounded in his ears, almost drowning out the song of the surrounding birds, which he belatedly realised were the cries of the monsters in his dreams.


An uncomfortable feeling made itself known, and he scrabbled at his ear, pulling back fingers coated in sticky white fluid. Xander stared at his had in blank incomprehension for a moment, then looked above, fury bubbling up within at he saw the avian bandits that had chosen to violate his ear with their bodily waste. With an incoherent cry, he scrabbled at the side of his head, frantically wiping off the birdshit on the leaves scattered around


When he'd gotten the worst of it off, the last memories he had before waking started to return as he relaxed. The terrible night, the crippling fear that they'd fail and the whole world would die, lying to Buffy and getting Giles out of the mansion, stopping to bandage his wounds and then the light, sucking them back towards…


"Giles!" Xander leapt up from his sitting position, casting around frantically. If Giles was lying somewhere around here like he'd been, he might have already died with the wounds Xander hadn't been able to do more than bandage crudely. "Giles!" Repeated calls brought no answer and he took a moment to take in the surroundings that hadn't fully registered before.


Great trees towered above, giant boles wider than Xander was tall leading up through interlocking branches to a thick canopy, giving a faint green cast to everything below. Xander stared about in puzzlement at the forest that was nothing like anything he'd seen before. Suddenly the memory of where the statue was supposed to suck the Earth to returned, and he half-crouched in trepidation, spinning around to look for any demonic inhabitants. After a few minutes, Xander came to the conclusion that if this was Hell, it was the strangest interpretation of it he'd ever imagined.



He thought for a while, before concluding that even if this wasn't Hell or some equivalent dimension, caution might not be a bad idea in any case. The shouted cries hadn't appeared to draw any attention, but that might not remain true. If Giles was here, Xander didn't want to limit his chances of finding the man by staying completely silent but getting killed wouldn't help either of them. In the end he settled on soft calls at a normal conversational level, moving out from the clearing in a spiral pattern after checking that there was nothing lying around that he could use.

* * *​

His feet ached. Xander paused to lean against one of the endless ranks of trees, leg muscles twitching as if the act of walking had become so ingrained that to stop was unthinkable. He'd been walking most of the day, and in the seven hours since he departed the clearing he'd arrived in, there had been no sign of Giles or anything man-made. He spent the first hour walking in circles of increasing size, terrified to miss some indication of the older man's location, but to no avail. Eventually, he was forced to accept that Giles wasn't in the area, and if he hadn't received aid for the aftermath of Angelus' torture by now, it was far too late. Sending silent best wishes to the librarian, wherever he was, Xander had turned his mind to his own issues.



He had a vague memory from the soldier incident that suggested finding water was a very good idea. He was pretty sure the memories included the hardship suffered when water wasn't available, and every instinct related to that experience put water as the highest priority, well before food and shelter. The morning had been cool, and he wasn't carrying anything, nor was he particularly unfit. In combination, the past hour had left him in good shape, and he set out in the best straight line he could manage in search for either water or people.



The initial promising start hadn't lasted. Xander was certain that with the constant diversions around the massive trunks, that his path was anything but straight. The forest was far from the footpaths and graveyards of Sunnydale; every step had to be watched lest slippery rocks or rolling deadwood send him head over heels; or worse, cause him to sprain or break and ankle. Six hours on and he was not only exhausted, his throat was bone-dry and his tongue felt swollen. The clothes he wore were dark and sodden with sweat, and what had started as hot spots on his feet had become agonising over the last hour. He raised part of his shirt to his mouth and sucked out the moisture. It tasted terrible, and the salt in the sweat would do him no favours, but the brief relief in his throat was well worth it.



He pushed off from the tree with a groan; staying here, as attractive as it was, simply wasn't an option if he wanted to live. Only minutes later, a noise slowly became distinct over the background sounds of the forest. Xander listened for a moment in disbelief, before smiling widely and starting forward with a laugh. It seemed fortune had finally smiled on him, and he pushed through a small clearing unseeing, concentration given wholly to the burbling stream at the far edge whose voice he'd heard.



Sinking to his knees on the bank, he cupped his hands in the running water, ignoring the biting cold to bring the life-giving liquid to his face. Two deep gulps were enough to empty his hand and frantic, he scooped up a second handful. In his desperation, half of it went down his airway, and an explosive series of coughs forced a pause in his actions as he tried to keep from vomiting. Falling to his rear, he leaned back on his hands, staring up in to the late afternoon sky, taking slow deep breaths.



Faint and semi-hysterical laughter at his own actions surprised him, and he sat there for a moment, content to relax. A half-remembered tidbit of information came back to him, and the film showing the holocaust victims who died because they were given food they couldn't handle. He frowned. The situation wasn't that bad, but some caution would probably be a good idea. He crawled slowly back to the stream, pausing after each mouthful for a minute until he felt satisfied. Splashing some water on his face to get rid of the crusted sweat, he scanned the clearing he was in.



At first glance it was unremarkable, but then a circular depression devoid of vegetation caught his eye, and he stood to take a closer look, only to sink down again as his legs and feet screamed in protest. Wincing, he forced himself up and staggered forward. A fire pit. It was old, but it was without doubt a man-made fire pit, with small stones lining the edge. At last, some sign he wasn't alone on this world, wherever it was. Over the day he found it more difficult to remain constantly wary of the inhabitants of this possible Hell dimension, and as his physical discomfort increased all thought of caution disappeared.



Limping back over to the stream, Xander sat and tried to think of the best course of action. It was pretty late, and he was reluctant to leave the water, not to mention the pain when he tried to walk. In the end he decided to stay in the clearing for the night, hoping the fire pit indicated it was safe to do so, and investigate the area more in the morning. That settled, he bent over and slowly worked off his shoes, wincing all the while. Red-stained socks were a warning sign of what he'd find, and he pulled them off to see bleeding blisters decorating his feet. With a sigh he dangled his feet in the water, letting the cold numb the pain.

* * *​

Fading light alerted him it was time to consider where in the clearing he was going to sleep, and he carefully gathered his footwear and made his way to the largest tree nearby. As he got closer, a small area became visible, sheltered by two great roots that extended like curtains protecting the space between. With a sigh he lay down, pulling his socks and shoes loosely on to protect from the cold night air. Despite the aching tiredness that permeated his being, his mind ran in circles with worry about Giles and the thought he'd tried to ignore, Buffy.


Something had certainly gone wrong, and he was terribly afraid she hadn't been able to beat Angelus. The thought of the vampire made him grind his teeth in suppressed rage, the possibility that he was now responsible for Buffy's death in addition to Ms. Calender's... What made it worse was the last words between them were a lie on his part. He hadn't intended to do that, initially. All the way from the Hospital, worry for Willow ate at him, and the knowledge that playing with souls was far beyond anything she'd managed before had made him question if she could possibly succeed. Still, years of exposure had taught him just how capable she was when she was really determined to do something, and he hesitated to bet against her.


In the end, he decided she just might do it, and then he came up to Buffy to pass on the message. He'd looked into her eyes, more tired than he'd ever seen them, and his mind flashed back to the aftermath at the mall when she'd let Angelus leave alive. In that instant, he'd blurted out his false message, pushed by such a whirl of emotion that he couldn't point to one defining reason. Anger; that he'd killed Jesse, that Angelus had gone on to kill the love of the only male role model he had. Fear, that she'd hold back and be killed, or stop him and save the world but let him escape again on the false hope that Willow would succeed; and deep down, a mire of jealousy and envy that he refused to contemplate. Eventually his body forced his mind to rest, and he drifted off to sleep.


It was a troubled night, and Xander slept fitfully, waking before the dawn with a pressing need to relieve himself. He rolled to his feet in the silvery light, ignoring protesting muscles as he moved away from his sleeping area to look for a likely spot. The level of brightness registered, and he glanced up sleepily at the moon and then froze, stunned. Trailing the silvery full moon that was the apparent size of his outstretched fist was a curving swirl of glittering lights; unmistakably not the moon he had seen all his life.


He stared in wonder at the magnificent sight; no wonder it was so bright, with so many objects to reflect the sun's radiance. The insistent demands of his bladder reminded him of a task to complete, and he hastened to an isolated spot. Standing there, he wracked his brain, trying to chase down the faint sense of familiarity at the scene above. Then it hit him.


Faerûn. Xander stood in stunned shock as his mind grappled with the enormity of the realisation. The Tears of Selûne! This wasn't some hell dimension, he was stuck in the Forgotten Realms! He stared up, looking in vain for some way of confirming his suspicion. Slowly, the implications began to register. He'd played quite a few games with Jesse and Willow, and occasionally with Jonathan's group, but he'd never imagined that it might be real somewhere.


'Okay. Think it through.' He thought to himself. So, the place wasn't a complete unknown or filled with demonic hordes out to torture him, good to know. 'Now what? Well, the first thing you do in a game is… Choose a class.' Xander tried and failed to suppress his rising excitement. He'd tried out a few different paths, but mostly stuck to Arcane Spellcasting types. Sorcerer was out, he was a plain vanilla human, but wizard… Something you didn't have to be chosen by destiny for, and with time and experience there wasn't really a limit; the only time he'd ever made it to Epic was as an Archmage, and the power levels they were capable of meant that he and the rest of the gang would never again have to fear someone like Angelus.


Now he just needed to find a teacher. Elminster probably wouldn't be interested in teaching him, at least not yet, and he had no idea where he was in relation to everything else. No, better to gather as much information as possible; there were places in Faerûn that were less than healthy to visit. He took a seat to wait for the sun whose rays were just starting to lighten the sky to raise. While he waited, something that had occurred to him as he soaked his feet yesterday sprang to mind, and he bent down to his shoes. Memories from the soldier suggested one cause of blisters was loose boots, letting the foot slide around and generate friction. Hopefully if he tightened his sneakers, yesterday's blisters wouldn't get worse.



Xander rose when he judged it sufficiently bright to make a more detailed survey of the surrounding area, walking the boundary of the clearing. Half-hidden by recent growth and at an angle to the direction he staggered from yesterday was a small track. Heart rising with hope, he cautiously moved down the trail until it reached a dirt lane. The lane curved at the point the trail joined it, one branch paralleling the stream. Had he come from any other direction, he would have hit the stream or lane instead of the clearing.



For a minute he toyed with the idea of waiting in the clearing for a few days. Someone might come by, and it'd give him a chance to rest up and heal. There still wasn't any food though, and he wasn't experienced enough to find food in the woods. Hunger would eventually force him to move if no one came by, and he would be weaker from starvation by then. No, there was the lane or road running near the clearing with a stream for water nearby for drinking, so he might as well just follow along to the nearest signs of civilisation. Giles was obviously not anywhere near, and after he'd spent a few months learning magic he might be able to manage a scrying spell to find him and Buffy.

* * *​

Two hours later, Xander walked down the seemingly interminable lane, the aching blisters taking some of the shine off his journey. He took his mind off the pain by imagining what he could have done if he'd already been a Wizard when Buffy first came to Sunnydale. Detect Undead. 'Ahh Darla, say hello to my little friend: Flame Arrow.' A deep inhalation, followed by an aside to Buffy and Willow 'I love the smell of Vampire ash in the evening; smells like unwashed armpits?'


Xander came out of his daydream in surprise as the offensive odour became too strong to ignore. He looked up, just in time to see a bunch of five filthy armed men burst from the tree line, positioned to cut off any hope of escape. He rocked to a halt, mind frozen at the sudden shock, hands raised and arms waving as he stammered, "No wait! I'm unarmed, stay back!" Xander backpedalled in an effort to make himself as unthreatening as possible.


An explosion of white-hot pain sent him staggering forward onto his knees, the bloody head of a crossbow bolt like those in Giles' armoury protruding from his shoulder, informing him of what had happened. Xander sobbed in agony as he fell onto the other arm, placed down for balance. Vaguely, through the haze of pain clouding his senses he saw the men in front slowing, relaxing from their previous aggressive attitude.


"Huirg lierhv eer dca lbcb alubcn?" Came from one of his assailants, and though it was clearly a questioning demand, Xander had no idea what the gibberish meant. He tried desperately to focus through the pain and answer.


"I - I don't understand… Please, I don't understand you. I mean you no harm." The words were choked out around the greatest pain he'd ever felt. Any motion of the injured shoulder was like red-hot pokers were jammed in there. The man who'd spoken the first time frowned; then rummaged through the pouches on his belt before pulling out an amulet and exchanging it with the one on his neck.


