**[Ken Lipka]**

*CRASH* The sound of breaking glass signified Krax's entrance. I shook my head in sadness. He's still a namer in the Faction and thus hasn't figured out that being odd is not the same as being one with Chaos. Granted, he used the skylight this time - I didn't expect that since I knew Krax was afraid of heights. A rather amusing trait in a Wind Duke, eh?

Looking around my bar, I breathed in the delicious Chaos that I have created and sown. This week, I moved my bar into a crumbling, three-story building - perfect excuse to string up that rigging we stole from the Primes last year. A spider's nest, yes that's the image I've created. I love how my art comes unplanned and randomly; I suppose that's why I joined in the first place.

It's still early; not many customers yet. Krax had limped over to the end of the current bar - a pile of crates - and was busily slurping down some of the rotgut I kept for the normals. Odd that one who claims to be nobility has no taste. Terrin was already moving through the bar, serving drinks and collecting cast-off bits of clothing. I wonder how long it will be before that's no longer a thrill and she starts taking it off the customers? The only other regular at this hour is Purple - the kobold shaman. While he doesn't seem to feel particularly attracted to Chaos, his "sermons" always cause some confusion. I like him. Perhaps I should bring him to the Hive tonight and let the others bring him into the faction.

Other than those, I've only a smattering of customers. A thri-kreen and pixie are engaged in a deep philosophical conversation about desserts (I think); a Sensate is settling into the crow's nest in the broken roof, cup in hand; and a Rogue Modron has just come in. Now *THIS* is going to be fun. It's shaping up to be another night of pleasent Chaos here at what the normals call "Quake Lavender's Place". I just call it mine. But else do you want from a Xoasitect?

**[Sir Twist]**

Measure Three Narthe moved down the street towards the Hive. {I'm going to have that place closed tonight}, the Hardhead thought to himself. {That whole house of barmies is either going to the Red Death or the Bleakers...or I'll have to do it myself.} Tonight was going to be his jump to Mover status.

There was the Shattered Temple, it was only ten more minutes from here. {Damn berks, those Athar. Stirring up trouble with the priests, ain't got no sense of order, they don't.} Caught up in his thoughts, Narthe failed to realise where he was going -- {Hey! I don't remember this corner being here!} He grabbed the colalr of a bubber that was staggering down the lane.

"Hey, you. Hang on a second, bubber. You know where Quake's is?"

The bleary-eyed drunkard looked him up and down. "You a Harmonium basher?"

"Yeah, I'm Measure Three Narthe, and I won't arrest you for appearing under the influence of an intoxicating substance if you show me the way to Quake's," Narthe threatened.

A look of fear crossed the old bub's face. "It's down that way." He pointed. "I think...I'm not sure where Quake's moved into tonight...#hiccup#... maybe she took his bar over that way..."

Narthe dropped him ungraciously and walked on. The chill was getting to him, and he wrapped his cloak closer around him. Ahead he saw purple light from around the corner. He slowed his pace, drew his blade and cautiously approached the corner.

It was a gathering of Xaositec heathens. Great, that's all I need, he fumed to himself. Normally, he would have gone right in there and broken the thing right up. But tonight, he had a mission. He hated to do it this way, but it seemed he had no choice. Sheathing his longsword, he wrapped his cloak around him, hiding the Harmonium badge and red armour and edged around the crowd.

Ah, luck was with him tonight! Ahead was the block where Quake usually kept her kip. He let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding and moved forward. Tonight, Quake would make an appearance at the prison. He stood a few yards from the doorway for a second and drew his blade. He checked his belt for the warrant he'd managed to weasel from the -- hey! where was that darned scroll? He searched the rest of his clothing to no avail. Damn, it must have been that sodding bubber. Oh well, he'd have to do this without. The law was with him, anyway.

He stepped forward and felt a large pain on the back of his neck. The last thing he remembered was seeing a face framed in long hair and a tatoo over a red eye, and he thought he saw horns...

**[Shelaam]**

From behind the glass I was polishing, I sized up the modron as it hesitantly entered the bar, scanning the place with its large round eyes, one of which was surrounded by a thick circle of black paint. Predictably ill at ease here (if anything is predictable), from the looks of if the law-beast was a courier, with what seemed like hundreds of small gray pouches hanging off baldrics encircling its chunky, cubic body, covering it like a dusky tunic. One of its small wings gave a flap now and then, as if nervously encouraging the modron to take care of its business and be gone.

After taking its measure of Quake's, the courier strode over to Purple. They sat in hushed conversation for a few minutes, the kobold even waving me away when I raised an eyebrow to see if they wanted some bub. Whatever darks they were exchanging, I couldn't help thinking that the conversation would be better suited to somewhere other than the middle of a bub-house where the loudest sound was the Sensate trying to determine whether gargling the dregs of his firewine would cure a throat infection. From the look on Purple's face, he agreed with me, but soon the muffled conversation ceased and the modron reached into one of its small pouches.

And that's when I got the feeling. Krax looked up from his rotgut with a grin and a gleam in his eye, obviously feeling it too. Perhaps the lad had some potential after all. Meanwhile, the law-beast hadn't found what it was looking for, and was searching other pouches, getting more frantic by the second.

Setting down the now spotless glass, I sauntered over to the pair, who were by now engrossed in the erstwhile courier's apparent inability to find what he was looking for. "Perhaps I may be of assistance", I said, slipping my hand deftly into a random pouch and withdrawing a large ruby, the rich colour of blood and cut in an unusual manner.

With a whirr, the modron spun to face me, its eyes visibly shrinking as it focused of the ruby in my hand. Perhaps it had spent time in the Hive, because it didn't wait to parley, just reached beneath the plethora of gray pouches to withdraw a wickedly sharp looking chiv. Unfortunately for the courier, its tight focus on the gem in my hand made it oblivious to an important factor which held great promise of defusing this little situation before it got out of hand.

From the corner of my eye, I detected the Sensate, already deep in his cups after a long afternoon on the bub, reaching for the length of rigging he'd used half an hour ago to swing from the crows nest straight to the bar for me to pour him another.

**[Kris Mckinnon]**

So, I took a deep breath of Sigil's smoggy air and smiled deeply. After so many hours of thinking, of painting, of agonizing over the angles of the giant pink spines in my sculptures, I had finally made it through his last showing of the season at Lazz's School of Vivid Unpleasantness. I could hardly contain my excitement. A whole two weeks with no instructors and no examinations. Complete freedom. Now I just had to find some place to waste it all in.

"What about this one bloods?" I said, pointing to a crumbling, three story building off to the right of the street. It seemed to be abandoned, but the crows nest poking through the top of the roof also spoke hope of something interesting. Maybe a prime had finally figured out how gate in something as large as the ships that sailed the oceans of the Planes. If he had, this was evidence that not all spells worked out as planned. Besides, I could see light streaming out from the cracks in the masonry If there was light in this part of Sigil, there would probably be some kind of alcohol as well. I turned to take in my accomplices, errr ... companions expressions.

"Oh, its simply -charming-" squealed Davidia, her eyes containing her usual amount of enthusiasm for anything at all. "Its all crumbly and old and it looks like it belongs in the middle of the Hive! It might have brigands inside! Or maybe even Anarchists!" She knelt down and shivered against 'Eggy', her paramour, for the last few weeks at least. The painters had a running pool on how long it would last. I had taken the 4 week slot, hoping that the height difference would prove an insurmountable barrier for their bodies to overcome. .

So far, my hope had been fading fast. So had that of the student who's room was underneath hers. He's been begging for structural reinforcement ever since she managed to get into the interpretive dance class. When she started letting 'Eggy' visit her at night, he became even more nervous. But his symphonies have suddenly gotten a great beat. Much more, shall we say, martial than the swooping stuff he played before. I guess seeing the beams bend back and forth above you while you work concentrates the mind.

To say she's a strapping lady is an understatement by about two hundred pounds and 3 feet. I guess that's what happens from having a hill giant as a mother. But she handles a paint brush like nobodies business, she's good at arm wrestling and she shares the beers she wins. That's good enough in my book.

Her arms tightened around 'Eggy''s chest, causing him to gag and turn red. "Will you keep me from their vile clutches, Eggy my sweet?" She cooed into his ear, unaware of his growing lack of oxygen.

"Urgh!" 'Eggy' said intelligently, his legs straining to reattach themselves to the slime filed gutter, although I wouldn't know why anyone would want to stand in that muck of their own free will. Prince Thorbaldin the Third, King of the Mountains, heir apparent to the Silver Mines of the Thorbaldin Clan, slowly levered his arm in between Davidias massive ones and broke her friendly, but asphyxiating, embrace. As he stepped back gasping, he adjusted his battered helm and tugged on his beard in that particular habit of his. He said he learned it from his father, but I think its just a way to make his beard grow further. As if he needs it. The thing is already over his shoulder. But anyone who came to Lazz's from the Prime to learn new ways of metal engraving had to be a bit touched in the head anyway. That's all right, we get along anyway.

"Urrr." He said in that gravely voice of his. "Urrr.. yeah." As you can see, he's a talker. After a moment, he patted Davidias lower leg comfortingly. She in turn smiled at him again, and reached down to give him another hug, or just carry him around for a while. I've seen that a couple of times and well, it puts me in mind of a good hour of laughs. He seems to enjoy it when no one else is around though, and it's sweet the way he braids her hair. Most people stifle their humor though, when they see the size of 'Eggy's axe. This time he must of thought that being carted through the hive like a fuzzy cat a bit too much affection for his taste, because he took off towards the building as fast as his stoic little legs could carry him.

Taking that as a yes, I strode across the road behind him with the intent of finding something to drink, with Davidia tromping gently behind me. My hooves made little tap taping sounds on the hard paving stones that lay scattered in the road here and there. As I approached the bar, well, what I -hoped- was a bar, I saw a few shadowy figures sitting inside. Most of them seemed to be holding containers of some kind. A good sign. I hoped it wasn't a Lower/Upper-Planes-Only kind of kip. Considering my ancestry, I could probably stand whatever kind of brew they served, but Davidia gets a bit bubbed after her seventh glass. And 'Eggy', well 'Eggy' starts singing after the fourth. I try to be drunk by then if I can help it. It makes the cries of "Me homeland!" and the crashing glass much easier to bear.

