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[Isilven]

This is the opposite of the MST3K thread. Herein shall be what lies in our souls: The desire to write the worst fanfic possible.

Here are the rules:
1. Each participant must write at least one paragraph (consisting of 7-10 sentences) per post, and must have no more than four paragraphs per post.

2. The beginning fanbase must be "Baldur's Gate", though it may be turned into a crossover fic with as many different shows/games/anime/manga/real-life bands as you want.

3. Characters must be completely unlike themselves. Make stuff up. Ignore canon. Minsc is secretly a Bhaalspawn? Aerie is part Avariel and part Drow and part Japanese? EXCELLENT!

4. CHARNAME must be the worst Mary Sue and Gary Stu ever. We will have a male and a female CHARNAME in the same story, just to be fair.

5. Feel free to misspell some words (but make it readable). Also feel free to include random words in Japanese when a character is speaking. We want to break every single rule possible.

6. Self-insertions and new Mary Sues and Gary Stus are welcome.

7. Inane tense changes, misuse/no use of punctuation, and inclusions of emoticons in character dialogue are not only welcomed but encouraged.

8. Please try to kind of sort of carry on the base plot, but feel free to add in random subplots. Remember, when in doubt, kill someone's significant other off.

And...go.

[Jarno Mikkola]

The begining N1. The story of our begining.

So we stood infront of the Candel Keep Inn. "Now that's a horrible begining." Ah, yes I know, but I was going to tell our kids how we became an item Maary Shoe. "OK, go on G'kar Stu."
So now, where was I, ahh the Inn. We went in , cause our foster father had told us that we have an adventure to go to, we met this fat fellow Winthrop... "But kids, he wasn't was nothing compared to your father is, now." Must you interrupt everytime, my dear. Now, we bough what we needed and 20 bolts for Fuller; a dude, we were to meet somewhere in the castle. "In the Barracks." : So we went to meet him and gave him them, and we got some more gold from him, and went to meet Gorion and Imoen, a girl that lived with us. "That bi-ach."

After we had spoken to him, and had said our good byes to Imoen, we went out to the wild world, and suddenly it became night and we were ambushed by an armored man that looked like a daemon and some other ruffiants. "It's spelled demon you idiot." So what, now as Gorion was a mage, and I was guite good monk, we though we could take them, and while Gorion was distracting the other idiots I went to hit the armored man. I knocked his ass of good long time, calling the power of the ken. But suddenly Gorion made a mistake and the armored guy that I had knocked to every which direction, hit him with a critical and he died. We were surrounded and I had to protect your mother, so we had to take a hike! "I assure you kids, it didn't happen exactly like that." Shut up, or I kill you in the story.

So when the morning finally came and we were exosted from running, we noticed that none was following us. Ah, what a releaf it was.

[Scipio]

Well, now that all of that extraneous gabbling from the frozen north is out of the way, we can tell you what really happened. As your Siamese narrators we are joined at the hypothalamus. We thank the Anti-Bhaal that we have independently controlled bladder functions.

It would have been appropriate to tell you how lovely Jaheira was looking. But she was indescribably beautiful, so we can?t. What we can tell you, however, dear Chronicler of Banania, is that the normally soft and sultry Imoen was? ah, she might have struck you as handsome, we suppose, in spite of the oozing carbuncle on the side of her neck. Her self-experimentation with the Borrow Features spell had superimposed the ravishing thief Yoshimo?s face over her own. Travelling gay merchants from the great uncharted eastern reaches swooned at her feet. That was how attractive was she now to some men, many women and more than one huge gloppy thing that floated in a gigantic flask full of Realm Essence in the Beregost town plaza and strip mall.

The same unfortunately could not be said of her sibling, Elvis Hasleft. His expression was curiously blank; nay, completely featureless. Imoen?s sibling-experimentation with Borrow Features hadn?t worked as well for Elvis Hasleft. He was mumbling from somewhere below the belt line where his mouth had relocated itself south of his navel. ?Having my nostrils on the back of my head actually isn?t a bad idea,? he said through his britches. ?I can swim with my face under water the whole time. You should see what an amazing amount of rusting armour, swords and iron golems has accumulated at the bottom of the moat.

?I can also hear just fine. Now I know why grasshoppers have their ears on their knees. While conversations float over other people?s heads, I get the lowdown.? He paused and spat. ?Damn! These pubes tickle my lips! But as I was about to say, although my field of vision is somewhat impaired with my left eye in my right armpit, I do have a beautiful view of the town with my right eye embedded in the clock tower wall. I suppose I am now partly Elvis Hasleft, the building.?