"Do you understand me now?" Came the harsh query.


"Yes I can, I'm unarmed, I didn't mean any harm." Xander explained desperately, "If this is your land I didn't mean to trespass."


"Oh, we don't mind travellers; you might say we even make them feel welcome; for a small toll, of course. A word to the wise, lad; if you want to wear strange clothes, don't wave your hands around in the air and speak gibberish, it might give someone the wrong idea." That bit of patronising advice delivered, he continued. "Now, like I said before; we make travellers welcome, once they pay the toll. What will you be paying the toll with, my lad?"


Xander swallowed in horror. He'd received some of the confirmation he'd been looking for. Putting on an amulet and then being able to communicate was very much in line with what he would've expected; though he felt no comfort in the knowledge as he was now facing one of the ubiquitous groups that infested Faerûn. Bandits. It was a cruel shock when what had seemed so trivial with a well-armed party when encountered in a game, was so terrifying in reality when alone and unarmed.


"I don't have anything - except my clothes, that is." He managed to say, already knowing that wasn't what they wanted to hear, and desperately trying to think of a way out.


"What do you mean, 'I don't have anything.'" The spokesman snapped. "Just look at the weave of your clothes, the fine stitching. You can barely see anything. They might be ruined from sweat, but no nobleman or rich merchant travels without money. Do you really think we're going to accept 'I don't have anything' from someone willing to waste money on clothing like that?"


Xander bit back a curse, the pain wasn't helping him think. "I'm from far away, that's why I don't speak the same language. Everyone from the land of Sunnydale wears clothing like this; it's our national pride to wear good clothing, in honor of the battle of Wal-Mart." He was starting to feel lightheaded, probably from a combination of pain and blood-loss. "I don't know how I got here, there was some kind of portal, I don't know how to get home."


The bandit stared at him in silence for a moment. "If you really don't have anything, then I'm sorry my lad; you'll be paying with some entertainment."


Xander, distracted by trying to puzzle out what he meant by that nearly missed the bandit move. The boot hammered into his side; the sickening sound and feeling of snapping ribs a perfect counterpoint to the agonised grunt that exploded from his mouth. He lay prostrate, fighting to get air into his lungs even as rough hands went through his pockets and broken ribs grated against one another.


"Well, and it seems you were telling the truth after all. Not a happy situation lad, for you or us. Not only that, but now you've stolen from me; I suggest you hold still, this might hurt a tad." With that, the bandit stepped forward, boot landing squarely on Xander's back.


Xander stifled a scream, both his shoulder and side aggravated by the action. "Stolen? I haven't stolen anyth…" He was cut off by a moan of agony, as the spokesman began to twist and pull at the bolt transfixing the young man's shoulder.


"Now then, don't you feel better, giving back what wasn't yours?" The question was asked in a mocking tone, and Xander gritted his teeth and responded.


"Oh definitely, I can't even begin to tell you what a weight off my mind that is." The sarcasm was thick enough to walk on, pain and blood-loss combining to drive caution from Xander's mind. Anything further he might have said was cut off by a bout of wet, hacking coughs; spattering blood on the ground in front of his face.


The bandit stepped forwards, falling to a crouch and yanking his head up by the hair. "I was going to use you for some mobile target practice, but I doubt you'd get more than a few steps in that condition, and by the looks of things you're not long for the world in any case."


Xander felt a sickening sense of despair rising. "Bastards." He bit out, glaring at the bandit.


The man holding him leaned in. "Now lad, don't be like that. It seems it's my role in life to impart a few truths of this part of the world to you; just a pity it was a little late to do you any good. Nevertheless, a good deed is never wasted, so listen now. This, what just happened between us, this wasn't some injustice. This is just how things are; the weak are prey for the strong. If you didn't want something like this to happen, you would have worked to become strong." He took a moment to look Xander up and down. "Really, there's nothing wrong with you that I can see, yet that was one of the most pathetic displays I've ever had the misfortune to witness."


The bandit let go of Xander's hair and stood. "A little reminder before I go. Something to take with you on your way to the Realm of the Dead; a memento of your place in things." Xander lay still, unable to move or look up, and waited for the blow to fall. The strong smell of ammonia and hot liquid splashing against the back of his head was the first clue as to what form the reminder would take. He struggled futilely for the air to curse and scream his anger, to no avail. Xander was forced to lie there as a piece of scum pissed on him, the abject humiliation burning in his veins; hate and despair warring with frustration until forming a coherent thought became impossible.


He was peripherally aware of the bandits gathering and moving off in the direction he'd come from as he lay there trying to regain control of himself. With time, the immediacy of what had occurred receded somewhat and he pushed back the temptation to let the darkness claim him. He wasn't a hero, but Xander refused to die like this, alone and covered in urine on a backcountry laneway. Marshalling what fortitude he had, using his good arm and the opposite leg, Xander began to drag himself inch by inch down the road.


Xander found his mind wandering, trying to escape the pain. He had long ago resorted to exhortations like; 'Would this pain be a problem for Buffy? Are you going to let a girl beat you?' He gave that one up because comparing himself to someone mystically empowered was tailor made for discouragement, and any stereotypes he'd held about girls had been mostly destroyed by seeing the slayer over the years. He had more success with remembering the shape Giles had been in, and the way he'd managed to move through what must have been excruciating agony.


It worked for a while, but then he remembered the 'lesson' from the bandit, and the inevitable comparison to how Giles might have handled the same confrontation. 'If it was G-man, talk them down maybe; threaten them with some magic when polishing his glasses if that failed. Ripper; they'd still be running, that or dead.' The thought of that brought him momentary amusement, but soon faded as the reality of his performance when faced with a real threat intruded on the fantasies. 'I'm too fucking weak!' He raged at himself, 'Always too fucking weak!'


A startled voice over his shoulder interrupted the self-flagellation, his desperate attempt to twist so he could see the speaker causing stabbing pain in his side before he coughed once; spraying blood in the direction of the man-shaped silhouette before collapsing, unconsciousness crashing over him like a tide. His last fleeting glimpse was a pair of legs in leather trousers approaching at high speed.

* * *​

The period that followed was hazy, memories of vague motion and a slight easing of the terrible sensation in his chest. Later, a voice chanting and a bluish-white glow through eyelids that seemed much too heavy to move. With great effort, he cracked one eye open, finding a middle-aged, weather beaten face leaning over him. The attempt to roll away and yell brought only a drowsy murmur from his lips, and the face frowned, speaking in a questioning tone. Xander marshalled what strength he had, pushing to respond while hoping desperately that this would turn out better than his last encounter.


"Sorry, I don't understand your language." He whispered, watching carefully for the reaction. The man tried two different languages, getting a headshake from Xander each time, before he muttered something to himself and patted Xander on the shoulder, standing and moving from his field of view. From what he could see, he was lying on his back somewhere outdoors, and the surface underneath was considerably softer than his last bed in the clearing. He tried for a few minutes to make sense of the reaction of his rescuer, as he surely would have died without help, but in the end gave up. With a faint thought that it would have been useful to have an amulet like the Bandit Leader, he slept.


Xander woke slowly, drifting from dreamless oblivion to sleep-fogged awareness, far too comfortable in comparison to the recent past to do much more that stare up at the branches intertwining above. This pleasant reverie was broken by the loud grumble of an empty stomach, and as if the very thought had given permission for other things to intrude, he became aware of gnawing hunger with an intensity he'd never felt in his life. He sat up, finding his clothes had been removed and he was dressed in some kind of heavy brown robe, with only his underwear between it and his skin.


Looking back at his sleeping place, he found a luxurious bed of grass, springing improbably in a rectangle between two trees as if grown specifically for that purpose. After goggling for a moment, he turned just as the man he sort of remembered rounded a tree several yards away. Not seeming surprised to see Xander up and about, he held up something that looked like rough clay and spoke briefly, causing the clay to shatter and fall to the ground. Xander's eyes automatically tracked the falling fragments, missing the motion of the other man until his hand came to rest on Xander's shoulder with a burst of light.


Taking several steps back in shock, Xander raised his hands to defend himself. "What the hell was that?" He exclaimed.


With a chuckle, the other man responded, his black and grey streaked hair waving in the breeze. "Just a legacy of a different career my young friend. Do you understand me now?"


Xander blinked in surprise. "You! Wait. What?" He gave himself a mental shake to get his mind working, then it came to him. He couldn't recall the specifics but there was a low-level spell 'Tongues' that allowed the target to speak and comprehend language. "You're a spellcaster, a Wizard?"

The man smiled. "Heard of it have you? No, many years ago when I was first seeking to understand the world I was a wizard for a brief period, though an indifferent student. I kept the spellbook as a memento, though I haven't opened it for a long time. Not being able to speak to you yesterday reminded me of it, and I took some time to facilitate our conversation today."


"So, what did you do instead of being a Wizard? I can't imagine anyone giving something like that up." As had occurred so many times before, Xander's mouth engaged before his brain, and he winced, expecting an angry response.


"A common opinion." Came the dry reply. "Many seek power, and it cannot be denied that for those born human, the magic of a talented wizard is amongst the greatest achievable. But what use is power if you do not enjoy the exercise of it, or the steps you must take in the acquisition? Should I have continued on that path, knowing that there was another more suited to me, and that I might always regret not choosing to follow my true desires?" There was an uncomfortable pause, as Xander tried uneasily to come up with something apologetic for a comment that in retrospect seemed shallow and immature. He recalled his thoughts just prior to meeting the bandits and was more than a little embarrassed at the content. "To answer your question young man; I am a Druid. The Druid Melshoom, to be precise. And you are?"


"Xander. Well, Alexander Harris actually, but everyone calls me Xander, so..."


"Everyone calls you Xander. And are you included in this 'Everyone'?" Melshoom inquired.


"Ahh.. am I included in... Yes, yes I am." Xander replied.


"Then you are Xander; there is no 'actually Alexander Harris'." Came the cool statement.


"Well, that'd be nice, but I can't just go changing my name y'know, it's illegal to start with..." Xander trailed off as it dawned on him that his name here was whatever he made of it. No matter how rigorously he avoided talking or thinking about them, the legacy of his parents hung around his neck like a chain, dragging him down. One of his most hidden fears, and perhaps all the greater because of that, was turning out like his father. Oh, intellectually he could dismiss it, he did pretty well in school; certainly enough to get into college, but the fear lurked regardless. Every time he went home, or introduced himself as a Harris to a long term resident of Sunnydale who knew his father, the look in their eyes changed to something judging. Here though... Here he could leave all that behind, hell he could change his name entirely.


Xander thought about that for a minute, then gave his head a quick shake. No. Xander was the name he'd gotten from his best friend, the name he thought of himself by; it owed nothing to Tony Harris, and he wasn't giving it up. He looked up to find Melshoom still watching him, and took a deep breath, "Okay, you're right, Xander it is."


The Druid smiled. "I am happy you have resolved the issue; one's name is an important matter to be confused about. Now that is settled, perhaps you might answer a few questions?" Not waiting for a reply Melshoom forged ahead. "You are an interesting man, Xander. I am widely travelled throughout Faerûn, and yet I have never heard a language like yours, nor seen footwear of such material. Discussion of those matters is a curiosity of mine, but will have to be addressed later, with your consent. The most pressing issue is the matter of your condition when I found you. Although I already have an idea, would you describe what occurred?"


The confirmation of his location fell by the wayside at that question, and for a moment Xander felt a denial building. The last thing he wanted was to relive the events of yesterday, and he was on the verge of a quip to attempt to brush the matter off, when Melshoom caught his eyes, seeming to know where his mind had wandered. Xander looked away in shame as his sense of justice pointed out the man had saved him, and deserved more than a cheap lie in repayment. Steeling himself, he brought his eyes up to meet Melshoom's and began relating the bare bones of the encounter to the Druid.


As he spoke, the emotions he'd felt at the time surged, and he had to struggle to keep his voice even. Finally he finished, and although the incident was far from dealt with, Xander did at least feel a little lighter.


Melshoom was silent for a minute in thought, then sighed. "It is as I thought from the tracks, though I could do nothing until I was sure of your health." He tossed a small pack at Xander. "Inside you will find food and a waterskin, with clean clothes to wear beneath the robe. Wait here until I return." With that he turned and strode from the clearing, vanishing into the narrow gap between two trees as if he'd never been there.