'Eggy' waited for us at the entrance to the bar. I grabbed the door over his head and pushed it open. I intended to get in a good couple of drinks before any trouble, but as it was trouble came looking for me first. As I opened the door I heard the unmistakable thud of flesh meeting metal in an uncompromising fashion (please don't ask). Then I saw a crazily dressed figure swinging from a rope complete his inadvertent meeting with the gray cube of metal known as a modron. The blow knocked the bubber from his feet, and sent the modron flying backwards in what promised to be a spectacular ending to the floor show. Unfortunately, I happened to be standing in his landing spot.

I caught a glimpse of hundreds of small pouches flying from its cubic body before it smashed into me, driving me off my feet. I was better off than the modron, who continued his flight over my head and out into the night, taking the door along with him in his exploration of the gutter. I heard a crash as the Modron hit the pavement. I winced in sympathy from my sprawl on the floor. That sounded like it hurt. I got quickly to my feet (cloven hooves are handy for that, something about being a tiefling that half makes up for the red skin and vestigial horns), straightened my clothes making sure that the black hadn't collected too much dust on its trip and looked up for the bar. Behind me, I felt the floor creak as Davidia came in behind me.

"Wasn't that exciting! Did you see it?" She said happily, but I was too busy to respond. I scanned the room for what would pass for a bar. I'd find something potable in here, or my name wasn't Eduardo de Laurentia, future portraiteer to the Stars.

**[Avi]**

Meanwhile, Licksy the Pixie watched the incident with a wide grin. The thri-keen was beginning to bore him with all this talk about dessert. Something much more interesting was happening at another table: Quake had taken a gem from a rogue modron, and then the modron drew his weapon. (That githzerai was always getting herself into trouble, bothering the customers). Suddenly, a drunken Sensate swung on a rope and crashed into Quake and the modron. The gem fell out of her hand and skittered across the floor.

Bar brawl! Krax, Terrin, Purple, Quake, the Sensate -- all rushing to reach the huge precious gem. Only to see Licksy the Pixie fly down on silver wings and grab it for himself. Tittering, the sprite flew out the door.

Licksy looked behind to see KK, the bouncer, who was perched atop the doorway and looking out for unwanted customers. KK obviously had no idea of what had happened inside.

As he fluttered down the street, Licksy examined the gem closely and almost dropped it in surprise.

**[John Gonzalez]**

'What was that?!?' the flying pixie thought to himself, 'How interesting.'. Not only did the large red bauble feel hot and cold at the same time but there seemed to be something moving within. 'A face? Is it smiling at me?'

So intent was the pixie's concentation upon the jewel, that he failed to notice the street spanning arch, apropriately covered with soot and razorvines.

".......ouch........"

Walking home from the soup kitchen, Pug was deep in a depressed reverie when he heard the clatter of a gemstone drop at his feet "Wot's this?" the orc exclaims to himself as he picks up the red gem and looks around. Seeing noone in the vicinity, Pug nonchalantly drops the jewel in his threadbare coat pocket and ambles on down the street.

A minute goes by under the archway, all fairly routine in the life of an archway in this part of Sigil, when a decidely more battered and bruised Licksy drops from the tangle of razorvine and adds a slight moan to the silence.

Several paces away from the downed pixie, a jangled, clicking whirring noise begins. Followed quickly after by the louder clanging of a blocky shape raising itself to it's main locomotion appendages. Tertiary Secter Unit Surface Embelleshment Remover, or more commonly referred to as 'Tim', scanned the area of the darkened street. The red hued crystalline object was apparently not in the immediate vicinity. "12h + 4x/infinity=bartender must have it." observed Tim. Tim began to move back to the bar, grabbing the various pouches and items that had been strewn about in his chaotic flight from the ramshackled dive. ' The unit comprised of mostly water and some carbon elements would pay.' thought Tim.

**[Avi]**

Imagine you are looking down upon the Lady's Ward. Focus on the Prison, headquarters of the Mercykillers, a massive fortress of solid stone and jutting spikes that casts a shadow of cold justice. Travellers walk past it in shame, shoulders cringed, their guilts laid bare before them.

Pass through the grim exterior and into the structure's innards of dark hallways and cold cells. Mercykillers patrol the tunnels, forever vigilant. Prisoners squat in their corners like the scum of the earth.

Descend to a small room in the bowels of the fortress. Here sits a hulking mass of shadows. Huge dark hands flip through piles of papers on a desk. The creature pauses, charcoal eyes focusing on a piece of writing titled "A Night at Quake's". The thing rumbles, "Quake, Krax, Terrin, thri-keen, Licksy, Purple, Sensate, Rogue Modron, KK, Narthe, Davidia, Eggy, Eduardo, Pug.... too many characters!"

The shadowy hulk rises from the desk, its head brushing the ceiling, and grabs an enormous adamantine battle-axe. Then it strides out of the office, taking some of the doorframe with it.

The room seems to breath easier now that the shadowy presence has left. Now, the office is quite empty -- except for the desk, the chair, and a golden plaque hanging on the wall, upon which are engraved the words: Mercykiller Award of Excellence. For a Lifetime Achievment of Perfection. Gargan Necksplitter: Official Executioner of Unessential Story Characters.

The news quickly hits the streets: Gargan is on the move. Which means that somebody is writing a Sigil-based story with too many characters. Suddenly everybody fears for their lives, everyone from the lowest street urchin to the greatest celestial. Horse-drawn carriages speed away, pedestrians crowd into the nearest public building, families rush into their homes and lock the doors and windows. Gargan marches down deserted streets.

The executioner strides down Yeoman Street towards Quake's tavern, always following the story plot, sniffing out for unessential characters. He senses nothing in this part of Sigil.

According to hearsay, the shadow hulk is capable of slaying anything no matter how physically or magically powerful. Only two things provide protection from a Story Character Executioner: importance or anonymity. Gargan won't execute interesting story characters who are somehow essential in the scheme of things. Anonymous characters are part of the story setting and don't qualify as true characters.

A man named Bob dwells at 37 Yeoman Street. A moment ago, he was an anonymous character, thus undetectable to Gargan. I have now converted him to a foreground character. Bob is boring and has no bearing whatsoever on this story.

Gargan stops in mid-stride, ears perked. He pivots around and backtracks towards 37 Yeoman. His shadowy visage deepens into night, charcoal eyes burning out the light. The door to the house shatters as Gargan strolls through it. Bob gawks at the approaching menace, curses the moment he became a character, and dies when the axe descends upon his neck.

The Story Character Executioner grins savagely, displaying ebony teeth. He makes his way, once again, towards Quake's tavern.

**[Ken Lipka]**

After Gargan leaves, there is silence, save for the dripping of blood from the severed neck of Bob. Then, some one else enters the room. This figure is only a mere shadow, a hint of a presence, yet it can most definitely be felt. The shadow-man moves over to the corpse of Bob, and carefully, almost tenderly, places the head back on the body. A wave of it's inky black hand and a golden light glows across the cut. After a moment, the wound is healed, and Bob begins to breathe again.

The shadow quickly leaves the dwelling, knowing that Bob will once again be free to resume his anonymous life - and will think of Gargan's visit as nothing more than a nightmare. Why does miracle come to pass? For this shadow of man is The Scribe. The Scribe is the high priest of the Temple of the Script. It is his duty to make sure that the integrity of the Script of Life is mantained and not prematurely compromised. The Scribe has forseen that Bob is not as anonymous as Gargan assumes. He also knows that his powers will be needed again in the future.

But for now, The Scribe is content to watch and wait. After all, there are times when Gargan is right.

**[Kris Mckinnon]**

I started to like the place about the same time that I got to the bar. Admittedly, my first impression had been tainted by the fact it had taken place upside down on the floor. Not that I don't spend some time like that in the more lower class bubberies in Sigil, but it usually takes me more than no drinks to end up there. But Quake changed my impressions about the same time she poured me three tall ales and charged me two of my sterling silver buttons for it. Gods, I love Xaosmen bartenders. Especially when they pour the good stuff for that little. Although it depends a lot on their mood. I'll have 'Eggy' buy the next round, just in case. I glanced backwards, making sure that Davidia and him had found a seat.

Davidia was cramming herself into a corner formed by bunches of clothes and boxes heaped together in a manner that reminded me of a some kind of demented market display. The barmaid, who seemed to be eyeing my black tunic with something approaching obsession, seemed a bit upset that Davidia chose to use them as a back rest, but then shrugged and moved off to another part of the bar. Eggy sat in her lap, glaring around at everyone who looked their way. Funny, no one seemed inclined to make comments. I wonder why.

As I brought the three drinks ('Eggy's in a bucket, Davidias in a thimble. And no, they don't usually switch drinks, 'Eggy' is a dwarf after all) I checked out the other bloods in the tavern. A thri-kreen was sitting in the corner, looking forlornly out the door and holding what looked to be a recipe in one clawed hand. The Sensate that had caused my close relationship with the floor had returned, somewhat groggily to his seat in the crows nest. Looked like a pretty slow night, all told. Then my boot hit a small pouch that lay on the floor. Funny, it didn't look like something that would lay around in Quakes for long. Xaosmen are notorious for collecting the barmiest junk. Well, most of the time anyway.

Curious I stopped for a second and picked it up, tossing it in one hand as I made my way to where my companions were sitting. Davidia and 'Eggy' broke off their intimate talking and the occasional "Hur hur hur" when I passed them their bub. Davidia sipped daintily at hers for a moment then set it down, looking down at the pouch with interest when I put it down in the middle of the table.

"Whats that darling little pouch doing?" She asked, as she poked at it with her little finger. "Oh look, its come open already."

I shrugged, not knowing much more then her. Just then 'Eggys' eyes narrowed and his nostrils widened as he sniffed the air. I knew that look. 'Eggy' had found the one thing that he liked more than Davidia.

"Gold." He announced. "There's gold in that pouch." I looked at him in amazement. 'Eggy's family had a nose for gold since ages past. Its one of the reasons he could afford the mithril axe he kept so carefully blackened up in town.

Without pausing, he grabbed the pouch and turned it upside down on the table spilling gold coins all over the table. While the noise level in the Tavern dramatically decreased he carefully picked up all of the gold and ran his fingers through it, relishing the feel.

"You dwarves really do love gold, don't you." I remarked to him.

"Of course not." He replied, still keeping his gaze on the gold. "We just say that to get it to come home with us."

I leaned back in my chair and took a long pull of my bub, rolling this pearl of Dwarvish wisdom while the cool ale slid down my throat. Suddenly my reflection was broken by the crash of someone hitting the floor hard. I turned around to see the thri-kreen scuttling out the door as fast as his four legs could carry him. I was surprised that the bouncer didn't grab him on the way out, but that was explained when a huge shadow loomed through the front door and someone yelled "Gargan!"

The ale spewed from my throat and splashed towards Davidias sandals, but she didn't pay attention, as she was too busy trying to hide under the table with 'Eggy' in close pursuit. His face was pure white and I gathered from his shocked look at me that mine was about the same shade.

I cursed myself as I crawled underneath the table and tried to hide the best I could, which was not very well considering the space was somewhat occupied by Davidias bulk. Of all the times to go drinking without my non- partisan story arc! I had heard Gargan was on the prowl, but I hadn't even gone back to pick it up. My heart pounded as the shadow moved forward and huge feet came into view.

I scrabbled deperately for something, anything that would render my existance in this story more than a cheap excuse to make fun of artists. I patted my belt pouch frantically. Damm it to the Abyss! Nothing in them except for a risque sketch of a tiefling I knew long ago. The story hadn't degenerated to the point where that would work. Deperately I reached for the pouch that Eggy had dropped in his haste to crawl under the table. My fingers felt some kind of lump inside. There must be something else in the pouch, something that might interest enough people that Gargans axe wouldn't find my neck a tempting target. I shut my eyes, turned the pouch upside down and shook it, praying for an interesting sound.

**[Mr. Niceguy]**

Bob woke up slowly, his neck aching like a herd of maelephants had been dancing the macarena on it. What a strange dream he'd had...

"Wait a minute!," shouted Bob. "That was no dream! That was Gargan, the Story-killer! And he was on his way over to Quake's!"

"Well, he'll soon regret having messed with me!! No one tries to can *me* and lives! He'll rue the day he ever met Baker Bob, King of the Hot-Cross-Bun-Trade!" Bob's unnecessary exposition continued for a good five minutes before he wound down, muttering, "Call me an unimportant, insignificant character, will he?"

With that, Baker Bob grabbed his best taffeta gown and slammed his razorvine chef's hat down on his head. He stormed into his kitchen while adjusting his 6-inch spike heels, and reached up for the *special* pie formula, the one with the magically acidic poision that he saved for Tanar'ri retirement parties. The one marked "Lethally Dangerous" and "Do Not Touch Except In Extreme Emergencies."

He gathered together the rest of the ingredients, extra helpings for each just in case, and piled the whole mess into his Wondrous Hot Pot and Toaster Oven of Holding. Gargan was going to discover just how dangerous it was to encounter Baker Bob with a bun in the oven.

Finally Bob called out to his fire mephit wait-staff: "Larry! Moe! Curly! Shemp! Curly-Joe! We've got a rush order at Quake's! Get over here and let's get cookin'!"

The mephits piled into the Toaster Oven and started heating up the first pie. Curly-Joe got a bad whiff though, and fell out stone-cold dead before the pie could be set on insta-auto-bake. The other mephits quickly decided to leaven the recipe of the other pies with flatulence powder, but were too scared of the dreaded Bob to tell him.

With the first pie piping fresh from the insta-auto-bake in his hand, Bob wheeled the Hot Pot and Toaster Oven over to his stove, where he pushed the whole business through before following himself. Once inside, he activated the gate to Quake's oven by humming the first few bars of 'Pat-a-cake, Pat-a-cake.'

At Quake's, the oven exploded in a furious roar. Baker Bob was ready for action! He slipped around the door to the bar and told his mephits to "Keep Baking! You never know how these things'll work out!"

In the bar itself, Bob had no trouble spotting Gargan. The massive brute was holding a tiefling upside down by one hoofed leg, and was cocking his axe back for a mighty cleaving.

The tiefling, about to be split asunder in a most unpleasant manner, was looking forlornly at the 'Mr. Stiffy's Manliness Enhancer' which had apparently fallen out of his pouch onto the ground. He face said that if the axe-blow didn't kill him, embarrassment might.

Bob leapt to the top of the bar, knocking cheap peanuts and stale pretzels into the drinks of half the patrons. His stiletto heels danced around a drunk's hand in a quick game of mumblety-peg. "Hey, Gargan!" he shouted. "Save room for dessert!"

Gargan half turned to look at the interruption, a slow scowl erasing the joyful grin that had been anticipating the incipient deathblow. Both expressions were wiped off his face by the splattery cream pie that squooshed right through the face-grate of his horned helmet. He licked his lips once, started to bellow in anger, and then stiffened like Medusa's hairstylist.

The tiefling and Gargan's axe fell from his hands. The tiefling yelled "Timmmm-berrrr!" and leaped for cover. The axe merely muttered, "Oh, No, not Again!" Gargan's only sound was the mighty 'Thump!' of his unbreathing body hitting the ground.

Baker Bob's eyes gleamed evilly, and in triumph. He quickly wheeled a hand-cart around the bar and rolled the massive corpse over onto it.

"Don't worry folks, no danger left here," chirped Bob merrily. Some of the patrons were staring hard, not sure they were seeing what they were seeing. It wasn't every day the King-of-the-Hot-Cross-Bun-Trade bounced into the bar and took down a bruiser like Gargan with one shot. And besides, his heels clashed with his dress.

"There'll be plenty of fresh baked Gargan Cakes, available for free, coming in just a few moments, so everyone just stay in your seats, please," said Bob. He trundled the corpse into the kitchen, where shouting was then heard. "Look at all these pies! I didn't ask for this! Get those out of here, and help me peel this berk out of his armor. I'm not going for barbecue, here!"

KK looked over at Quake. She shrugged, and gestured for him to go help in the kitchen. He never made it that far, because just then the pies and the mephits came boiling out...

**[Matt M Oostman]**

*SPLORK!*

Mathais knew that sound all to well. He fumbled for his ~Glasses of Neighbor Watching~ and peered through the wall into Quark's. Scanning the room briefly, his eyes came to rest on a mound of mephits and goo, completely covering another creature. "Hmm, I wonder what that is," he pondered to himself. "I'll go find out!" he declared triumphantly as he sat up and put on his pink bunny slippers. "And they told me I was drunk, I couldn't even keep standing, they said," he mumbled while searching for his component pouch. "Come on, Dreamweaver." He poked the snoozing pseudo-dragon. "Oh, hurry up." <~~Not gonna happen, you had too many Azful Berry Drinks~~> the half awake mini-dragon protested. "AHHH!" Mathais shrieked, "I wish you could talk normal, you know telepathy gives me a headache when I'm drunk." The elven mage grabbed his companion, set him on his shoulder, and set out down the darkened hotel steps.

Upon his stumbling arrival at the door, he promptly tripped over his own feet and landed just outside the door in the center of a ring of out of work light boys. They all had the same idea as they stared at the ~Ring of Continual Light~ upon the finger of the sprawled mage. "Hey, who, or what, are you?" the leader asked the heap of tangled robes. "I'm drunk off my ass! Who are you?" he replied, dusting himself off and straightening his belongings. "I'm Northnik, and you're giving me that ring" the second one answered. "I don't think so, I'm a very powerful mage. Now back off, or I'll test my newest spell" Mathais threatened. "OOH!" the leaded remarked sarcastically, "what'da gonna do, cast Dufus' Dangerous Dohicky?" "NO! Even better!" the elf announced "~Mathias Mundane Macarana~!" As the band of ruffians struggled to control their limbs, the elven mage began to dance as a band of Phantasmal Singers came into existence behind him. "HAAAAAY MACARENA!" the light boys shouted as the spell finally took effect. <~~That'll handle them, but what about me, It's area affect spell!~~> Mathais heard in his head. He quickly learned his flaw in judgment as he saw the baby pseudo-dragon dancing away on his shoulder. "Um, if ya can't beat 'em, join 'em?" he asked as the spell finally griped it's caster as well. "At least it doesn't have control of my legs," the mage stated. "Let's go!"

Mathais hurriedly Macarena-ed his way into Quark's only to be disturbed by Baker Bob as he chased Larry and Curly around the bar with his platinum coated rolling pin. "Teach you to waste my pies!" the baker fumed. "I've got you now" Suddenly he came to a halt. The baker could be stopped by one thing and one thing only...........

**[Mr. Niceguy]**

.... And that thing, Gargan, had already been laid out flat on the chopping block in Quake's kitchen.

Moe and Shemp, in between cranking out more pies, had stripped the mighty Gargan down to his helmet (they weren't particularly eager for a look at that ugly face) and his shorts. The boxers were Gargan's favorites, the ones with the pink hearts and the slogan 'Kiss me, I'm Krynnish' printed on the seat.

Moe took the latest batch of pies out to Bob, hoping to save his fellows from a good platinum-pin walloping, while Shemp continued work on the Gargan Cakes. Shemp, however, was the worst recipe-follower in the Great Ring, as he had unknowingly proved earlier in the evening. And his mistake was about to come back to haunt him.

Shemp was garnishing Gargan with a light bearnaise sauce, a stuffed radish or two, and some strategic dollops of whipped cream, when the reason for the behemoth's lack of breath became apparent. It wasn't because he was dead; it was because he was filling with so much internal gas that he no longer needed to breath! The flatulence powder Shemp had dumped into the mix must have gone mostly into that first deadly pie and reacted with the magical acidic poison in some strange, unknown way!

A few rude noises escaped from some radish-impeded orifices and Gargan started to inflate like a cheap carny balloon.

When Gargan became airborne, Shemp decided to call for help. By this time he was pretty sure that Gargan's eyes were bulging from rage more than internal pressure, and he didn't want to be the sole target when Gargan, er, exloded.

When Gargan grabbed his axe, Shemp decided to *run* for help.

However, Shemp's flight was stopped cold at the door to the bar; the sight beyond was enough to give any mephit pause.