Xander stood in shock for a minute, then hurried over to follow the other man. It proved impossible though, as the vegetation that the Druid had brushed though stopped Xander dead in his tracks.


Stepping back, defeated, Xander stared at the greenery. Somehow, the silent and effortless passage was more impressive than even the translation spell he'd already seen; perhaps precisely because it was so effortless. Giving up for the moment, he turned back to investigate the bag and feed the ravenous monster in his stomach, who was once more making its demands known.

* * *​

Several hours later, Xander sat with his back to a tree, thoughts wandering aimlessly. He'd eaten the strangely filling berries, washing them down with frequent sips of water. At first he'd thought there was something wrong, but quickly realised that water stored in leather might taste different than that in bottles or from the tap. Now, dressed in the musty-smelling tunic and trousers, he rested and marvelled at the state of his feet and side. All traces of the blisters and broken ribs had vanished, gone like they never occurred.



It was on this state of contemplation that Melshoom entered, striding into the clearing and tossing something at Xander. His hand flashed up in a catch, snatching the object before it impacted his chest. Stained in red, the amulet he'd seen the Bandit Leader use stared up at him. His head shot up, and he looked at Melshoom disbelievingly.



"How did you get this? The bandits?"



Melshoom smiled and gestured to the amulet, making motions as if to pull something over his head when Xander stared blankly. Quickly complying, Xander donned the amulet, only to hear from the Druid,



"Do you understand me?"



"Yeah, I do. Wait, what language are we speaking?" Came the confused reply.



"The Common tongue. I only had one of the components required for the spell of Tongues, and the druidic spell that would have allowed me to converse with you lasts a tenth of the time; memorising enough to let us converse more than once in a day would deprive me of very useful abilities." Melshoom paused to look at Xander in an assessing fashion. "When you told me about being able to speak with one of the Bandits after he used an amulet; it was apparent what effect was likely responsible. Having it might save me from difficulties conversing in the future; though you may use it as long as you stay here."



For a few moments Xander missed the implications of that, and then it dawned on him. "I can't keep it?"



Eyebrows raised in surprise, Melshoom answered. "Not unless you can compensate me for the effort used in retrieving it, and also the loss of the amulet and it's capabilities. The bandits were admittedly fairly simple for me to deal with, but effort was involved. An amulet that bestows the permanent effect of the spell Tongues, would be useful to many in the Realms; how do you propose to stop someone simply taking it from you, with the strength you currently possess?"



Xander grimaced and looked away, the reminder of his weakness almost a physical pain. "But without it, I can't speak to anyone. How long can I stay with you anyway, and what do you mean by 'dealt with'?"



"To answer your questions in reverse order; by 'dealt with' I meant killed, and how long you stay would depend largely on what you decide to do after this conversation." Melshoom said seriously, glancing around and then falling to a sitting position against another of the great trees.



Xander sat in silence for several minutes. One part of his mind that had been conditioned by the society of his birth to avoid killing except at last resort warred desperately with the humiliation-fuelled rage instilled by the bandits own actions, arguing that they got less than they deserved. In the end, common sense pointed out that this was a different world with different laws, the bandits needed to be stopped in some way and there was nothing he could do about Melshoom's actions in the first place.



Pushing the ethical issue aside for the moment, Xander concentrated on the other part of Melshoom's statement. "I can stay as long as I want? What's there to decide, anyway?"



The Druid settled back into the tree with a sigh, seeming to draw comfort from the closeness. "You will have to make a decision about your course of action from this point, from specific short-range goals to at least an idea of long term planning. If you want you can decide immediately on a destination and I will give you directions and an escort to the edge of the forest." He looked at Xander in a contemplative fashion for a moment. "Alternatively, I could provide you with some advice from the perspective of greater experience, perhaps even offering greater assistance. To do this however, I will need to know more about you, and there are several questions that must be answered. Some of them may touch on matters that are quite personal for you. What would you like to do?" With that question he fell silent, watching Xander and waiting.



Refraining from the impulse to answer immediately, Xander sat and tried to think things through. He didn't normally share personal things even with friends, preferring to deflect inquiries with jokes, doing so with a stranger was a difficult proposition. On the other hand, it'd be almost impossible to point to a less involved person he'd ever met. Always before, there had been the risk that information could get back to those he cared about, potentially changing their opinion of him for the worse.



Xander didn't have many friends, and he valued those he did have too highly to risk it. In this case though, he'd known Melshoom for only a few hours, his good opinion was hardly vital to Xander, although he was impressed with the Druid. And who knows? Maybe Melshoom could really help him out; the raw humiliation from yesterday still burned in his mind, demanding he grow strong enough that he needn't fear that happening again.



He nodded to Melshoom, "Thanks, I'd like the help. What did you want to know."



The druid leaned forwards, "Well, to start with, tell me a little about the land you come from."

* * *​

Melshoom listened as the boy rambled on, relating the events surrounding his transport and arrival on Faerûn. He devoted part of his attention to keeping track of the words, while the rest of his mind wrestled with the ideas presented in the brief description of this 'Earth'. The idea of a planet with billions of sentient beings on it, yet almost everyone was either Human or some kind of demon or aberration. What was more, most of the population had no idea Magic even existed, or so he inferred from bits of information he'd pieced together. The other issue was where they would all live, and how large the fields must be to feed that many people without Magic.



He was drawn from his thoughts by the cessation of Xander's monologue, and a quick check of his memory confirmed he knew most of the background and motivations of the boy. Now for the part he was most interested in.



"Xander, when I was healing your injuries yesterday, I sensed something out of the ordinary," He paused for a moment to ensure he knew what he wanted to say. "I felt the vestiges of a surprisingly deep connection with nature; specifically there were the remains of some sort of pact with a powerful nature spirit. Would you elaborate on what happened?" He kept the tone of the question casual, not wanting to make the boy defensive.



"You could tell that?" The question was distressed. "I thought that was totally gone, no traces left!"



Feeling it best to reassure Xander, Melshoom spoke up; "If you are worried about the spirit returning, put your mind at ease; it would take a voluntary invitation and a ritual for that to occur, and you would likely have to be on your world."



The words did the trick, and Xander visibly calmed. "Okay. Okay, that's good. Umm... Where to start? There was this Shaman, and he'd done some kind of ritual setup to bond with a primal spirit for power. We were on a Zoo trip. Ahh... A Zoo is a place where wild animals are kept in cages so people can see them before they go extinct." Melshoom winced internally at what the boy had so casually said, calming himself with a reminder that he likely didn't know any better. "See, there were these bullies, Kyle and his friends, and they were threatening this guy, so I stepped in to stop them. And then, the Shaman had made it so if you did a predatory act, you'd bond with the spirit, this Hyena Spirit." Xander paused to take a breath after rushing out the words. "After that, it was all bad. Very bad. I uh.. I did some bad things, but luckily my friends stopped me and got rid of the Hyena before I did anything really huge. Not like the others, Kyle and that; they ate someone." He looked up at the older man like a kicked puppy.



Melshoom paused to consider, there were tangled emotional traps here, as well as patterns of behaviour deeply ingrained. Was Xander worth the effort he would have to invest? Carefully, he stretched forwards his senses and evaluated the energy patterns again. There were obstacles and blocks, but remaining from what he now knew was a possession lay the foundation of what could one day be a profound connection to nature, given proper training.



"Xander, after hearing your story, there are two options I can see open to you; each has benefits and disadvantages. Shall I list them, and my recommendations?" After receiving a nod, he took a breath and began. "Your first option is to leave immediately, as I've already told you. The benefit of this option is that you may start searching for your friend immediately. The disadvantage is that Faerûn is a dangerous place, as you have already discovered. As you are, you stand little chance of survival unless you settle in a large city. You also have little in the way of skills currently, and would likely find it difficult to obtain legitimate work or even converse with the vast majority of the people. The second option is to remain here until you learn the skills you need to survive and prosper, and to find your friends, should they live. By this I mean that I would be willing to take you as an apprentice, teaching you the ways of the Druids."



"Me? But I don't know anything about forests and the nature stuff. Why me?"



"As I said earlier, I sensed a deep connection with nature when healing you. Do not fear that you are somehow contaminated by the leavings of the Hyena; instead think of it as using an advantage unintentionally granted against the wishes of the spirit, turning its strength to your own ends. Left alone it will amount to nothing, with the right teaching it can become something grand." He paused for a moment to evaluate the response. "Make no mistake Xander; this will be no quick process I am proposing. Though the connection will be a great bonus, it will require long, arduous effort to master what I have to teach to the extent I would be agreeable to letting you wonder off on your own. By that time however, not only will you be able to converse in the Common tongue, but also with any druid. To say nothing of the fact that you will have little to fear from rabble like those who accosted you before, or the skills needed to easily travel and live in the wilderness that spans much of the continent."


"And the disadvantages?" Xander asked. Melshoom had to acknowledge his composure when asking the question.


"The disadvantages are the aforementioned hard work, and the delay in starting to search for your compatriots. Without training though, I foresee you wandering the land, having little success hoping to stumble over two people who could be thousands of miles apart. I also make this offer: Show me you are serious and master the basic languages and lore I have to teach, and I will pass a message on to other druids looking for information about your friends. Take your time to think it over and come to me tonight with your answer. I will be nearby, call if you have a question." Waiting until he received a nod from Xander, Melshoom left to begin the list of tasks that would need to be done regardless of the boy's decision.

* * *​

The Keeper of the Tomes, head of the Avowed of Candlekeep sighed, chained behind his desk by the pressing need to finish the annual review of the master ledger. Some entries were easy, such as the purchases for new material for the archives; however, some were not so easy to either justify or explain. With a rueful frown he jotted down a note requesting an explanation of why Avowed Ordo required one hundred jars of lubricating lotion, privately hoping the expense was not for the personal use of the lonely man.


Pounding footsteps reached his ears, and he raised an eyebrow in interest while continuing down the line of figures. The door burst open.


"Keeper, you have to see this man that appeared!" Came the high-pitched and excited shout.


He sighed. "Child, must we revise the lesson regarding doors again?"


There was a gulp, then a quieter reply. "No Keeper, I'm sorry. But, but there is a man, and he came out of the air and he's bleeding!" The words had gained volume and strength until the end they neared a shout.


The quill was replaced in its holder, and he rose from behind the desk. "Show me."

* * *​

Giles woke slowly, a comfortable if firm mattress beneath him and some sort of light covering above keeping him at the perfect temperature. His eyes drifted open, blurred surroundings raising little alarm as the flickering light played off the ceiling above. There was something strange about that, and his brow furrowed as he tried to pin down the feeling of wrongness. Several minutes passed until he thought, 'flickering light?' Alarm sent a shot of adrenaline through his veins and he jerked from his semi-reclining position to stare about in trepidation. The light source was definitely a naked flame set high on the wall, and it served to confirm that wherever he was, it wasn't a modern hospital.



The sound of footsteps called his attention to a brighter rectangle that might have been an archway on the far side of the room, and before he had a chance to decide if feigning sleep would be a good idea, he was no longer alone. The blurred form, whose features he couldn't distinguish without his glasses, stopped suddenly, and a voice raised in unmistakable tones of shock spoke in a language that to his surprise he'd never heard before.



"..." Giles coughed to clear his throat in embarrassment, before trying again. "I'm sorry, but I fear I don't recognise your language, by chance do you speak English?" The shape was silent for a moment before voicing liquid-sounding syllables that flowed together in response. Giles began to run through the modern languages he knew, then the older ones out of frustration before the other man interrupted in a placating tone, turning and vanishing from the room.



Sitting in silence, Giles contemplated how he might have come to a place so distant that none of the languages he spoke were recognised, before setting that aside for the moment to concentrate on the more pressing issue; should he remain here and wait for the other man to return or try to leave? A quick decision was called for, and in the end he decided that there was no point aggravating his hosts when they might be friendly. Better to wait and watch, then strike when he knew more if necessary. The lack of bars and manacles were an encouraging sign at least. The noise of people approaching drew his attention back to the doorway, and he looked up in anticipation.



Two men entered the one in the forefront with a long white stain down the front that suggested either an atrocious accident with milk, or a luxuriant beard. The stained one seemed to be moving closer to the bed and muttering, giving Giles only a moment to decide what to do. The blur leaned forwards and touched his ankle, there was a brief flare of light and a confident voice asked,



"Do you understand me now, stranger?"