Mathais the Mage must've been d.w.i. again (drunk while incanting) because the whole room was dancing around, not in Mathais' patented (#346932-B, at the local Magician's Guild) Mundane Macarena, but in some hideous mix of awful dance steps from across the ages.

Mathais, his mini-dragon Dreamweaver, and a gaggle of light boys were indeed doing the Macarena in the bar's vestibule.

Bob, Larry, Curly, and Moe however, were bouncing around behind the bar in a pathetic square dance, do-se-do'ing to the unseen beat of a phantasmal caller.

Terrin the waitress and Purple the Kobold were slinking along between tables in a heated version of 'La Bamba: The *Forbidden* Dance'. Purple was taking advantage of their height variances and would probably later regret sticking his snout in where it didn't belong.

Eduardo, Eggy, and Davidia were strolling along in lock-stepped imitation of Genesis's 'I Can't Dance' moves. Where they had grabbed the black sunglasses wasn't apparent.

The mysterioius thri-kreen was 'Walking Like an E-gyptian,' Quake herself was about to enter the final, wet throes of the famous 'Splashdance' scene, and Krax the Wind Duke and the Sensate were gyrating up in the crow's nest in a way that suspiciously resembled the 'Disco Duck.'

Even the bar's horde of certifiably insane cranium rats had donned their straightjackets and were high-stepping it out across the stage in fine fashion to the strains of A Chorus Line's 'One'.

Only KK, the magically immune and imaginationally-impaired stone golem bouncer, seemed not to be affected.

Shemp could feel his toes starting to move in a country line dance kind of way, and screamed in horror, "Not the Achy Breaky!!!"

Fortunately for Shemp, the author had always believed that 4 stooges numbered one too many. Shemp's pain was cut off along with his head, as Gargan rocketed by, axe swinging.

Propelled by the purest internal combustion, Gargan buzzed the room like a mad stinkbug. The dancers all paused briefly to clip clothes pins to their noses, and then returned to their steps.

All save the light boys, who collectively macarena'd for the door in the sure knowledge that they were doomed if Gargan spotted them.

They were blocked in their flight by the return of Tertiary Sector Unit Surface Embelleshment Remover, (more commonly known as 'Tim'). Tim crashed through the door bellowing "Death to the units comprised of mostly water and some carbon elements!" Other obtuse threats followed, strangely punctuated by Tim's final shout of, "Do the Hustle!"

The patrons all giggled in glee as Gargan's fading trajectory putt-putt-putted him directly into the newly returned modron. The two straight men crashed together in a very tangled mess, and once again pouches went flying across the room.

No one noticed that the one marked 'Do Not Disturb' had begun ticking...

**[Avi]**

The Modron sat up, his mechanical face looking as angry as a mechancial face can be. "Again! Why can't my pouches ever remain on my person!" At which point his highly sensitive satellite-dish ears picked up a ticking sound from a fallen pouch. Excellent, he thought to himself, I've always wanted revenge. Now I'll have it! Better leave before the bomb goes off.

Tim scrambled towards the door and hoped that KK's job was to prevent unwanted customers from entering not leaving the bar. But then a huge shadowy hand grabbed the Modron and hauled him up. Tim found himself staring into the pitch-black eyes of Gargan Necksplitter.

"I won't slay you, modron. You're an interesting character," Gargan rumbled. Tim sighed in relief. "You know," Gargan whined, "it's tough being an executioner." Tim was incredulous. The shadow hulk continued, "Ya, that's right. Everybody is terrified of me, thinking I'm going to slay them. Thing is, my job is to threaten people, to whip up some excitement.. You know?" Tim nodded nervously. Gargan wouldn't kill him, which was all well and good, but that bomb would soon explode. Yet he couldn't break Gargan's grasp. "I mean, I haven't actually had to kill that often. Most of the time, I scare people into being interesting and then I go on my way." The modron gave a weak smile. "Anyway, I'll let you go. Goodbye." Tim fled.

The patrons realized by now that Gargan was back in action. The dancing ceased. A mixture of terrified silence and screams pervaded the inn. The shadow hulk ignored all but one patron -- Baker Bob. He strode straight towards the baker like a charging rhino. Bob frantically looked around for a weapon, but he had no poison pies this time.

Gargan growled, "This is for giving me acid indigestion!" Gargan slammed a fist into Bob's belly, knocking the wind out of him, sending him flying across the room. Bob smashed into a wall and slid to the floor with a groan.

"And this is for giving me bad gas!" The shadow hulk jumped into the air and landed on top of Bob, all 500 pounds of him. Bob broke more than few ribs and his body flattened into a pancake.

"And this..." Gargan wrapped his arms around Bob in a bearhug. "This is my apology for killing you. I'm sorry. I thought you were boring but you turned out to be such an interesting guy!" Gargan wept black tears as Bob squirmed in his massive grasp.

"Purple, you're a shaman. Heal the man!" said Gargan. "And then Bob and I will have a drink!"

Meanwhile, a dozen pouches remain scattered on the floor. But now that the dancing and music had stopped since Gargan's appearance, the tavern was quieter, and the ticking sound was obvious. Not it mattered to most people. They thought an ordinary clock was lying around somewhere...

**[Sir Twist]**

We now take a break to behind the back door of the bar for a brief, non-musical and semi-serious interlude.

Measure Three Narthe opened his bleary eyes to a spinning world. He heard voices nearby, which seemed to be concerning him, but he couldn't be sure.

"Do with we what now him?" One voice demanded.

"He's kill, a him Head-hard," a second said. "Law about and they're order all."

Narthe shook his head to try to clear it. Obviously, the two were Xaositec scum. He felt a dull throb at the back of his neck, and tried to move a hand to it, only to find that he'd been tied to a chair. He looked about him. Over in the corner were his sword and armour.

"Him kill?" asked the first voice incredulously. "Let's drunk him get! Show chaos a good time in him -- "

" -- and let him hangover about it in his worry!" finished the second exitedly.

At that moment a shout of "Hay Macarena!" caused Narthe to jump from his seat...only that his seat was attached to him and he fell to the ground.

But the Xaositecs hardly noticed. "Macarena?" they said in unison. Quickly the pulled him upright and cut the bonds from his chair. They dragged him to his feet and through a doorway that lead into a kitchen...through another doorway into a room full of people.

Except that this was no normal room. Judging from the glasses and bottles on a nearby line of crates, and a ship's crowsnest and riggin in the middle of the large room, this was Quake's Tavern. Well, he'd entered it.

The people consisted of a kobold, several humans (one in bunny slippers), four mephits, a MODRON?, a dwarf, a large female (probably of giant stock, he noted), and Quake -- except that quake wasn't a half-elf tonight: she was a githzerai. Well, with her reputed ability to wield magic, anything was possible -- and what was that half-naked monstrosity that was sitting at the bar with one of the humans? It couldn't possibly be -- but it had to be! It was the Gargan.

His captors drew him to the line of crates and Quake served them up some ale, but they pushed the tankards aside, telling her, "Give us and the Hardhead sod here something a little more chaotic."

Quake raised an eyebrow, even as she began to shift from side to side in some sort of dance. "You got any jink?"

One of the two reached for Narthe's belt pouch and threw it on the counter. "For the whole evening." Quake eyed the contents and nodded, turning to pour them another drink. "Drink," the Xaositec said, "it'll make you feel better." The other pinched his nose and they forced him to swallow the contents of the glass.

It felt decidedly different from the water rations Narthe lived on. It felt...warm and fuzzy, even as it went down. "Give me some more," he demanded.

The woman at the bar nodded, and poured him another one, which he downed without thinking. Good stuff, this was.

Meanwhile, the Gargan had begun to eye Narthe's companions. The giant hulk pulled himself to his feet and suddenly swung his great axe, cutting of the heads of two Xaositecs sitting at the bar.

The first had barely the time to yell "There's a bomb in the house!" before his voice was cut off at the head.

The second, had meanwhile noticed Mathais beginning to cast a spell. The last thing he ever managed to do was to yell "BABBLE" at the mage. All of a sudden, the walls and floor were covered in deep blue roses, and the rigging around the crows nest turned to thorned vines.

Gargan turned back to Bob. "You see?" he said. "The silly ones are the worst, and so I have to get rid of 'em."

Narthe turned back to Quake. "Get me another one."

**[Kris Mckinnon]**

The Xaositect's head, still wearing a look of surprise, was shot backwards by the force of Gargans blow, pinwheeling across the bar like some kind of demented, animate pinyata. It landed with a sodden thump in the middle of Eduardo's table. He stared at it in disgust, then shrugged and pulled out an easel from his rucksack. Squinting thoughfully, he held out a thumb to judge the size of the Xaosmans impressive probisicis. He smiled happily, finally finding a model that wouldn't move every five seconds. Maybe he shood look into taxidermy as a hobby.

Davidia pulled her hands back the table and wrinkled her nose. "Ewww, its landed on my drink." She said. Turning to Eggy with a pouting look she said. "Would you mind moving that sweety?"

Eggy grunted and grabbed the head by its long ponytail. Seeing the look of annoyance on Eduardos face, he reconsidered his first impulse, which was to try and see how many heads he could bounce it off of, and instead put it down carefully on the floor. As an added bonus, he picked up the prophylatic that had fallen out of Eduardos pouch and placed it on top of the head, returning to his seat with a chuckle. "Hur hur hur."

Eduardo gave him a look of long suffering paitience, then pushed his chair back to get a better look at the newly altered portrait. as he did so, he idly asked. "What did he say anyway?"

Davidia ventured. "I think he said something about this bar being full of bums."

This prompted Eggy to pinch hers, of course, which made her jump and glare back angrily at him . His face, or what you could see of it under the beard, promptly turned red and he mumbled. "Hur hur hur ..sorry."

"Oh you!" Davidia said with obvious love (or some baser emotion) and slapped him on the shoulder affectionately, which sent Eggy hurtling towards the floor. Looking back up at her from his prone position, he suddenly burst into laughter. A moment later she joined in, both of them laughing in shared hilarity. Eduardo just shook his head and continued to sketch. he was used to their antics by now. His eyes wandered over to a brightly colored object lying on the floor beside the head. His hand suddenly stopped its casual movements and slowly put the parchment down on the table.