"Ahh... Yes I do. Was that... What type of magic was that?" Giles asked, startled.



The man facing him chuckled, "Just a spell of language comprehension, Sir...?"



Giles felt blood rush to his face in embarrassment. "My deepest apologies, my name is Giles, Rupert Giles. And you are?"



"You speak to the Keeper of the Tomes, head of the Avowed of Candlekeep on the Sword Coast, though how much that will mean to you I do not know, given we have not a tongue in common." Came the amused reply.



"Yes, I must confess those places... Candlekeep, and the Sword Coast, was it?" The rhetorical question received no answer beyond a nod. "They are indeed new to me. Where exactly is this 'Sword Coast' located, if you don't mind my asking?"



"Not at all. The Sword Coast is located on the continent of Faerûn, which is in turn on the world of Abeir-Toril." The man paused for a moment, then spoke again. "I see by your downcast expression that nothing I speak of is familiar. Do you hail from another plane then?"



"Another plane? I originate from the Planet Earth, though where it is in relation to here, I have no idea."



"Do you know how you came to appear within the walls of this keep then? And in such poor condition?" Came the question in a more serious tone.



That was something Giles wanted the answer to himself, and rather desperately at that. "As for my condition, I was tortured by a vampire... You do know of vampires?"



"Yes, we are familiar with them."



"Well, as I said, I was tortured by one trying to remove the seal on an ancient demon with the power to condemn the entire planet to a Hell dimension. As for how I got here, well... I remember Xander coming, and then trying to escape with his help. Stopping to bandage my injuries, then a terrific yank and then nothing. Xander. There was a young man with me, was there any sign of him?" Giles asked in concern.



"No, unfortunately not. You arrived alone, and the disturbance of an entire world's worth of people arriving here would not have gone unnoticed, unless the population was very small. How many people were there on this 'Earth'?"



"Billions. About five as I recall. Unless your Abeir-Toril is very large, I would have to agree with the conclusion that you would have noticed." Giles paused for a moment to consider the wording of his next question. "I have to assume that my being here had something to do with the aforementioned demon, yet this doesn't resemble what I would have expected...?"



There was a snort, then "From a Hell dimension? No, I would say not. This is the Prime Material Plane. As for why you ended up here, there are a multitude of answers; outside interference, magical contamination, the list is nearly endless."



Giles nodded in thanks, squinting as he thought.



The Keeper made a faint sound of annoyance, and then stepped forward. "My apologies, I almost forgot until seeing you make that face reminded me. This was in the pocket of your trousers when you arrived." He held out a hand with a black case on it, and it was with joy that Giles recognised his spare glasses. Quickly taking them up, he placed them on his face and saw the world gain clarity and definition. Looking at the Keeper, he was able to satisfy himself there hadn't been any great milk accident. Giles smiled in thanks at the elderly man in front of him.



"Thank you for keeping them safe, it's very irritating not to be able to see clearly."



The Keeper nodded in response as he looked around and pulled up a chair. "My pleasure, I assure you." A short nod dismissed the Avowed and he turned to look at Giles with a penetrating gaze. "Now, unless you feel the need for further rest before making decisions, I thought we might take a moment to discuss your options."



Giles cleared his throat and sat straighter. "No further rest is necessary, I thank you for the opportunity."



The Keeper smiled, "Firstly, your goals. What do you want to accomplish?"



With a sigh, Giles replied, "I had a few ideas as we talked. I am concerned about two people who may have come to this world with me." Privately Giles refused to consider what might have happened to Xander and Buffy if they weren't on Abeir-Toril. "Assuming I can find and reunite with them, I would then investigate means of returning home."



The Keeper nodded at the expected answer. "There are spells that deal with finding things; should you have means, you might be able to hire assistance for the right price, at least as far as finding your friends." At Giles' shake of the head he went on. "You are obviously a man of learning, and I was able to determine earlier that you have some experience with the arcane arts, though much of it seemed to have the touch of divine magic's. You might be able to reach an appropriate level to cast the right spells on your own, with some study and assistance from a knowledgeable teacher."



Giles stared at the Keeper for a minute. "I have the impression that such a teacher might be found here, for a price."



"Perceptive. Yes, you see what I'm driving at. Now, I know you don't have anything in the way of coin, so you are fortunate that knowledge is the only coin we value here. In the normal visitor's case, this would take the form of a rare book of great worth; however, I think we can come to an agreement fitting to your situation."



Giles bit back on an angry response. "An agreement?"



"Yes. From what Avowed Jarl has told me, you speak multiple languages, would that be correct?"



"That is correct."



"Good. We will teach you Common, at least at first, and you will write a translation guide for two of the languages from your world. The two most widely used, and the most common words; not to be less than four thousand words for each language. A historical outline of major events in your world over the last five thousand years, written in Common to the best of your ability should also be included. Do we have an agreement?"


Giles found himself occupied with furiously rubbing his glasses and returned them to his face, pinning the Keeper with his gaze. "It seems to me, that this payment could occupy the better part of a year or more. Much could happen to my friends in that time."



With a sigh, the Keeper nodded. "You speak truly. Faerûn is a large and dangerous place. You are welcome to leave at no charge for the healing that has already been granted to you. You may find your friends quickly. I would find it more likely however, that you will spend a very long time on the road, trying to survive long enough to gather the coin needed to buy help. Would that we could afford to help all who are in need, relying only on the good nature of others to increase the store of knowledge here. Tragically, that is not the case." He paused for several minutes and turned to watch the shadows move on the wall, giving the other man a chance to come to terms with what he'd learned. "Are you ready to make a decision?"



Several moments passed in silence until with a sigh, Giles conceded. "It seems I must thank you for the opportunity you have afforded me."



The Keeper rose. "For what it's worth, I think you made the right decision. Have some faith in your friends to manage on their own, as we all have to learn at some point. Rest here until you have your strength, and the day after tomorrow your language lessons with my assistant the First Reader shall begin. Feel free to explore the keep in the meantime." With that, he turned and was gone, leaving Giles alone to his thoughts.

* * *​

Buffy tumbled slowly through the twisting patterns of light, grief and guilt rendering her senseless to the majestic view. Her thoughts were like a broken record, stuck on the look that filled Angel's eyes after she impaled him on the sword. Time passed without notice, until between one moment and the next, the light of the portal vanished, leaving her in darkness.



The sudden change in brightness served to shock her back to awareness, and as her eyes quickly adjusted, Buffy took stock of her surrounds. It was a cold night, and what limited illumination there was filtered down through thick clouds from the moon above. Without the increased night vision granted to the Slayer, it would have been too dark to see. Buffy looked around in confusion before remembering where Acathla was supposed to send the Earth and spinning in a slow circle, looking for movement. Her gaze met nothing but bare, windswept stone and scraggly, stunted trees. She struggled to come to terms with what she was seeing, before a thought struck with the force of a thunderbolt.



"Angel. Angel, are you there?" She called, hoping. There was no response, and she looked around for a high point before spotting a rock protruding some seven feet above those around. She ran over quickly and leapt lightly to the tip, balancing there. Another slow scan showed no sign of life, and something about the look of the sky gave her a feeling of wrongness. She stayed there for several minutes, looking for movement and trying to identify what was causing the strange feeling before it suddenly came to her. Wherever she looked, there was no sign of the glow of cities, washing out the night and reflecting off the clouds. Stunned, she looked around desperately but could find no sign of human civilisation at all.



A breeze picked up, causing her to shiver and Buffy made an effort to pull herself together. She leapt off the rock and jogged over in the direction of a dark shadow that might be a cave, hoping for some shelter. At closer range, it turned out to be a depression that pressed back into the cliff face, with an overhanging arch of stone that would at least give some protection from the wind, Buffy scuttled as far back as she could. Putting her back to the stone, she drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them for comfort and gazing sightlessly out into the night. For a few minutes there was silence; then, as she had time to relax and think about the events of the past night, slow tears began to make the journey down her cheeks.



"Angel...Mom. I'm sorry." Silent, gasping sobs made their way up through her throat, eyes and nose streaming as she strove to remain quiet. The minutes passed as the storm of grief, betrayal, anger and loss raged within her. Eventually, the exertion and emotional exhaustion combined and feeling slightly sick, she cried herself to sleep.

* * *​

Telath ran lightly through the early morning air, still mildly annoyed at young Dav'orn, whose normal task was simple message retrieval from the nearby cities. Had it not been for the stupid stunt he'd tried yesterday, injuring one of his peers and getting himself assigned to a week of repentance in the shrine of contemplation, Telath could have spent the morning revising the training plan for the Neophytes. The council of Reth had been surprised to see someone of his seniority as well, although they'd taken it as an indication of favour by the Monastery to his amusement. Still, he couldn't say the trip was worthless; he did enjoy stretching his legs and he'd had a chance to post replies to some old friends from his adventuring days directly, instead of waiting for a passing traveller of good heart. With that thought he let the lingering bad feeling at the unfortunate young monk fade, turning his mind to the message he carried.



It seemed a Ranger based near Hlath had spotted a large group of Yuan-ti passing through his area, and trailed them to a temporary camp on the southern spur of the Akanapeaks. All indications were that they would likely remain there for close to a week before pushing on, their general direction suggesting a destination somewhere close to the Akanamere. The Ranger had known that Hlath hadn't the forces on hand to address the problem before the Yuan-ti moved, so he'd sent a message to Reth, asking for the Monastery to intervene.



The Monk frowned in consideration as he ran. While the Monastery didn't make a habit of patrolling the area, allowing creatures like the Yuan-ti to set up a strong base nearby would be the height of foolishness. There was already a significant Orc force in the mountains, but they'd discovered over a series of painful lessons that the Monastery was best left alone. Hopefully they could find out what the serpents wanted in the lowlands, as he would've expected them to prefer a mountain stronghold.



Something moved. In a blur of instinctive actions, Telath slammed a foot down, converting his momentum into a corkscrewing path through the air. His altitude and speed allowing him to avoid the cunningly hidden traps beginning to trigger beneath him, and the vast majority of the crossbow bolts shattering on the rocks below. Increasing the flow of ki through his body, he touched down fifty feet along the trail, almost negligently swatting aside the single bolt that leaped to meet him; noting in the back of his mind as he did so that it was tipped with a dark stain. With hisses of rage, a line of Yuan-ti purebloods rose from cover beside the track, charging to meet him. It was lucky he'd been in such a rush and unable to stop easily, or the line of skirmishers would've had him in the centre, conceivably pushing him over the sheer drop on the other side by weight of numbers alone. Instead he was even with the upper end of them, enabling him to begin backing up the track while keeping close enough that archers or spellcasters would be hampered by the proximity of the purebloods.



As the first of the monsters came in range and long-ingrained reactions took over, he considered simply teleporting closer to the Monastery and leaving the serpents behind, but that wouldn't provide answers to how they knew a messenger with a missive concerning them would be passing here and now. Had Dav'orn been able to fill his usual role, he would now likely be dead or dying and the Monastery missing one of it's members. No, he concluded as he felt a series of low level magical effects fail to penetrate his spell resistance; better to eliminate them here and now, then see if they're carrying anything to explain this. With that thought he focused more closely on the battle, seeing the quickly dwindling numbers of humanlike purebloods, it likely wouldn't be long now... With a roar of frustration at the failure of both trap and spells, a smaller number of snakelike halfbloods rose and slithered into the fray, poisoned scimitars swinging.

* * *​

The first sensation she felt on waking was a deep, biting cold where the rock touched her back; both kidneys feeling like frozen knives were growing within. With a groan she leaned forwards, pulling away and crawling from the rock depression. Buffy straightened and then arched her back, a cracking noise from her spine greeting the movement. Not for the first time she blessed her Slayer constitution as the soreness and cold faded away. Given a moment, she made sense of the faint sounds her sensitive hearing had picked up, likely responsible for waking her in the first place.



Buffy took a moment to orient herself, then began to jog towards the origin of the sounds, the characteristic noise of combat becoming more distinctive with every step. Speeding up, she rounded an outcrop to a stunning sight. On a narrow trail below her, a middle-aged, bald man was fighting a group of fifteen to twenty scaled demons bare-handed. They had torso's like men but with a snake's head and thick tails instead of legs. That alone wasn't enough to shock her into inaction, but the way the man fought certainly was. He moved so fast she sometimes lost track of his arms and legs; his blows struck the demons with amazing force, often launching them backwards through the air. Three demons advanced at once and he seemed to set himself for a second, then his arms vanished from sight entirely and the three attackers were simultaneously launched back, dead or unconscious.