"Uhh guys?" He began, but Davidia and Eggy were in the middle of one of their whispered gigglesations and weren't paying attention to him. "Guys?" He asked again, and recived no response. Picking up his takard, he threw it with all his might at Davidias head. With an audible bong, it careened off her cranium and narrowly missed Quakes head as it flew past the bar.

Davidia stopped giggling for a second and turned towards Eduardo, who's eyes were still locked on the object below. "Yes Eddie?"

"You're sure that Xaosmen said this bar was full of bums? Not any other word that might bare a close ressemblance to bums but have a completetly different meaning?" Eduardo asked again, carefully picking up the large clock and bundle of bright red sticks. "Say, like 'bomb'?" He said, getting out of his chair and holding the bomb out before him.

Davidia's eyes widened as she took in the loud, menancing ticking sound that the clock gave off. "Well, I could have been wrong." She admitted in a small voice.

Eduardo smiled at the patrons that stared at him with a kind of terrified fascination. "Don't worry folks!" He announced in a clear confident voice. "I've had several courses in bombs in my time. Don't worry about a thing. Besides" he added thoughtfully. "If this does go off I'm sure that none of you willl feel it when your limbs and skin are blown off by the blast." Oblivious to the panic he was causing, he continued. "And of course, you might get lucky and be killed instantly by flying debris. I'm sure that almost none of you will be forced to wait in agony as your intestines drip out of your bodies...." continuing his rambling, he carefully placed the bomb on his table and opened his rucksack and placed it beside him. Davidia appeared quietly beside him and from somewhere a bright light shown down at him, highlighting the sweat dripping tensely down his brow.

"Scapel." He asked tersly. Davidia slapped it into his palm, giving him a nasty cut on his thumb. He turned to her and gave her a look. She smiled prettily and shrugged. Eduardo turned back to the bomb, occasionally asking for more tools. The patrons looked on anxiously, although a few of them had the presence of mind to jump out the nearest available exit. Long minutes passed for the rest of them as Eduardo labored tensly over the menacing package.

Finally he wiped the sweat from his brow and stepped back. A small cloth now covered the bomb, attached to a rope that Eduardo held in one of his hands. With a flourish, he pulled the rope and the cloth fell away revealing the bomb. The clock was still ticking and even closer to the little red mark, but now it was painted the pale green that seemed to be a close match for the vomit stains on the floor. Little pinkish spines shot out at crazy angles from the deadly package as it slowly counted down to zero.

Eduardo stood beside it obviously waiing for comments. He grew annoyed as the dead silence that filled the bar went on

"Well? What do you think?"

At the last moment before the bomb exploded someone cleared their throat and said. "Well...the spines are a bit much."

**[Brannon Hollingsworth]**

The music finally ending, the hieroglyphic-appearing thri-kreen let her arms fall, falling tiredly, limply to her sides. She scanned the room quickly, looking for the danger that she knew was not only near but insatiable: The Slayer of Secluded Souls, the Destroyer of Undiscovered Characters, Gargan...

Her insectile head pivoting and swiveling quickly, almost mechanically, to and fro, she scanned the rest of the confusing carnage about the room and mentally wacked herself for coming into this addle-coved bar in the first place. She made a mental note never to do so again...

Ducking under the cover of a rather copious, newly formed bush of deep blue roses, she hastily plotted her next move. Snatching the 'recipe' she had been carrying from her uppermost, usually belligerent left hand with her lowermost right, she began reading the back side of the paper.

At the top of the paper, written in a thin, spidery hand, words obviously borne of magic swirled. 'Spell Song #6, by C'chack-kitch-rittka, Bard of the Burning Sands.', it read, and C'chack's mandibles moved side to side quickly as she began the chant that would unleash it's horrid power. Her arms swirling and dipping in a hypnotic pattern, she slowly began to rise from the blue, thorned brush, her insect-like, buzzing, droning voice rising with her.

'When I was young, and didn't have no sense.

'stuck my abdomen to an ensorcelled fence.

It shocked my tr'issk, burnt my claws,

And blew a hole, outta my cover-alls!'

With the final, ear-splitting syllable, C'chack, the spell-slinging Bard of the Burning Sands, let loose her fury upon the one that she knew had come for her head as well...

Gargan.

**[James Crane]**

Gargan sat, oblivious to his surroundings. Ale after ale, he drank. He had been defeated by a mere mortal named "Bob". Oh how he longed for revenge. He would cleave Bob's head off his shoulders in a moment, had it not been for the pie fight. Bob was no longer insignificant. He had failed. The mug touched his lips once more as he pondered the situation. The building fell quit when his mug pounded onto the bar. He slowly stood, all eyes looking at him in fear. "My job is not done yet." He thundered: "The gem. The ork. They are going nowhere! They are insignificant. Justice shall be served! The ork is dead." Gargan hoisted his huge axe above his head. Screaming like a barmy, he ran across the room to where the modron stood. Swinging his axe down in an arc, he cleaved the modron in two. "I shall kill the ork, and then return to cleanse this story of all the non-essentials. Justice shall be done." The sensate in the crows nest looked worried. The tiefiling with whom he had the earlier encounter trembled in fear. Gargan was back. Gargan ran out of the room, screaming through the streets of Sigil.

Eduardo turned back to the bomb after the departure of Gargan. He had no reason to be afraid. He had made himself significant. "I am someone! I am essential! I'm smart enough; I'm good enough; and, gosh darn it, people like me!" he shouted. Eggy looked at his friend with surprise. "Eduardo..." Eduardo was snapped back into awareness. "Yes Eggy???" "THE BOMB!" shouted Eggy back. "Oh, yeah, the bomb. Heh,heh." Eduardo quickly turned back to the clock. A loud ringing emanated from the bell. People dove in all directions. Tables were overturned. Curses were yelled. Prayers were said. "Well, it's tea time" said the sensate located up in the crow's nest. The sensate jumped from his location above the tavern, landing on the floor with a loud "Thump!". Slowly staggering to his feet, he pulled out a tiny tea cup, and tea pot. A thick dark liquid flowed from the pot, looking more like dirty water than tea. Having filled the cup, he removed from another pocket a large earthen container. He reached for a spoon as he opened the lid with his free hand. He scooped two spoonfuls of sugar from it, emptying them into the cup. From yet another pocket, he pulled a crumpet. He took a look at the crumpet, which had grown green mold, and had many black spots, and took a bite.

**********************************************************************

Gargan ran down the streets, yelling obscenities. "Buy my Beans!" shouted a grosser. "Unessential, meaningless, fool!" Thundered Gargan. A swift swing of the axe lopped of the grocer's head. He laughed as it rolled on the pavement. A rat scuttled across the road. "Ugly, no-use, rat!" he shouted. With out breaking stride, he squashed the rat underneath the heel of his boot. "Nonproductive peasant!" he said as he cleaved the head of another passerby. "But I was anonymous" Were the last words from the peasant's throat. Gargan stopped. "Oops, sorry 'bout that. Heh,heh". Gargan once more set off through the streets of Sigil, looking for Pug the ork.

**********************************************************************

Tea time being over, the tavern returned to its normal state, if you could say it had one. A loud bang disrupted the quietness of the tavern. Everyone turned toward the door, which had just been thrown open. Outside stood a single clueless kender. Quake whispered to KK. "Check the silverware when he leaves."

**[Shelaam]**

The tiefling (who's name I had learned to be Eduardo) stood expectantly in the centre of the room for a few moments before all of my patrons broke into a standing ovation. A shame Gargan had only just stalked out of the place - those spines would appeal to any Mercykiller. But I knew he'd be back.

I couldn't stand around admiring art all night, though. _Someone_ had to get the fun started. Amid the crescendo of applause (if the uncontrolled babble of clacking sounds coming from the thri-keen qualified), I slipped behind a batch of crates and moved towards the side door. This party was about to go off with a bang.

The applause died down, apart from the thri-kreen, who seemed especially enthused from under a table, and by the time the cactus of a bomb in the centre of the room began its final countdown with a loud "Ahem tick, tick, Tick, TICK" things were ready to roll.

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

Thousands of small multicoloured objects, apparently butterflies, spewed from the pink and green object in the centre of the taproom. The 'applause' of the thri-kreen finally ended as well (coincidentally at exactly the same moment) and a spray of dust sparyed into the air, descending in a thick shower. The dust burst into bright motes of light, a curtain enveloping the far side of the tavern, coating the butterflies that were steadily pouring in. And through that curtain of light ...

Strode Quake. Somehow changed into a long red coat and top hat, she flung her arms wide and exclaimed to the captive crowd,

"Goooooooodddddd evening ladies, gentlemen and others. Without further ado, I present for your entertainment tonight the most stupendous act in Sigil, direct from the Layer of Torment, the iron city of Dis, I give you:"

"FIENDPOWER"

From behind the curtain of light motes a measured beat sprang up, and as they quickly cleared five silhouettes became visible, gyrating to the beat on what appeared to be a hastily constructed stage of crates and planks. As the lights dissipated it became apparent that the two figures on both sides were tall, lean hunks of muscle and beard, sporting nothing but a razor sharp glaive and spike studded g-string each.

They each whirled around the shaft of their polearm, perfectly synchronized with the beat and trumpets of the spinagons playing behind them. The twelve foot tall figure in the centre, blood red skin stretched tightly over bulging biceps and a six-pack to build a bridge on, spun to face the crowd, morkrophone in claw. "Lets groove, victims!"

Davidia, Mathias and Narthe sprung forward in unison, looks of rapture on their faces, racing to be the first to the front of the stage.