The sight jolted Buffy from her inactivity, and she charged forwards to join the conflict. Perhaps he didn't need help, but she'd fought so many times against demons that she was almost incapable of leaving a fight like this be, and something familiar was just what she wanted after the shocks of last night. The demon on the edge of the group she targeted had no warning as she fell on him from above, a stomping kick to the back of the neck snapping his spine and cancelling her momentum. Buffy dropped the remaining distance soundlessly; moving instantly to the side, the next one having enough warning to start raising his curved sword before she was on him.



A fist hammered into the gut of the scaled-demon, passing under his sword arm to strike. Winded, he presented little resistance as she grasped his arm and spun, using her shoulder as a pivot to snap it like a twig. He made a strange, high-pitched cry that was cut-off as she broke his neck with a practiced series of movements just in time to duck the swing of another. More cautious now, she circled silently, not in the mood for quips. The demon broke the stalemate by slithering forward with a sweeping attack, curved sword aiming to bisect her torso. Buffy swayed aside, then stepped quickly forwards; a vicious punch sending her assailant staggering, before jumping and spinning into a kick that caved in the side of his head and dropped him in an ungainly sprawl.



She looked around quickly, only to see an array of scattered bodies and the watchful gaze of the bald man. In the time it took her to down three with the advantage of surprise he'd gone through five times that number. Looking further down the trail she could see the crumpled bodies of what she was afraid were humans, but quickly saw the patches of scaly skin indicating more demons, if ones with proper legs and heads. More impressive, he wasn't even breathing hard!



"Wow, you're in pretty good shape for an old guy. I could've just sat back and watched, nice work." Buffy joked, reaching for the comfort of familiar routines in an effort to avoid thinking on her troubles. "I don't suppose you'd point me in the direction of the nearest bus station?" The question was asked without any real hope, and her fears were strengthened when he shook his head slowly and responded with a frown.



"No, I haven't heard of a 'Bus Station', so I fear I cannot repay you easily for you assistance. Indeed, I don't recognise the language you speak and I travelled widely in my youth. Where do you hail from?" Buffy processed his words and it was with a feeling of shock she realised the sounds coming from his mouth were completely unrecognisable, yet she'd understood everything he said.



"You... What? What'd you say? And for that matter how did I understand that... you?" Buffy stuttered out, desperately quashing the rising panic.



"Ahh. You are from far away if you don't recognise Common. As to understanding me, and me understanding you, I have the ability to speak to any living creature, which is one of the abilities of senior Monks such as myself." He paused for a second, "Although I was not in any difficulty, that does not detract from the worth of your act in aiding against the Yuan-ti. You are to be commended for your actions."



Buffy fell silent as she struggled to absorb the implications of what she was hearing. Monks? She had a mental image of a line of old guys in yellow cloth nappies counting grains of sand. 'He must be from the Kung-fu branch or something.' She thought.



"I'm always up for a bit of slayage, it's sort of what I do. Buffy see evil demons, Buffy slay evil demons. Those Yun-tea snakes were just the thing to get me up in the morning. And that's a pretty cool spell, the speaking other languages one. Boy, am I glad you have that." Cutting off the beginnings of a babble, she wondered suddenly if Giles knew something similar. The thought brought back the grief she was hiding from and she almost missed the reply.



"Demons? The Yuan-ti aren't demons, simply monsters. And spells? The speaking to others ability is a natural one brought on by proficiency in the internal manipulation of ki, I have no ability with magic to speak of... Buffy, is it?" He waited for her nod and seemed about to continue, when the lack of food caught up to her, and the sound of her stomach rumbling was clearly audible. Buffy blushed in embarrassment, that was something more suited to Xander than her!



Mouth twitching into the beginnings of a smile, the Monk spoke. "We're still some distance from the monastery, but a meal would express my gratitude for your actions. I saw uncommon strength and speed when you fought before; do you feel up to a run?"



"For food? I could run all day!" Buffy said enthusiastically.



"In that case, I invite you to follow me to the monastery; after we go through these bodies for information on why they attacked, and how they knew when and where to do so. We can continue our discussion after you get something to eat." He started to turn, then paused and looked back at her. "By the way, I'm known as Telath. Please let me know if you need rest." With that he bounded off towards the bodies, and she steeled herself and followed.



"I'm just looking for information, right?" Buffy hesitated as she bent over one of the bodies.



"No, if they have coins or valuable items take those as well. Don't fear that you are doing something wrong; these mountains are rife with Orcs. Anything we don't take with us will be scavenged by them, enabling continued predation on travellers. I'd suggest taking a pair of the scimitars if you feel they wouldn't slow you down to carry, some of these are masterwork quality. Even if you can't use them, they can be sold when you get to a merchant. Be careful with those stained black though, the blades are poisoned." Came the distracted reply as he efficiently searched one after the other, occasionally pocketing things before tossing weapons over the cliff beside the trail.



She grimaced and started going through the bodies near her, trying to avoid the blood when a thought occurred. "Wait, you said they weren't demons; should we have tried to take them alive?"



Telath stopped and looked at her, incredulity painted on his face. "Take them alive?" He stared at her for a few seconds before his expression changed. "Ah, I see. I assume you haven't had much experience with fighting bandits and the like?" Not waiting for an answer he pressed on. "I find in situations like this it helps to consider what they would have done later if left alive. It's my belief that if you have the capability to lawfully end a threat and do not do so; then you are then morally responsible for what that person or group does in the future, at least in part. These Yuan-ti would have gone on to commit crimes such as robbery and murder at the least, so when you regret the actions you took, think of those you saved from such a fate."



Trying not to consider the unfortunate parallels those words drew with her recent past, Buffy blurted out. "But what about humans, and things with souls? Surely we don't have any right to just kill them?"



"Buffy, every creature has a right to defend itself, and no just authority on Faerûn would penalise you for killing bandits attacking you, human or not. Really, you'd be doing them a favour in keeping the roads clear for trade." He paused for a moment to look around. " I can see you have more questions, but we'll have more time at the Monastery. Save your words for there and let us finish up quickly here." With a reluctant nod Buffy resumed the grisly task.

* * *​

Buffy followed at Telath's back through the dark stone corridors of the Monastery, reflecting on earlier today when she'd been in the same position during the run from the ambush site. He'd started out fairly slow, then steadily increased speed until she was consciously pushing herself, in a way that she rarely needed to since being chosen as the slayer. He must have had some way to monitor her, because his pace steadied at a rate that she could just maintain. They ran in silence until the trail crossed the top of the mountain, Telath taking a hard right to follow a faint track along the ridgeline. They continued on like that for almost three hours, and Buffy was left with no choice but to marvel at both his speed and endurance. She got the feeling that he could have gone a lot faster, despite them travelling more than twice as fast as an ordinary person could have managed. When they got to the monastery, she'd been fatigued if able to carry on and her arms burned lightly at carrying two swords the whole way, whereas Telath showed no evidence of any expended effort.



She'd seen a couple of other people in the same garb that Telath wore, but he hustled her into a side room, leaving with her swords for storage and promising to fetch food. He returned with a platter for both of them containing cold meat and two large bowls of thick stew. It'd been plain fare, but to a Slayer who'd gone without food for more than a day while fighting and running it tasted delicious. After they'd finished he'd fetched some water in a jug and questioned her about how she came to be in the area. Buffy had initially thought about playing dumb, but it was clear that without someone who could communicate with her she'd have a difficult time of it, wherever this was. Resigning herself to the inevitable, she began her story about Acathla when he'd stopped her to confirm she'd arrived through a portal, before insisting she had to meet the head honcho of the place.



Telath stopped and gestured for her to wait, before knocking on a door and disappearing into the room behind. She heard a murmur of conversation for a few minutes before the door re-opened and Telath beckoned her to enter. Moving inside, she saw a room bisected by a large desk made from black wood; the little, wizened old man behind dominating his surroundings effortlessly.



They settled into the large chairs before the desk and Telath cleared his throat, "Buffy, this is Abbot Domayne, the leader of our monastery. When he was younger he did a considerable amount of adventuring on different planes. They're often reached through portals, and I was hoping that if he heard your story he might recognise something he'd seen before." With a mental groan she acknowledged that the old geezer could just order Telath to pass on the information if she refused to speak now, and all the reasons for honesty with Telath still applied, so Buffy began to relate her story once more.

* * *​

Almost three hours later, Telath returned to the Abbot's rooms from escorting the exhausted girl to a place she could sleep. The Abbot had moved to the window, gazing out over the mountains and sipping slowly at a glass of wine. He seemingly paid no attention to the other man, but Telath knew better, waiting patiently in silence.



"So. The girl. Your impressions?" Came the sudden query from Domayne, not bothering to turn and look at Telath.



"Physically capable, she's several times stronger and faster than a normal man, with boosted endurance as well. She's not a ki user either; I'm sure you felt that dark energy in her?" Receiving no response to the rhetorical question, he forged on. "Emotionally... What a mess. I thought she was going to break down and cry five times or more during that little story. And the story itself? She was telling the truth, and she is more capable in physical fighting than a commoner, but what sort of world does she come from that they couldn't find someone more powerful and experienced to bear such a burden? Are they all weaklings?"



"Mmm, perhaps. Remember, just because she believes it, doesn't mean it's true. Still, going by the reactions you stated she had to you after the fight and the direction of her comments, her world is very different than ours. Enhanced by a bound being or not, she likely won't last too long on her own, especially with the language issue." The Abbot paused for thought for several moments, apparently finding something fascinating on the glass. "There may be an opportunity here for us. Yes, and her as well; I know you like to do the moral thing. We'll offer her a place to stay here, while she finds her feet. If nothing else, she needs to learn Common, or she won't even be able to speak with the rest of the Initiates, let alone communicate in the wider world. You will teach her, and while you do that, see if you can resolve some of those traumas hiding just under the surface; you always did have a good touch with wounded things."



"And?" Telath paused as the question caused the Abbot to half turn, regarding him with a cool gaze. "Everything you've mentioned so far has been to her benefit, and while I don't mind, I know you better than that. Where's this opportunity that's making you so eager to do nice things for her?"



The Abbot nodded once in acknowledgement of the point. "Once you've helped her a bit and guided her though the lessons she can learn from whatever distresses her so, I want you to suggest a spar. Should she accept, and I believe she will, demonstrate the difference in capability to her clearly without hurting her, but leaving no doubt as to the gulf between you. When she realises it, offer her training in ki manipulation. This serves two purposes. Firstly, she has a significant base to build off with that boost in physical capabilities she already has, but without training she's wasting potential and there's little I hate more."



Telath had to nod at that, the development of personal capability was vitally important to almost every monk, and Abbot Domayne took that to extremes. "And the other reason?"


"You may not be aware, but I recall records of a case where someone with a similarly bound being was taught to manipulate ki a few centuries ago. He had great difficulties because the two energies clashed, meaning the conventional methods often failed. They brought in someone with talent in sensing internal energy flows to assist, and the lessons learned in overcoming the problem gave rise to a few of our most potent techniques today." He finished pointedly, the implication obvious.



"You mean to do the same; that's why I'm teaching her." Telath stifled a groan, but the truth was he was interested now as well. With an effort he put speculation aside. "Very well, I'll suggest language lessons tomorrow. On a different matter, what did you think of the Yuan-ti problem?"



"Yes, that was troubling; especially that they would have killed Dav'orn had he been there instead of you. It suggests a disturbing level of intelligence penetration into the nearby cities. On the balance of it, there's little to be gained by letting such a nuisance get set up in the area." The abbot finished decisively.



"Shall I take a small party to deal with the camp then?"



"No, I'm getting lazy cooped up here, and I'm developing a new technique that needs some live subjects for testing. I'll handle it tomorrow."



Knowing that the old man would have no trouble at all in doing exactly that, Telath nodded and turned to leave, throwing over his shoulder as le exited. "Till tomorrow night then. I'll tell you how it went with the girl."

* * *​

Angel fell through orange light, mind blank with shock as he tried to come to grip with Buffy's last action. Sudden brightness and burning pain snapped him back to reality, and the Vampiric instincts whose demands he could never quite shut off screamed at him to get out of the sun. He had little chance to move though, lack of traction a common issue for those falling through to air. He'd just resigned himself to an ignominious death, when a shocking impact against his back and the feel of cool water closing over his face gave a chance for continued existence.