**[Matt M Oostman]**

Upon reaching the stage, Davidia, Mathias and Narthe joined the fiends in their presintation. Constantly dodgeing the spinning polearms, Davidia had a notion. "HEY!" he proclaimed, "they're trying to kill us off!" "Oh?" pondered Mathais, dodging another blade, "I suppose they are." "Well do something about it!" shouted Narthe. "OK, I'll try," stated Mathais and began chanting a whispy poem. Suddenly the trio and dancers shot up, the roof and stage were growing! "Now quick! Get us down!" demanded Narthe. "NO! Blast them!" countered Davidia. "Cast Featherfall!" "No, Fireball!" "Featherfall!" "Fireball!" "Enough! I'm casting, I say we comprimise! I'll do a little of each!" stated Mathais decisavly. "So what'cha gonna cast?" asked Davidia. "FeatherBall!" shouted Mathais. Suddenly the air erupted with feathers as the trio and the fiends were thrown off the the platform. "Ahhhhhhh!" they screamed, all except Mathais who shouted "COWABUNGA!". Davidia and Narthe landed in a heap of feathers, the fiends in the new rosebush, and Mathais in a keg of ale. Happy in his new predicament, Mathais pretended be unconsious. Dreamweaver the Psuedodragon flew out of the bar in search of Mathais' brother, Kerjal, to tell him that Mathais was drunk and hadden't yet begun to cast any spells.

Eggy ordered another drink, there was a butterfly in this one and it was far to colorful to have supposed to have been there. Quark went to get him a refill and found Mathais in the keg and promply removed him with the help of Baker Bob and his pizza spatula. Noticing that the fiends were up he left the keg without a fight and went to sit with Davidia and Narthe. The dancers must have seen this because they headed right for them. Narthe, fearing they'd have to dance again or worse, insisted that they change the fiends into rats. "Alright, now what was the name of that spell?" "Polymorph Other" Davidia said helpfully. "Right," Mathais said and started to spew the words of magic. Suddenly, without warning, the little old lady behind them began to shrink and become more and more mouse like. "Mom?" the man across from her shreiked in horror. "What the?!?" commented Narshe, stunned. "It was your idea," stated Mathais, "Polymoroph Mother". "Oh boy" Davidia gasped. The fiends were approaching.

**[Mr. Niceguy]**

'That's enough of that!' roared the pit fiend frontman for Fiendpower. Suddenly, the bar was dead silent. No one moved; no one *could* move. Fiendish charisma boiled the air, stifling everyone in their tracks.

Narthe, Mathias and Davidia were caught in mid-air, jumping off their table in an attempt to crowd surf over to the bar. The freezing effect was fortunate for them, because the only crowd that was there to catch them were the troop of cranium rats scuttling back into their holes. The incipient squashing was incipiently squashed.

Eggy was not so lucky. He looked as if he were about to drown from the torrent of ale pouring out of the upended tankard he held over his gaping mouth. He meant only to take a big lusty dwarfish swig, but now it looked as if he were going to get his high-school wish and die from an excess of booze. Oh, if only he hadn't brought along the Infinitely Refilling Tankard today!

'Hur, hur, hurrrr,' rumbled the pit fiend. 'Nothing I like better than a captive audience!' Its tail lashed out and wrapped around Mathias and Davidia, plucking the two out of the humid air like flaccid butterflys and mounting them inside a cage filled with spikes. 'You two look like you'll be able to hit the high notes, and this *is* Sing-a-Long night.' It started the weighted, bladed pendulum at the top of the cage swinging and howled, 'Let's do it, boyzzz!'

With that, the fiend leapt back, so that the two gigantic skeletal bandmembers at the back of the stage could wheel their instruments forward. The mere sight of the ba'atorian banjo caused the entire bar to gasp even through its paralyzed state. The dreaded accordion of the abyss in the claws of the other osyluth nearly caused them all to drop over in a faint.

The horror was complete as the terrible lead fiend came forward again, to sit delicately on the edge of the stage and start plucking at his ukelele. One of the glaive-strung barbazu dragged Lawrence Welk forward, and after a pitiful 'A-Wunna, und A-Too-a' escaped his lips, the mighty fiend in front started screeching out his hell-spawned song:

'Ohhhhh...
Tip-toe,
through the tulips,
through the tulips,
through the tulips,
Oh won't you come a-long,
and
Tip-toe,
Though the tulips, with meeee!'

The bar collectively wished at once that the ticking pouch *had* been holding a bomb...

**[John Gonzalez]**

Pug the orc ambled down Mumbleberry street a few kips from the flat he shared with his old mother, blissfully unaware of the doom that possibly awaited him in the form of the literary device known as Gargan.

'Oi, its kinda late,' Pug thought to hisself, ' hope the ole bat isn't waiting up for me.'

As the large orc reached the door of the kip he quietly removed his hobnailed boots, the ones with the Prof. Tusker's logo, and looked in through a hole in the door. Everything was quiet in the unlit living room/kitchenette.

'Looks good, must be asleep' Pug ruminated as he slowly opened the door, 'heh, good thing for my infravision'

Barely two feet into the small apartment, someone snapped their fingers, instantly lighting every candle and lantern in the place. "Gah! my eyes..." yelled Pug as he tried to cover his eyes, dropped the boots on his toe, jumped up and smashed his head on the ceiling, stumbled about, put his hand on the hot stovetop and finally tripped over the footstool with a mighty crash with his head at the old woman's feet.

"Pugnacious Quib, what would your father have to say about the way you're wasting your life." shrilled the old woman to the horizontal orc, "Look at me when I am scolding you boy." A meaty thwap of her cane on the top of his lumpy head punctuated the last command.

"owwww..." moaned Pug, " Muther, I was just helping out at the soup kitchen."

Twhap.."oiwww"

"That's exactly waht I'm talking about you sniveling toad, Grabnafug would be out sacking a village or raising an army of like-minded orcs ready to pillage and burn. Helping gutterswine who don't have the gumption to get out of the filth, what a waste." stated the old witch. Pug rolled over unto his back and sat up, "Well why don't you just mosey on down to Acheron and ask him what he thinks." The old woman nearly dropped her cane and gasped, "Why you ungrateful bootlicker, I'm going to each you some manners." With that she straightened up and began casting.

Pug knowing he was in trouble but not really caring, reached into his pocket to put his money pouch on the table, his hand came up with the gem he had found earlier, as he said, "Oh shut up you old hag." There was a flash of red light, and all was quiet. Pug slowly turned around and saw to his surprise his step mother, squirming in her chair tightly bound by some clear material which came up to just under her nose. If looks could kill he would be a dead orc, "Ummm muther, I just remembered I gotta go...um meeting or..something."

Pug ran out the door , just remembering to grab his Prof Tusker's as he jetted out into the Sigilian night.

elsewhere...

Licksey the Pixie slowly got up and stumbled as he got his bearings. The gem was gone, 'oh well easy come easy go' thought the pixie, 'like this bump on my head I hope.'

There was a most decidedly ungodlike din coming from Quake's as Licksey fluttered towards the door, keeping an eye out for suspicious looking archways.

As the diminutive fellow snuck in he saw a most unusually sight, most the patrons were not moving and they weren't even unconscious. 'What gives?' Licksey though when he suddenly spotted Fiendpower, 'Oh boy.'

Flitting around staying out of site, Licksey wondered what he could do, as he past a drowning dwarf, he slightly nudged the upturned mug over so that it poured over the dwarf's head and not his mouth. The bearded warrior, didn't look particularly grateful.

The pixie started to rummage through his pouches mumbling, " I knew I had a Mordekaine's Instant Disgruntled Critic here somewhere...."

**[Avi]**

A dark hulking figure stormed through the streets, naked except for a helmet and a pair of boxer shorts. Gargan turned into an alleyway and spotted his prey, Pug the orc, who was sitting down and staring into a shiny red gem. Gargan roared, "Aha! I found you!" Gargan was about to say "I'm not going to kill you anymore because you turned out to be more interesting lately." However, Pug used the gem before Gargan could utter those words. The gem flashed and bound the executioner in some sort of invisible webbing.

Bellowing with anger, Gargan flexed his massive muscles and did what few other beings could do -- he snapped them apart. The orc shrieked, pocketed the gem, and fled.

Pug ran out into the middle of a street, where he promptly slipped on a banana peel and fell on his head. Groaning, he stood up just in time to see a carriage smash into him. The orc crawled to one side of the street and lay there. A Dustman picked him up, thinking he was dead, and dumped him into a cart full of corpses before Pug could protest. As the cart began to move, the poor orc pushed aside the stinking carcasses and jumped out. He landed badly and twisted an ankle. After being run over by another carriage, he stumbled into a tavern where people jeered and hurled empty mugs at him. He fled into the washroom where he found a penny on the floor. Grinning at this turn of luck, he left the washroom. However, the washroom door was a portal and the penny was a gatekey. Pug stepped into the Elemental Plane of Fire and burned himself badly before he could step back into Sigil. As he left the tavern, he was bombarded by more mugs and food leftovers. He continued down the street and had many interesting encounters with Car Horns of Blasting, tubs of man-eating hamsters, and Samurai Slaadi Street Punks. Then he turned around the corner and met the Lady of Pain.

Gargan went back to the tavern to enjoy a mug of ale. He arrived at Quake's and saw KK the stone golem, vigilantly on watch, oblivious to the events inside. When Gargan strode into the tavern, the patrons lit up with hope. The fiends froze, their hearts skipping a beat. The massive shadowy hulk looked at the baatezu and said, "Hmm.. ya, I guess you guys are interesting to the story. I won't execute you." The fiends sighed in relief, the patrons fell back into despair, and the fiends continued with their fun.

Meanwhile, Pug's body lay on the ground, bruised and burnt and carved up by a million bloody gashes. The orc's head lay some distance from the body, severed by the Lady's gaze. And lo and behold, the eyes opened. Pug was alive, or his head was anyway. He cursed the terrible luck he got ever since he picked up that gem, that Gem of Cursed Luck with a secondary power of Force Web.

A kender came by. "Oh look at shiny red gem! Someone must have dropped it. I'll hold onto it for safekeeping. Oh and look! A talking head! I'll just take that and drop it into my bag." The kender continued towards Quake's tavern.

**[Daniel Reddy]**

G'rrrl Bargle sat back and looked contentedly at her drink. The Fiend reflected on what luck she had been having thus far...she had successfully bobbed some fool Modron into letting her 'appraise' it's gem - which was, of course, enough time to switch it with a worthless duplicate. The gem now sat in a padlocked pouch attached to her right hip. Gargan's entrance created a wave to her contented musings, but that was soon over. Now, everything was going just fine. She ordered another Mind Blaster.

******

Alliwishus the Kender walked into Quake's. The moment he saw it, he knew he must have it: a beautiful lock attached to a pouch. The lock had an ornate demon face carved on it. He made a beeline to the lock, as if it had called him.