With a grimace he twisted, diving deeper and reaching up to pull the sword from his chest as he did so. The deeper he went, the more the burning lessened, and with his night-adapted eyes he made out a rock outcropping on the bank below. Pushing himself down, he manoeuvred his body into the deep shade below and took a moment to rest and recoup.


There was little point moving from here until the sun went down, and the memory of the grating feeling as the sword cut into his chest dragged his thoughts back to the last time he'd seen Buffy, like a needle to a loadstone. The heartbreaking feeling of betrayal was still there, but now a dark foreboding rose in the back of his mind as previously unnoticed memories began to spill forth.



The night with Buffy and joy that eclipsed anything else in the two centuries before, not the physical act but what it represented; acceptance of him in his entirety by the person that mattered the most. Then the morning after and the cold, hurtful words spilling from his lips. One after the other, a macabre procession of horrifying memories rose, confirming beyond a doubt the return of Angelus. Jenny Calender, the torture of Rupert Giles, the mind games; so many unforgivable crimes and then the capstone, Acathla.



He remembered reading the ancient tomes that explained the consequences of the demon's unsealing, and with the realisation of the terrible choice he'd forced on Buffy, the feeling of betrayal at her actions after he regained his soul dissipated. He took comfort in the fact that with his sacrifice, the one whose blood awakened the demon, the portal would have closed; leaving Buffy with the support of her mother and friends, and the knowledge she saved the world.



He lay there, thoughts running in circles as he tried to come to grips with what happened and the horror of his own actions. Finally, the vague sense of confusion that had been niggling at him since he took refuge and realised what happened finally resolved into a concrete question; 'Is there really sunshine and rivers in a Hell dimension?"

* * *​

The surface of the river rippled gently in the twilight as a dark head broke the surface. Angel looked around cautiously, wary of the possibility of inhabitants. A vague memory had returned to him of dimensions where demons kept humans like cattle, and there was no guarantee he hadn't ended up in just such a world. Seeing no sign of life on the rolling plains surrounding him, he moved quickly to the bank, leaving the water as drips fell like rain. He swished the sword a few times, getting the worst of the water off before quickly stripping from his shirt, wringing it out. He did the same for his pants, then hurriedly dressing, moved to a local high point to get a better view.



He stood in the middle of a large, mostly flat expanse of grass, and to his dismay there was little sign of the kind of shelter he'd need come the dawn. Downriver a series of low hills blocked his view, and he toyed with the idea of climbing to the top of one for better visibility. Upstream the river curved away to the right, and he could see light glinting off a scattered expanse of water, like a swamp or marsh. There were twisted trees and vegetation in there, which could be used to shelter him, but Angel preferred not to venture into uncertain ground unless he had no choice. He shivered as he remembered an old story he'd heard about a vampire who fell into a peat bog, getting sucked under and trapped for a century before artillery fire in the First World War released him, completely mad. Finally on the horizon he identified a dark mass that might have been a forest of some description, and he set off running. He kept near to the swamp in case he needed it for cover, glad to have something to do that might serve to take his mind off Angelus' actions. The past day had been terrible, trapped unable to move he'd had time to do nothing but think, and torture himself with guilt.



As he got closer to what was now definitely a forest he came over a swell in the ground and stopped in surprise. About twenty miles away and slightly to the right of his current course shone the lights of a town, but not the harsh glare of electricity. Instead he was reminded of his earlier life as Liam and then Angelus, seeing the warm glow that came from burning torches and Lanterns. He paused to consider if he should continue on to the forest or divert to the town. They were both about the same distance, and at this rate he should get there an hour or so before dawn.


It was at times like this he was grateful for his vampiric speed and endurance, having just run forty miles from the river. Going to the town had advantages, most importantly in the field of information gathering. He still knew almost nothing about the place he'd ended up, and the cloudy sky had prevented him seeing if any of the constellations were visible. In the end he decided to play it safe. The forest and town were close enough that tomorrow night he could spend the time he needed to investigate without rushing things and likely getting caught, and the half-forgotten memories from the Second World War advised patience in hostile territory.

 

[weirdbutgifted]

Just to clear up a few things (covered with spoiler tags because it has some of my reasoning when creating the story and character direction, so skip it if you don't want to read). If you do read it, nothing story-based should come as a great shock as I was trying to convey most of this in the text. If it does, let me know please so I can take another look at that section.

Spoiler

One of the most difficult things about writing this is to play by the rules of the Realms while staying true to the characters. I'm used to being able to create a character with the class they're going to be in mind, and that won't work here without butchering the canon personalities. To give an example, I was initially planning to have Xander meet one of Mystra's Chosen and for him to go with wizardry, as he knew from playing that it was powerful. When I started to plot it out in my head though, I could see the lessons, and what was he doing? Slacking off. He could have seriously tried to improve himself at any time throughout the canon series but never really did.


I've decided that for this fic, that was because he got the idea early that only those with mystical skills could be really effective, and his low self-esteem caused that to continue even after evidence to the contrary was provided. Here, he knows that ordinary people can become great on their own efforts, but I had my doubts that would be enough to motivate him from a lifetime of slacking, hence the incident with the Bandits. Now he has a personal motivation and a shock to prod him into action, if only to prevent something like that happening again. Hopefully with Melshoom's guidance he won't fall back into old habits.


The mentioned advantages for Buffy, Xander and Giles aren't plot vehicles for them to go from level one equivalent to Epic overnight, but what I think are plausible means by which they might get a much needed leg-up in their chosen path, rather than have a five year timeskip while they go from commoner equivalent (in Xander's case) to that first level. Xander really was possessed by a primal spirit, and it having the effect of a potentially deeper connection with nature seems reasonable to me.


As to why it never came up in BtVS canon? It needed the intervention of someone like a Druid to become anything other than a mere potential. It will help him out with becoming a Druid more quickly than average and give him a strong sense of connection to nature once he learns to listen, but the advantage at most levels will be minor. It's possible if he ever got to Epic level it would take on more importance, but that's far beyond the scope of this story unless I end up doing a sequel.


Giles does have experience with magic, and his personality in terms of enjoyment of Arcane research seems tailor made for the Wizarding profession. He's coming to it late, but I don't think it unreasonable that prior experience with manipulating arcane energy would allow him to progress faster.


Buffy has the canon Slayer package, which for the martially inclined classes would be a godsend. Several times the maximum natural strength possible for a human? The same for hand-eye co-ordination, speed and ability to tank damage? Ridiculously fast progression on weapon and martial skills mastery to go with it? Heightened senses? No restrictions when it comes to armour or the like? As a well-equipped and motivated Fighter, she'd be very dangerous with only her current abilities. As a monk though, virtually everything they do is focused on ki manipulation, and (for this story), the slayer spirit changes things enough that she'll have to work out unique ways of doing the things other monks take for granted.


Character development and classes for Xander and Buffy:Concentrating on these two, because they have the furthest to go. Giles and Angel will develop as well, but their characters are mainly set already, so while I'll give them their time it will show less change.


Druids and Monks need? Wisdom. When wisdom is not magically assigned at character creation or on level up, where does it come from? The player's handbook defines wisdom as:


Wisdom describes a character's willpower, common sense, perception, and intuition. While Intelligence represents one's ability to analyze information, Wisdom represents being in tune with and aware of one's surroundings.



I take this to mean that wisdom can be expressed in different ways, or as a combination of several things. I could take just the last sentence about being in tune with and aware of one's surroundings, and state that by author fiat the senses of the slayer package and Xander's eventual connection with nature grant wisdom boosts, but that would feel cheap and like something of an asspull. Wisdom to me is the voice of experience and common sense, and it's developed by facing hard situations and making harder choices, from failing and living with the consequences etc. Both Buffy and Xander have done just that.


Speaking personally, I sure as hell hadn't been responsible for saving the world when I was sixteen/seventeen (I still haven't). I wasn't responsible for the death of my best friend, or had to condemn someone I loved to hell to save the world, or a multitude of other incidents. In canon, the maturing effects were muted, for Xander he remained in the same situation and surroundings he'd been in all his life, and simply fell back into the known patterns of behaviour and thought. A similar situation occurred with Buffy after she returned – she must have wanted something familiar and some stability, and doing the same things with the same people offered that. While she was away she pretended it didn't happen, or at least never worked through it and learned from what happened as much as she could have.


Here, they're both in new situations with new people, and both Melshoom and Telath have enough life experience and wisdom to give advice and help them grow as people, which I hope to show over time. They will start to get together, but it'll take a little time. Angel doesn't know anyone else came though the portal, still thinks this might be a hell dimension, and doesn't have anyone to help learn the language. Buffy can only speak to two monks and thinks that only Angel might have come here, and they didn't part on good terms. She does want to see him but is a little afraid at what he'll think of being stabbed. Xander can't talk to people without the amulet and is afraid to venture forth without growing stronger and Giles has reasoned that staying in Candlekeep offers the best long-term chances of finding Xander and Buffy.

None of the character classes are set in stone, nor is the exact timeline within the Realms or the eventual outcome of the story. I do have some plans, but I prefer to develop the characters and let that drive the plot, so things could always change.

 

[Chloe Sullivan]

I have just one question for you before I am willing to try reading this.


CAN. YOU. DO. MATH?


because the sheer amount of nerdrage that inability to apply basic arithmetic and logic to D&D (especially 3.5 and pathfailure) that infects 90% of the internet generally keeps me away from D&D fanfiction that isn't Baldur's Gate.


I do really do want to read this, but I have to know first.

 

[weirdbutgifted]

@kaing and Jossan Alhi: Thanks for the feedback, characterisation was one of the things that I was worried about, as it's difficult to keep the individual voices separate. There will be more on Angel in the next chapter, but it's a little difficult because I felt it was pushing it for the other three to find a solution to the language issues so quickly (even if their teachers have their own motivations). I couldn't justify it for Angel as well so there's a lot of sneaking and trying to figure out the language from overheard conversations for him in the future. The next chapter will take a while to get out, as this story is proving very research intensive.

I have just one question for you before I am willing to try reading this.

CAN. YOU. DO. MATH?

because the sheer amount of nerdrage that inability to apply basic arithmetic and logic to D&D (especially 3.5 and pathfailure) that infects 90% of the internet generally keeps me away from D&D fanfiction that isn't Baldur's Gate.

I do really do want to read this, but I have to know first.

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While I'd love to give you a quick answer, could you elaborate on what you mean with an example or two? I've seen so many different types of nerdrage from D&D fans that I'm not sure what your specific hate is. For example, some prefer to stick exactly to mechanics (including floating dice rolls and level up screens), others insist on literal interpretations of game rules, even when it is clearly a game balance issue and not applicable to real world situations.

If you clarify what you are worried about, I'll be happy to either tell you not to worry or warn you off. If you do read it and see something that provokes rage, please let me know, and I'll give it serious consideration; either changing it or providing a detailed reason as to why I did it that way.

 

[Chloe Sullivan]

I'm trying to rationalize this. I can't.

Let's see, an example. Yes, I hate My Little Pony, and Hate when someone try to sell me the new series. Ok. So, I don't go to the treads that say "MLP", evade the thing I don't like, and let the people who enjoy that series to do just that, with any level of appropriate deepness and nerdism they want.


Now, Satori, you claim to evade the "nerdrage" of the D&D Fans. Fair enough, after all, you can read a history without read the comments of it. Then, put a comment without even reading the history, calling D&D fans illogical and bad mathematicians, and mocking a name with "Pathfailure". Seriously, what logic do you see in that?


Maybe, and this is only because I want to retain hope that this is not a trolling, maybe you are a fan of the Buffy series and were interested by the fact that two persons mentioned good characterizations. Or maybe you are a Troll. Well, since I'm a D&D fan, maybe I'm committing a logical fallacy (false dichotomy) and you have a third motive for your insulting comments, would you kindly explain them in a manner that we, illogical amathematicals morons could understand?

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English isn't your first language is it? Lemme see if i can unscramble your grammar...


I think you didn't understand what I wrote. I'm a D&D fan who is so tired of the blatant fuckstupid in 90% of D&D stuff online that I don't read any D&D stuff unless I've been assured it's not full of fuckstupid.


Which is a pity, since I love D&D. But pathfailure has actually managed to increase the amount of D&D idiocy just when BG and the old CharOp boards crwod had just begin to make headway on intelligent discussion of D&D. A tragedy, that.


Simple basic logic:


1) Fighters shouldn't exist. Really. There are literally dozens of other classes which can do everything a fighter does, and do it better, and still have room left over for competence at other tasks that fighter's can't do. Fighters don't even make sense if you totally ignore mechanics and rely solely on fluff. Linear Warriors Quadratic Wizards is even more difficult to avert with fluff than mechanics. And while you do need town constables, caravan guards, and generic soldier # 7, that's what the NPC Warrior class is for.


2) Fireball is one of the most inefficient spells ever. The fact that wizard sho are supposedly superhuman-level smart toss it around in fluff is frankly SOD breaking to the extreme. There is a rare occasion in which it may be useul, but any wizard who is using it regularly is frankly not acting as intelligently as he is supposed to be.


ETC, ETC.


D&D only makes sense if you ignore the fuckstupid written into the fluff by people who can't do math, and who often time, have never even played the game. Frank and K's tome materiel is a good place to start for exploring what the implications of a world with magic are on society and warfare. It makes way more sense than 90% of what is officially published

 

[Mizuki_Stone]

Interesting... You've really put a lot of thought into this, especially with the defining character traits and needed progression.


Alright, we've got the prologue, now comes the basics, then we can dig into the fun part of actual adventures.


Edit: Satori's a rather enthusiastic mechanics optimist, not quite a Munchkin, but the kind of person who will complain heavily if you work off the fluff over the crunch, or use sub optimal builds no matter the reason.

 

[weirdbutgifted]

...Snip...

Simple basic logic:



1) Fighters shouldn't exist. Really. There are literally dozens of other classes which can do everything a fighter does, and do it better, and still have room left over for competence at other tasks that fighter's can't do. Fighters don't even make sense if you totally ignore mechanics and rely solely on fluff. Linear Warriors Quadratic Wizards is even more difficult to avert with fluff than mechanics. And while you do need town constables, caravan guards, and generic soldier # 7, that's what the NPC Warrior class is for.

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While much of what you said is true, especially at higher levels, it's canon that fighters do exist - If I made this a story where one of the core classes simply didn't exist, I'd be buried under the outraged howls of fans. While personally I would be hard pressed to choose anything other than an arcane spellcaster, for a whole host of reasons, people make stupid decisions and decisions based on different priorities that what an outsider would consider sensible all the time. We see that in real life where someone with an internship or job at a major company with excellent prospects quits to pursue music or art. From a financial and logical perspective, that's generally considered a sub-optimum choice, but they're doing what they enjoy.



Similarly in the realms, it might well be someone's dream to be the fighter in the magic armour, swinging a broadsword against monstous foes despite all the parental advice to take the wizard's apprenticeship they purchased. Unlike in a game where you can move your best ability around, there are likely quite a few people who try magic and either hate it enough to quit or just can't hack it mentally.



For the story, I likely won't have the lines so clear cut in the fighter-type classes they encounter, and there may well be several people who've taken the time to learn some simple cantrips or cross-class abilities. I hope this at least partially answered your question, and if you do read and have a problem with something I did, by all means let me know. I won't be offended and I can't promise to change the story to suit you; but as I said before, I will at least give what you say serious consideration.

2) Fireball is one of the most inefficient spells ever. The fact that wizard sho are supposedly superhuman-level smart toss it around in fluff is frankly SOD breaking to the extreme. There is a rare occasion in which it may be useul, but any wizard who is using it regularly is frankly not acting as intelligently as he is supposed to be.



ETC, ETC.



D&D only makes sense if you ignore the fuckstupid written into the fluff by people who can't do math, and who often time, have never even played the game. Frank and K's tome materiel is a good place to start for exploring what the implications of a world with magic are on society and warfare. It makes way more sense than 90% of what is officially published

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One of my biggest aims in this story is to write the characters true to their backgrounds and personalities, and to show their attributes as more than informed ability. On the spell front that will be Giles mostly at the moment, and you should see him utilise his intelligence in battle, when it comes. They're all going to make mistakes, though I hope to show them learning from them and applying the lessons believably.



Something I probably should mention is that while Xander has played D&D, he was the indifferent type that made a character and left everything up to the GM, tuning out any discussion of the background material. They did come up with a few clever tricks, but none of the games he played had a druid, as those playing regarded it as a poor choice.


EDIT: @Mizuki: Thanks, the next chapter should cover slices of life and training over a moderate period, likely ending with a character discovering the location of one or more others. It should be fairly obvious what follows until they meet up as a group, then we have the issue of getting home and the obstacles they need to overcome, for those that choose to take that option.

 

[Chloe Sullivan]

Edit: Satori's a rather enthusiastic mechanics optimist, not quite a Munchkin, but the kind of person who will complain heavily if you work off the fluff over the crunch, or use sub optimal builds no matter the reason.

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In the D&D recs thread I was arguing against someone who complained that the characters were too underoptimized, so take your unjustified stereotyping and shove it.


I like MAKING SENSE. The fluff and crunch alike for D&D often don't. The fics are usually even worse.


Ask anyone who understands what "strategy" is, and he or she will tell you that accurate intelligence on the foe is worth FAR more than a small and none too damaging burst of fire. In D&D, where spells are on a limited, pre loaded ammo, set up, loading "weak ass inferior excuse for a mortar shell" instead of "tactical recon drone" in a valuable spell slot is just plain stupid. And Wizards are supposed to be smart. Fireball would be rather meh even in a 2nd level slot. It takes a 3rd level slot, which could be used for Haste, or Major Image, or Sleet Storm, or Dispel Magic, or dozens of other, far more useful things.


Unfortunately, most writers are incapable of grasping this very simple, very obvious idea.

 

[Arthur Hansen]

Wow, someone who hates the basic first huge AOE decent damage spell.

Remind me to never play in any game your run or play in, as it sounds like if you aren't optimized to .01% it wouldn't be fun.

 

[Chloe Sullivan]

Wow, someone who hates the basic first huge AOE decent damage spell.

Remind me to never play in any game your run or play in, as it sounds like if you aren't optimized to .01% it wouldn't be fun.

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what's decent about it?

Fireball's AOE is relatively small. Sleet Storm, which is the same level, provides double the AOE, and for a far superior effect, to boot. Fireball averages 17.5-35 fire damage, depending on CL, which is frankly crappy. It's only good for killing mooks, and spell-slots are generally too valuable to be wasted on mook killing. Furthermore, a haste spell actually deals considerably more damage that a fireball, on average as now everyone in the party who makes attacks gets +1 to hit and an extra attack per round. That can easily add up to far more damage actually dealt to enemies for the cost of the same 3rd level slot. And Haste also gives you +30 land speed and +1 AC to boot.

This isn't muchkining. This is simple math applied to commonly used core spells. Fireball blows, and any Wizard (who by definition has above average intelligence) should know this.

Keep in mind that optimizing, at least to an extent, is *in character*. Adventurers DO NOT WANT TO DIE. They want to win fame and fortune, and whatnot. They can't do that if they are swinging a longsword for 1d8+4 twice per round, when facing Tigers that bite for 2d6+3, claw twice for 1d8+6 each, and also automatically start a grapple, and rake two more times for 1d8+3 each if the grapple succeeds. Yes, this is a bog standard SRD tiger.


Classes are not canon. Classes are a metagame concept, just like HP.
Janek, Soldier of Fortune and Master Swordsman, could be a warblade, a crusader, a knight, an (law) incarnate, a paladin, a ranger, a binder, a truenamer, a bard, a sorcerer, or yes, even a fighter. But only if he's played by a misathropist who is determined to be The Load. These days, most people still playing D&D 3.5 have flat out replaced the fighter with the warblade, which is basically the fighter, only actually capable of filling a useful role.

Most games I play in are mid level-optimization. Which means that everyone can pull his or her weight, but no one is capable of doing everything him or herself. Most people I hang with consider that the most fun way to play D&D.

I have played in High-op D&D games, where you *have* to be a caster to survive. But not everyone likes those.

 

[Arthur Hansen]

Fireball might be pretty crappy against a single, high CR but it's *wonderful* against lower level foes in decent numbers.

In fact, in the dozens of gaming groups I've played in, no one ever thought it was a 'crappy low damage spell that no one should ever pick up'. Like I said, you are min-maxing to an extreme.

A fireball is not the solution to every problem, but it is *not* a bad spell. And is, in fact, the basis that all damaging 3rd level spell are designed around.

 

[Chloe Sullivan]

Fireball might be pretty crappy against a single, high CR but it's *wonderful* against lower level foes in decent numbers.


In fact, in the dozens of gaming groups I've played in, no one ever thought it was a 'crappy low damage spell that no one should ever pick up'. Like I said, you are min-maxing to an extreme.


A fireball is not the solution to every problem, but it is *not* a bad spell. And is, in fact, the basis that all damaging 3rd level spell are designed around.

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No, I am not Minmaxing. Certainly I'm not going to an extreme. Picking a better spell is not minmaxing, it's being *sensible*. No one who has a positive INT modifier is going to consistently pick the ineffective option, unless he is deliberately being The Load. This "you want to pick the effective option, therefore you're a dirty minmaxer" bullshit you're spouting is both offensive and totally inaccurate. You have offered not one iota of analysis to back your claims besides "i do it this way".


Fireball is a noticeably weak spell, for it's level. Whether this is good or bad depends on your goal. If it's to be an alive wizard at the end of the encounter, it's BAD 90+% of the time.


3.0 Spell design was terrible, mostly because they playtested as though they were still playing 2nd, and thus never actually playtested 90% of the spells, or even half of the new/changed mechanics. Maybe the weak tea power of fireball is what they intended. If you want to run it that way, feel free to erase 2/3rds of sorc/wiz spell list from the game when you play.


Fireball was great in 2e because it always dealt damage even when the enemy saved, which was often. In 3e, fireball deals the same damage, but creature HP has been scaled up considerable. This already makes fireball weaker. You then have to factor in that Save DC's in 3e scale with level, which makes "half damage even on a save" far less of a big deal, especially since Evasion now exists, and is fairly easy to get. Some WOTC designers never made that mental adjustment, and neither have a good number of players. That they haven't doesn't mean fireball is still good. It means they haven't bothered to think about it.

Really? You think this is the best way to make your _opinion_ on whether or not D20 handles a class the way you think it should? Really? Way to set the bar to confrontational right out the bat. I must give weirdbutgifted credit for keeping things civil on his end.

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Fantasy and Sci-fi Stories need Suspension of Disbelief. If you read a sci-fi story, where the guy used his expensive, rare, limited use nanotech macguffin to make not-especially-powerful plasma bursts when he had a fully functional blaster pistol, and the guy next to him had a gatling coilgun, instead of using it for speed enhancement or recon drones, you'd think he had crummy tactics, wouldn't you?


And if he was supposed to be really smart, that would kill SoD, wouldn't it?


If i came across as confrontation, I apologize, but asking for validation of quality before taking time to read is pretty common practice on this board. You see it all the time in the recs threads, and occasionally in stories threads.

So, instead of demanding to know if the author can do math (when the author may just handwave in ways for fighters to be more effective, say, by equipment...),

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Ah yes, the "we'll make the fighter suck less by giving him a OMGWTFBBQ artifact weapon that makes him wizard-light" strategy. I should point out it's an implicit admission that the fighter is inherently inferior to the wizard. Which it is, unless you play 4e.

just read it and decide for yourself if you'll read chapter two. More flies with honey, dude.

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See above note about validation. Though if you're saying it's good I'm happy to take your word for it.

 

[weirdbutgifted]

My first impression is that your writing style is too heavy. I like long sentences and use them a lot, but you need to vary your sentence structure. Have you read your own work out loud? The logical connections in your syntax are too meandering for the relatively mundane subject matter. For example:

You could simply say, "Xander caught his foot on the sidewalk and stumbled" instead of the tortured prose of the first sentence. The second sentence is a mess; certainly there's nothing wrong with complex verbal structure but it ought be reserved for complex takes on a topic. You don't want to sap your reader's stamina by forcing them to wrestle with words about a subject not worth wrestling with conceptually.

It sounds to me like you are writing what comes to mind, semi-stream of consciousness style. If you read enough well-composed fiction, what comes to mind will naturally possess a good rhythm and flow. You are not at that stage, so you either need to proofread extensively or take a more deliberate approach to production.