*****

There was a noise at the door. G'rrl turned and looked, and then began snickering. A Deva had entered, and then realised this was not his kind of place. He was now frantically trying to exit - right over a group of Tieflings. This ought to be fun. As she turned back to her drink, she noticed a topknot sitting next to her. A topknot? She leaned over and looked closer. A Kender turned, looked at her, and then smiled broadly. A Kender? A Kender?! A Kender!!!

*****

Gargan was interrupted by a sound as he was attempting to drown in his next ale. It was a low moan that started increasing in pitch. He turned. The Fiend closest to him was staring at a Kender that was in between them. A Kender...sitting next to him. This is not good. Gargan moved two stools away from the Kender. The moan was now becoming a screech.

*****

Alliwishus couldn't understand what was wrong with the Fiend. After all, he was just being nice by smiling at the Fiend. The Fiend should by happy - most people twist their faces and make retching noises while running away. But no, this Fiend had to start salavating from it's massive maw, dripping onto him. And then there was that strange noise it was making. And now it had grabbed his hair and was lifting him up until he was level with it's face.

*****

G'rrl held the Kender in one hand while frantically looking for her pouch with the other. The pouch was there. The padlock was not. The Gem in the pouch? Gone too. "Where is it?!"" she bellowed. The Kender squirmed and said "What?" Deceitful creatures. G'rrl noticed the Kender's multiple pouches. She began ripping them open furiously. An Orc's head popped out of one and rolled down the bar, stopping in front of Gargan. G'rrl stopped for a moment, wondering if she had just erred and would receive an Axe. Just then Her Gem fell to the floor. She smiled, thinking of wonderful ways to cook a Kender...when another identical gem hit the floor, landing next to it. G'rrl looked at the Kender. He just smiled. She hurled him and then dove towards the gems.

*****

Alliwishus was flying. He had a soft landing, almost as if landing on a pillow. He turned and looked up at an angry Deva. The Deva was arguing with some Tieflings when his unexpected intrusion occurred. The Tieflings did not notice him, but the Deva glowered at him. He smiled, and said "that thing on the floor there just threw me at you." The Deva snarled and yelled "Damn you, cursed Fiend."

*****

The entryway erupted into mass pandemonium, as several Tieflings tackled the Deva, all landing on top of G'rrl. G'rrl watched as the gems were knocked into opposing directions. And the Fight was on!

*****

Gargan looked down to see Pug staring at him...

**[Avi]**

Quake stood behind the bar, frozen under the pit fiend's spell. This is a tragedy, she thought. Tonight the tavern had been boiling with chaos. Now it was frozen in the iron grip of a Law-maker. Not to mention that my armpit itches and I can't do a damn thing about it!

She tried to make sense of the recent events. Everyone was paralyzed and the fiends were singing a diabolical song. Mathias and Davidia were stuffed into a cage, a bladed pendulum descending towards their motionless heads. Licksy the pixie entered the bar, searched his pockets for Mordenkainen's Instant Disgruntled Critic, but was instantly frozen under the pitfiend's spell. Then Gargan came in for a drink of ale, oblivious to the events around him and unaffected by the fiendish magic.

The pitfiend roared, "Time for a meal! Everyone take a break." The hellsong was thankfully over. The head of Fiendpower pulled on a chef's hat, smacked his lips and said, "I feel like cooking some people. Anybody have a problem with that?" The frozen patrons could not protest. "Good! Then I'll make some swedish meatballs." The pitfiend gathered Krax, Purple and the Sensate and took the paralyzed trio into the kitchen.

His head reappeared through the kitchen doorway. "Oh, by the way, it's a little too quiet. I need to hear a bit of squealing and cries of pain." Suddenly, Mathias and Davidia were free to move again. Davidia looked up to see the swinging blade just an inch above her head. The two began to scream, music to the pitfiend's ear.

"Do something!" squealed Davidia.

"Okay, okay, um, um, um, um, um, um," Mathias stuttered.

Davidia grabbed the elven mage and yelled, "Cast a spell, you looney!"

Mathias took a deep breath and wiped the sweat off his brow. "Right. How about a Wib, Wob, I mean, a Web spell." Thick webbing shot out towards the swinging pendulum. The blade easily severed the cobwebs and continued on its course. "Oh no, oh no. Now what?"

Davidia bent down as low as possible, but her huge bulk was guaranteed to meet the blade before it met Mathias. "Stop it," she wailed.

"Um, um, um. I know, if I turn you to stone, then the blade can't nick you and I'll convert you back to flesh later."

"What?!" Davidia roared.

Mathias took that as a yes. "Flesh to bone, tone, I mean.. Flesh to stone!" he chanted. Davidia's flesh immediately petrified. The blade banged into her stone head and grinded to a halt. Mathias sighed in relief. He didn't dare look at the angry features etched into her stone face.

Quake, still frozen, sighed to herself. She hoped that the bumbling mage could later turn her back to normal. Now she saw a kender enter the tavern. With typical kender bravado, he pickpocketed a gem from a female cornugon who was lounging around the bar. Meanwhile, a deva and a group of tieflings entered the room. Strangest of all, a talking orc head was yelling curses at nobody in particular. Since the pitfiend was in the kitchen, they were not frozen under his spell, and she hoped that the deva would so something to save them.

But now, the newcomers were fighting over two identical gems. The tieflings succeeded in grabbing one gem. The kender, the cornugon and the deva were simultaneously arguing over the other ruby. Suddenly, the Gem of Cursed Luck flashed brightly. A new curse had taken effect.

Alliwishus was looking at himself. Standing a few feet ahead of him was a kender that looked exactly like him. "Hey, who are you?" The identical kender looked equally confused. The fiend was also staring in shock. Alliwishus also noticed that something was different about himself. For one thing, he was taller and had golden skin and white wings.

**[Avi]**

"I'm inside the deva's body!" Alliwishus exclaimed. "How interesting!" He marvelled at his golden skin and spread his feathery white wings. The kender-deva took off on a wobbly flight around the room. To everyone's annoyance, his large wings buffeted objects and people, knocking them onto the floor. After a few minutes, he got bored of this new experience and reverted to acting like a kender, which meant absentmindedly pickpocketing the frozen patrons (many of which now lay on the ground). And so a shining deva wandered through the room, stealing from people like a common thief.

Meanwhile, G'rrr screamed to herself. Trapped in a kender's body! It's so small and weak, with soft flesh and no claws or teeth. But I still have my mind, so I can still use my innate magic. She retreated into the shadows, planning how to make the best of this bad situation.

Orion the deva looked around the room through the eyes of a cornugon. He reflected on the irony of his shining soul locked inside a scaly fiendish body. And worst of all, his own celestial body being abused by a kender thief. But there were matters more urgent -- a pit fiend was about to make human meatballs. The deva-fiend used a cloth to pick up the Gem of Cursed Luck and strode into the kitchen.

A huge meat grinder lay in the kitchen, and Purple and the Sensate were stuffed inside it. Krax stood near the handle, his body frozen except for his arms. "Turn the handle, you sodding piss-pod!" the pit fiend was yelling. "Grind them up or you'll feel my sting!" The wind-duke wept with indecision.

The pit fiend turned to see a cornugon enter. "Ah, my fellow fiend! This berk needs some... encouragement to grind up his friends. Be creative."

Orion played along. "Of course, master. But first, I have a gift for you." He revealed the shiny red gem. "A magical gemstone."

The pitfiend picked it up with a frown. "What will I do with such a petty trinket?" He tossed the Gem of Cursed Luck into the giant meat grinder. And so the unlucky gem -- which caused Licksy to crash into an archway, which killed Pug and resurrected him as a talking head, which switched the minds of the deva and the kender and the cornugon -- flashed brightly once again....

Meanwhile, the kender-deva's belt was bulging with bags containing various items: a bag of gold from Eggy, Eduardo's Mr. Stiffy's Manliness Enhancer, dead Tim's mechanical devices, and many other objects. How careless of people, thought Alliwishus, to leave these things lying around all over place and making me responsible for keeping them safe!

He stared curiously at a crow's nest up near the rafters (where the Sensate used to linger). The crow's nest was mounted on a wooden pole which rose from a hole in the floor. Following a suspicion, Alliwishus found a door to the cellar and descended down the stairs.

Lo and behold, a huge ship lay in the basement! Its mast rose high up thru the ceiling and into the tavern room above. "A ship in the basement! How fascinating!" The kender-deva climbed up a ladder and unto the deck.

A disembodied voice spoke, "Welcome to my skyship!"

"Who are you?"

"My name is HAL," said the soft male voice. "I am the spirit that controls this ship. And who are you?"

"My name is Alliwishus. But you can call me Alliwishu for short. Mind you, people usually greet me with 'Ah! Kender!' but 'Ah' is much too short for a nickname, and my last name is not 'kender'."

"Then I'll call you Captain Wishy. How does that sound?"

"Excellent," Wishy grinned. "Can we go somewhere? Is there a portal big enough for this ship? Can we go to another plane? I always wanted to see the Abyss, and Acheron, and the Gray Waste, and the Baator, and Ysgard, and Mechanus -- actually, people tell me never to go to Mechanus cause I'd drive the modrons barmy, I wonder why? Or maybe we can fly over the edge of Sigil. Ya, that would be interesting, all that nothing, I've never seen nothing, I ---"

"Perhaps, Captain Wishy, we should just launch the ship first."

"Right, HAL! Ship, go! Up, up and away! Can we stop by the candy store before we leave Sigil?"

The skyship levitated into the air and crashed through the basement ceiling.

**[Matt M Oostman]**

A great rumbling was disturbing Mathais contemplation of escape. As cage he was trapped in was swaying to and fro, an overstuffed spectral hand appeared and knocked him across the bars.

"I cast ~Cage Cracker~, NOT ~Mage Smacker~!!!" he hollered at the ceiling, which was also swaying. Fortunatly the bars were bent open by the misson mast of an enourmous ship.

"Great Casper's ghost!" he exclaimed, then, remembering that Casper was a ghost, regained his sences and hopped aboard the ship.

"Who's in charge here?", he demanded.

"Why, I am," stated a Kenderish Deva. "You can call me Captin Wishy."