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Thank you for the feedback. I was worried about that, and you might be horrified to learn that the entire thing was considerably heavier on the first draft. As an example, I do not normally use contractions in writing and have to go back and edit them in for a more natural flow to the words. The first sentence was originally the same length as the second, and I tried to cut it down to something that was easier to swallow, though obviously I need to go further. With the second sentence, when you say 'wrestle with words' I assume you mean the aforementioned complex structure, or should I also omit words like 'herculean'?

 

[Mizuki_Stone]

just for the record the INT stat is a misnomer, it relates to how easily you process information, while raw IQ can do the job, most of the time a high INT stat is the results of a superior education, as simply knowing more will let you process data easier vea actually knowing the subject. It's the Nerd stat, how well you can handle raw data, crunch numbers, and retrain information.


In short you don't have to actually be 'smart' to have a high INT.


Intuitive learning, realizing what's going on in a situation, common sense, etc. is the domain of the WIS score. This is the score largely in use for short term intelligent action.


If you have crap WIS, but high INT, at best, your going to end up acting like Sheldon from Big Bang Theory. Considering I know several people IRL who acted a lot like the man before the series even aired (and am one to a lessened extent) it's easy enough to believe possible.

 

[Mizuki_Stone]

Basicly yes.


End result is high INT scorers will often make stupid moves, the fact that high INT scores tend to up one's ego faster than even CHA dosn't really help the matter...


Really if you want someone acting smart in a given situation, WIS is the stat you should eyeball.

 

[Arthur Hansen]

No, I am not Minmaxing. Certainly I'm not going to an extreme. Picking a better spell is not minmaxing, it's being *sensible*. No one who has a positive INT modifier is going to consistently pick the ineffective option, unless he is deliberately being The Load. This "you want to pick the effective option, therefore you're a dirty minmaxer" bullshit you're spouting is both offensive and totally inaccurate. You have offered not one iota of analysis to back your claims besides "i do it this way".


Fireball is a noticeably weak spell, for it's level. Whether this is good or bad depends on your goal. If it's to be an alive wizard at the end of the encounter, it's BAD 90+% of the time.


3.0 Spell design was terrible, mostly because they playtested as though they were still playing 2nd, and thus never actually playtested 90% of the spells, or even half of the new/changed mechanics. Maybe the weak tea power of fireball is what they intended. If you want to run it that way, feel free to erase 2/3rds of sorc/wiz spell list from the game when you play.


Fireball was great in 2e because it always dealt damage even when the enemy saved, which was often. In 3e, fireball deals the same damage, but creature HP has been scaled up considerable. This already makes fireball weaker. You then have to factor in that Save DC's in 3e scale with level, which makes "half damage even on a save" far less of a big deal, especially since Evasion now exists, and is fairly easy to get. Some WOTC designers never made that mental adjustment, and neither have a good number of players. That they haven't doesn't mean fireball is still good. It means they haven't bothered to think about it.

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Um, at heart this is all min-maxing. And biased opinion. You seem to be one of those people that has to squeeze the utter utmost out of your spell.


Some of your reasoning is even very suspect (evasion is too common!)


I'm not going to argue rules with you, but like I said in the dozens of groups I was in... no one held the utter hatred and anger against this bed-rock spell of the genre.

 

[Chloe Sullivan]

Sarevok is fighter.

Fluff vs mechanics etc.

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Sarevok, like virtually every character in BG has special abilities that his class doesn't normally have. EG: Deathbringer Assault. He can also be dualed to Mage or Thief. This makes him much more useful that a normal fighter. And in 2e, the fighter at least had passable survivability, due to high HP in a game where HP was much harder to come by. than in later editions.

I generally agree with Satori but:
1)spells doesn't grow on trees(most of time anyway)
Wizards may use fireball because it's very popular spell and very easy to get.

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True. And that's the best justification for using fireballs. If you're doing a setting where 99% of spells are carefully guarded secrets only known to a few, and fireball use is actually heavily promoted because the (Red?) Dragons, who are natural mages and don't want pesky human mages homing in on their territory, encourage the use of a weak fire spell that can't hurt then, while trying to keep spells that are actually a threat to them out of the hands of the Irresponsible Younger Races (TM).... well, then, using fireball a lot makes sense. If you're a human.

Thing is, you have to establish that setting to make it plausible. Not just have wizards use what appear to be subpar tactics with no explanation. Which half of the faerun fluff tends to do. >.[




<quote tmp="xeno121"]Yes, every spell can potentially be useful, in the same way that you can use a rock instead of a hammer to put a nail into something.[/quote]Exactly. The problem is not "using fireball", it's "loading fireball in your precious and rare spell slots when your life is REGULARLY IN DANGER, and haste or sleet storm or dispel magic is much more likely to save your scrawny wizard ass" (and incidentally, the lives of your meatshie- I mean companions).

Um, at heart this is all min-maxing. And biased opinion.

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You keep saying this, but you never offer a WHY. At this point, i'd say you're just an inch away from outright flaming. "because i say so" is not a credible argument.

You seem to be one of those people that has to squeeze the utter utmost out of your spell.

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If I was, I'd never play anything but Incantatrix. Smart spell selection is basic tactical sense.

Minmaxing is when you find ways to pile on free metamagic or double cast or any number of other mechanical benefits you get by taking Prc's and Feats and special Magic Items. Minmaxing is mechanical. Spell selection, good or bad, is a roleplaying choice.

Some of your reasoning is even very suspect (evasion is too common!)

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Anyone can take "shape soulmeld: impulse boots" and "Open Least Chakra" or just buy a ring of evasion, or Prc into Divine Oracle, etc. It is pretty easy to get really. How is that suspect?

Also, I didn't say it was *too* common. Its exactly as common as the players/dm want it to be. What i said was that evasion and scaling DC's make the "half damage even on successful save" feature of fireball far less useful in 3e, vis-a-vis 2e. Which is entirely true.

I'm not going to argue rules with you,

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Because you don't have any arguments. Only bald-faced assertions.

but like I said in the dozens of groups I was in... no one held the utter hatred and anger against this bed-rock spell of the genre.

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It *was* a bedrock spell in older editions. but 3e is NOT 2e. As I mentioned before, inability to change mindset is mental laziness. Thus why i asked about ability to do math in the first place. It requires not only skill, but willingness to make an effort.

in 3e, fireball is NOT DOING YOUR JOB. Anyone can do HP damage. Most can do it better than you can with a fireball. The wizards's primary job is to do those things which other classes can't do. Things like disabling or walling out the enemy, or flying the party over obstacles, or dispelling enemy magic. In short, using fireball on more than rare occasion is being The Load, because now the party doesn't have someone handing crowd control, because the someone who was supposed to be on it decided to go fwackthoom stuff instead, and consequently everyone has a harder time (staying alive).

Being The Load is generally something that makes a person unwelcome in the party. Unless she's smoking hot.

However, being The Load can be used to positive effect in a story or fanfic, if you make it something that contributes to the plot. Maybe The Load is some arrogant snot of a lordling who needs a dose of real adventuring to kick the stupid out of him. Maybe The Load is actually functioning as an Escort Mission. Maybe The Load is actually secretly working for the other side and will become vastly more competent after either The Reveal or the Face-heel Turn. Maybe the hero is a utter hayseed whose lack of knowledge is making him The Load until a veteran takes him under wing and has him Take a Level in Badass.

But it has to be done carefully. BtVS made it work. Naruto didn't; which is why Sakura has such a massive Hatedom. But even with Naruto, many fanfic writes made a lot of capital out of having Sakura realize she was being The Load, and subsequently work hard to make sure she wouldn't be anymore.

 

[Arthur Hansen]

Satori, the reason I was not arguing rules is *not* because I can't, but because I'm not going to be rude in someone else's thread.

Take your number-cruchiness (and being wrong) somewhere where someone will actually care that you can squeeze an extra 10% damage by using every single sourcebook in the world.

 

[Mizuki_Stone]

Editing words for flow can be an utter heartless bitch of a task, you have my sympathies. Still it's really worth it in the end when you've managed to peg everyone's linguistic quirks, isn't it?


And Satori... I think your hate of Fireball might be due to the encounter's you've been having. DM's tend to favor particular enemies for the same reason players favor particular classes. They know them well, how to use them, how they behave, etc. You encounter a lot of creatures with Evasion and high reflex?


I'm making this guess because I personally got to the point of ignoring any spell that allowed for spell resistance after a point in one particular campaign. Even rolling a 20 with spell penetration I couldn't punch through the resistances encountered because apparently SR augmenting items were tossed out like candy at some point. I was actually landing full damage fireballs more often then instant kills three spell levels higher, and Evasion was a rare rare thing to be seen.


Truth is, you have to ether allow for a save or risk punching through spell resistance at some point. Only a tiny amount of the highest saves can get results (and often not optimal) without facing one of the two. It's a game balance mechanic.


Edit: Ironically most of those Evasive combatants actually were sent out to kill me specifically after I had taken to AoE spells! (Laughs) got to keep going with the flow I guess... Really though having a blasty spell or two on tap is always a good idea, more so considering just how mailable they can be with things like 'Energy Conversion'. The trick is the right spell for the right enemy. So invest well in those Knowledge _____ ranks...

 

[Chloe Sullivan]

Satori, the reason I was not arguing rules is *not* because I can't, but because I'm not going to be rude in someone else's thread.

Take your number-cruchiness (and being wrong) somewhere where someone will actually care that you can squeeze an extra 10% damage by using every single sourcebook in the world.

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Did you see any *number* crunching? No. Your strawmanning has gone from merely ignorant to intentionally offensive. YOU are the one being rude, by constantly insinuating that I care only about mechanics, with intent to insult, even though i repeatedly pointed out that my concerns are both crunch and fluff.

Defending your actions of repeating the same insulting and inaccurate accusation over and over with no grounds by saying "i'm not arguing" is nonsensical. That you 'don't want to argue' in no way justifies your deplorable behavior.

Take your stormwind fallacy out of the thread and there will be no need for me to argue anything. I already stated my points, and from the posts on the last page, several people agree that the issues I brought up are relevant to SoD.

Though I suspect you aren't actually reading my posts, just repeating "dirty minmaxer, nurr" ad nauseum.

Truth is, you have to ether allow for a save or risk punching through spell resistance at some point. Only a tiny amount of the highest saves can get results (and often not optimal) without facing one of the two. It's a game balance mechanic.

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Wait, are you claiming that 3e has balance? I thought that idea was debunked ages ago.

Blasty spells are sub par, but yes, having one or two on tap for the occasions when they're helpful is good. But there are better options than fireball. Vortex of Teeth, Wings of Flurry, Orb of Fire/Force/Sound, Lightning Leap.... Melf's Unicorn Arrow(s), if you insist on a 3rd level.

I usually never worry much about saves/SR, because usually at least one foe I target is going to fail his save, and SR is almost worthless without massive houseruling to fix it.

EDIT: And yes, I promise this is the last post I will make about mechanics or fluff in this thread. Jossan, feel free to PM me if you want to talk.

 

[Mizuki_Stone]

SR's more useful then you think, at least if it's augmented like anything else can be... but your right this has gone on to long. I'm also open to consultation if you want any help with fluff/crunch conversion problems. I've researched and come up with a bunch of nifty little ideas as to how mechanics can translate to actual action.

 

[weirdbutgifted]

Well, I edited the prologue to hopefully make it more accessible, let me know if it worked please. I'll go through Chapter One a bit at a time and publish the edit when I have Chapter Two done. I'd love to go faster but this type of editing really kills my enthusiasm for the writing, so it's best kept to short periods.


On the rambling discussion, I don't really mind as long as the subject remains the merits of the argument (which should have at least some relevance to the story), not the merits of the individual poster(s) positing it.

@Mizuki: Thanks, I'll probably take you up on that when I start hammering out the fine details.

 

[Andras]

I like it so far, I was just hoping that it might be 1e/2e based since 3e hadn't been released IIRC

 

[weirdbutgifted]

I like it so far, I was just hoping that it might be 1e/2e based since 3e hadn't been released IIRC

Click to shrink...

I started to reply that 3e was released in 2000, then realised you meant by BtVS timeline. Yeah, you have a point, but everything I own from earlier editions is in storage along with most of my belongings, and I won't be accessing that for about five years, so... My apologies if it's not to your liking, I did try to provide version information in the thread title, and I simply have access to far more personal reseach material for 3.5 compared to earlier editions (a friend has gone overseas for some time and loaned me his collection).