"Good. I'm Mathais, this is Davidia, and this is Dreamweaver" he stated, tugging the pseudodragon's tail, waking him up.

"I say, you appear short handed. AR! Methink ye be needin' a crew." Mathais suggested in his best pirite voice.

"Oh, a crew! I hadden't thought of that. How many's in a crew? Do they have to be sailors? What about Pug? Do you have to have a body?" The deva seemed too exited to be a deva and Mathais was starting to figure this out.

"You're not a Deva, are you?"

"That depends. I look like a deva but I was a kender though I'm not now 'cause I don't look like one. If you look like something you're not, are you the thing that you are or the thing that you were?"

"I'm not sure," Mathais said, wondering it himself and trying to shut him up at the same time. "Let's get you that crew."

"ALL RIGHT!" he shouted down onto the crowd of paralized people. "Captain Wishy needs new recruits." Seeing that noone was stepping forward, he started yelling at the pit fiend. "Hey, are you finished with the rest of these people in here, I mean, can you unfreeze them?"

"Fine, but I'll need some bread. I'm making a sandwich from these two," growled the fiend.

Mathais thought for a moment and replied: "I can handle that. Let's see..... I'm gonna need Orion and Eggy, and unfreeze Quake, it's her bar. Oh! And Baker Bob. He'll handle your bread and then accompany us."

"And Pug!" shouted the Kender-Deva.

"Right." the mage said.

With a quick glance behind him the Baatzu unfroze the patrons requested and sent them on their way.

"Now back to the meat grinder," the fiend chuckled.

**[Brannon Hollingsworth]**

C'chack stood, her four arms crossed, and one of her multi-hooked claw pads tapping the floor impatiently...

She was awaiting the effect of her spell, the one thing that was going to save her from the axe-wielding, head-chopping-off-frequently, embodiment-of-Death-himself, Gargan. Much to her chagrin, nothing had happened. The spell-slinging, sand-spitting bard from Athas was perturbed.

"Where's the kaboom?!? There was supposed to be an earth-shattering kaboom!!"

Just then, the kaboom happened, but not in the form of C'chack's spell, but rather, in the form of a massive hull of a ship rising up from the floor of Quake's tavern. As she was toppled over by the surging of the floorboards, C'chack caught the briefest glimpse of the radiant, shining form of a Deva at the helm.

...it seemed to be pulling its hair back into a topknot...

Scrambling to her feet, C'chack scuttled up one of the now fragmented floor boards and with a leap that would make a bonespear jealous, managed to catch one of the flailing rigging ropes from the side of the ship. Screaming that this was not the right, or even 'her' kaboom, she sailed past the bar on her way up, climbing the rope like a three-legged bariaur in a foot race.

Quake, ducking the spinning, swirling, many-appendaged obstacle, continued drying glasses, sitting them calmly on a shelf that was no longer there. As large sections of her bar's ceiling gave way, tumbling to the floor in shattered heaps, she merely shook her head slightly, calling after the 'kreen. "Soddin' prime! Spell Keys!! Ya gotta have spell keys!!"

Then, the strange ship, with its newly acquired ornament in tow, rose slowly above Quake's Tavern, and began heading towards the center of the city...

The one place in the whole multiverse that only a kender would want to go...

**[Sir Twist]**

Measure Three Narthe openned his eyes. He was on his back again, by the Lady! How many times was he to be knocked unconscious when he wasn't watching tonight? His eyes focused a little...on a vaguely humanoid form -- except this one had scales, a tail and horns.

Oh, no. Why me? he asked himself as he forced his eyes to blur once more. But they wouldn't. They continued to focus until the whole picture was sharp. There was more than one fiend standing above him. And then he noticed the ship. What, by the Spire, was a floating ship doing here?

Come to think of it, where was "here"? Oh, yes, he was in some bar...a Xaositec's bar...the name escaped him. Quail? Quale? Quack? Quake? Yes, that was it: Quake! Now what was familiar about that name? That's right! He was here to arrest her! Her and all those Xaositec scum that happened to be patrons here!

And suddenly it everything came flooding back into him, it was as if somebody had removed a veil of alcohol from his mind. Coming to the Hive, the bubber in the street, a sharp pain in his head. The Gargan killing his captors. The Gargan! he could sure use that Mercykiller's help right now, he thought to himself as he glanced at the fiends.

He struggled. And then realised he couldn't move anything. Those fiends and their damned concert! Every muscle save his heart was paralysed! He tried to shout. "HELP!" Well, that worked.

Quake glanced in the direction of that sound. Who would be calling for help? Oh, it was that Hardhead. It looked like the fiends were going to be making a manburger out of him. She should probably the berk get what he deserved...but then again she could probably get a lot of fun if she saved him. He _had_ had a lot of that Ysgardian Mead.

She inspected the glass she was polishing. What would be suitable to convince those fiends that she was serious (for a Xaoswoman)? Conjure vegetables? Sure, why not...

Taking the rag she was using in her right hand, and setting the glass down with her left, she threw the cloth at the fiends. A stream of old tomatoes and cabbages pelted the fiends. They turned around.

"What's the idea, mortal? He's ours!" the leader said.

"No he's not, he's mine! I've got rights over him!" Quake retorted.

"What rights?"

"He's mine" she insisted. "I'll trade this place for him."

The fiends consulted amongst themselves, and nodded to her. One picked up Narthe and negligently tossed his stiffened form at her. She ducked and grimaced as the Hardhead hit a table. "Now get out," they said.

Quake helped Narthe to his feet. "Thanks," he said. "You're not as bad as you seem. I think we might be able to arrange for a lighter sentence for aiding an Officer of the Law."

The half-elf looked taken aback. "Is that the way you talk to your fiance?" she lied glibly. "'Arrange for a lighter sentence'? I thought you would at least kiss me!" Then she glued her lips to his.

Narthe pushed her back. "What's this?" he said. "I came here to arrest you!"

"Really?" she asked. "Do you usually arrest the women you want to marry? Sounds like a strange thing to do, even for a Harmonium officer."

"Marry? Who said we're getting married?"

"You did, silly. When I poured you your first drink tonight, you asked me to marry you, and I said yes!" she proclaimed. "Hey, Captain!" she yelled at the ship. "Throw us a line! We're getting married tonight!"

"Tonight?" echoed Narthe.

"Yes, tonight, dear," she said. "Just like you promised me --" she knew that'd sink him "-- you know you shouldn't drink so much. That's the first thing that's going to change when we're married!"

I promised WHAT? Narthe silently queried. Oh well, a promise was a promise. Whether he had been drunk or not was irrelevant. And now he was stuck with a Xaositec for a fiance.

Then a rope thrown from above broke his reverie, and he was following his bride-to-be up the rope. He had to admit, though, as he looked up, that he _did_ have good taste in women when it came to appearances.

**[Avi]**

Gargan said, "I'm not going to let the story leave me behind." The hulk jumped into the air and landed on deck with a thud. The thri-keen quailed with fright. "Relax," Gargan grinned. "You're safe from my axe... as long you remain interesting."

Now that everyone was aboard the skyship, they wondered "Where to now?" And they also wondered, "What's with that Captain Wishy guy?" That deva with the topknot was grinning like a 5-year old child, and his pouches were bulging with items. At the same time, many of their belongings had mysteriously vanished.

"Welcome to my skyship. I'm Captain Wishy," he said with obvious glee. "And I'm just itching to go somewhere fun!" The passengers exchanged incredulous looks. "First, let's check for attendance." The kender-deva pulled out a list of names. "Baker Bob? Hey, you're a baker? Do you have any buns for me?"

"Uh, no... I didn't bring my kitchen with me," said Bob.

Wishy looked crestfallen. "Oh well." He pulled out a beautiful ivory pen to check off Bob's name from the list.

"Hey! That's my pen!" yelled Mathias.

"Really? You must have dropped it. Be more responsible next time." He pulled out a pencil.

"Hey! That's my pencil!" yelled Mathias.

Eight pencils later, Wishy found a pen unclaimed by anyone. "C.. C... Ch.. C'chack?"

"Here!" the thri-keen called out.

"Davidia?" No response. "Davidia? Davidia?!"

"She's turned to stone," Eduardo said sourly, and then kicked Mathias.

And so the kender continued to call out the names of those on deck: Eduardo, Eggy, Gargan, Mathias, Narthe, Pug, and Quake.

Meanwhile, strange things were happening in the kitchen. Purple and the Sensate were still stuffed inside the giant meat grinder. Krax was about to give in under the pit fiend's torments and turn the handle. Orion, the deva inside the cornugon's body, prepared to attack the fiend. Then the Gem of Cursed Luck, which lay inside the meat grinder, flashed brightly. Cursed magical energy sank into the metal machine and transformed it.

Suddenly, the meat grinder took on a life of its own... and worked backwards! Instead of making ground meat, it spewed it out whole. A fountain of meat -- steaks, hamburgers, hotdogs, ribs, chicken fingers -- spouted out with tremendous force. Purple and the Sensate were flung up on a geyser of meat.

The flow continued unabated and the kitchen was rapidly filling up with beef and pork and chicken. Purple, the Sensate and Krax were crushed and buried. The pitfiend tried to eat up the meat, but he wasn't fast enough. He choked to death as his mouth filled up with a tenderloin steak, a roast chicken, three sausages and some bacon on the side. Orion reached the door and grabbed the doorknob, just as wave of meat cuts crashed down upon him.

Meanwhile, Wishy was asking, "Does anybody know what happens if we fly off the edge of Sigil?"

"Uh, I think we'll be thrown off to a random plane," said Quake.

"How interesting! Ya, let's do that! HAL!"

A disembodied voice said, "Yes, Captain?"

"Take us outa here. And off the edge of Sigil."

Narthe said, "I don't think that's such a good idea..." The passengers looked concerned, and muttered excuses for leaving the ship. They began to climb down.

Suddenly, the kitchen door burst off its hinges, followed by a flying cornugon. A heaving mountain of meat surged into the room, flooding the tavern in seconds. It continued out the door, spilling out into the streets. Even KK, the stone golem, fell under the onslaught. The sea of meat rose higher towards the ceiling.. and the ship.

Quake piped up, "OK, let's go."