Edited by Scipio, 14 March 2008 - 12:46 AM.

[Isilven]

"Oh brother Elvis, you really are clever!" trilled his twin sister, Sapphira Alessa Steelwing-McEpicface. Sapphira was beautiful, with like a 22 Charisma and shit. She had long flowing amber locks and amethyst eyes that changed colors with her moods. She had pink streaks in her hair because she was half elf and half sirine and half Japanese. Her boobs were huge, no really, I mean they were freaking huge. It was amazing.
The sunlight glinted off of her +1 Full Plate Mail like the eye of a pedophile at a Little Miss Beauty pagent. Her rock-hard muscles were harder than a priest at a playground. She was a paladin of Lathander, and she stood for righteousness and good and helping the needy.
"Oh, Sapphie, you are so self-sacrificing and wonderful!" said Imoen, the carbuncle oozing just a little less.
"I know," said Sapphira with a smile, and she tossed her beautiful hair. "Let me help you, Imoen."

Sapphira removed her gloves and laid her hands upon Imoen. Immediamagicalinstantly, Imoen was back to normal. Imoen squealed and glomped Sapphira.
"OHMIGOSH! KAWAAAAII~! DOMO ARIGATOU, ONEE-SAMAAAAA!!!!11!!" cried Imoen, lying on top of her sister, giggling. Sapphira gasped, as her eyes meet Imoen's. Violet meets teal, and their breath begins to quicken. A flush rose in Imoen's cheeks, bringing roses there. Mumbling something about dueling, she extracted herself from the situation.
Sapphira was confused? Why was she tingling... down there? "Imoen is a girl, and my sister! This is unnatural! This can't be right!" she thought.

[Cygnea]

But just then Hair'Dalis walked in (OMG, he's sooo cute!! ) with Aerie following behind, whining about her wings or something stupid like that, obviously trying to gain attention. (OMG, I hate her so much, why did they even put her in teh game)

He went right to Sapphira of course, walking by everyone, especially Jaheria (becuaes I don't like her either), and kissed her hand all gentlemanly like. "My raven" he said "seeing you once again is like watching the birth of a star"

"What" Imoen asked "You two have never met"

Sapphira didn't know what to say. She couldn't admit to her sister (who she totally didn't like that was, eww, she's straight and likes Hair'Dalis, duh!! XP) that she had sercretly met the bard months ago and had been trading letters ever since. "I Dont know what you're talking about" she said, winking at him.

He picked it up right away of course cause he's smart like that and said "I have seen your beauty in my dreams"

Aerie (who couldn't stand to be ignored for more than two seconds, the stupid whiner) shrieked "Pay attention to ME!!"

Sapphira turned her eyes towards her, eyes going from the purple of a new dawn to bloodred in her rage. One hand clentched and she let a fireball hover over her fingers, calling upon the ancienct destructive powers that had been with her since birth. No one knew where they came from but they were absutely unique and she was the only one in the world who could command them. When she was younger she used to be teased about being different and everyone was super jealous except Imeon and Goron and even though she used to cry herself to sleep sometimes she knew she wasn't supposed to hate those people because they just wanted to be like her and she should be glad she was so lucky. (Dont worry I'll totattly explain why she has these powers later but I never liked the fact that other people could do stuff my character couldn't. HELLO, I'm the MAIN CHARACTER! the most important person in the game? I'll give you a hint though. It has to do with a dragon and a divine being!

"You be quiet" Saphhira said "or you'll pay"

Aeire was dumb but even she was smart enough to know that saying anything would get herself killed so she shut her mouth and went to sulk in a corner. (Sorry, I want to do it but I have to save her for later - evil laugh) drunk men began to hit on her (are we still in the inn? Well we are now! lol)

Edited by Cygnea, 14 March 2008 - 12:19 PM.

[theacefes]

Meanwhile...

The french toast was anxious today. It had been almost five years since he had sneezed. Judging by the way the other breads were staring at him, he decided it was time to go north...to the unknown...

To Baldur's Gate.

"You be careful," the shaman had told him, giving the young toast a sword and some special BioSnare food that never runs out. "Also, watch out for shady men with nice voices that repeat many things when you right click them."

"Right click?" the french toast said. He was confoosed.

"Erm...no matter. I am your furjer."

"Furjer?"

"Father."

"Ah."

"There you go," the shaman said as he fixed the toast's shirt so it was straightened out and not wrinkled or anything like that.

"Thank you, sir. I will be back with the head of the one who killed my father."

"Ferjer!" the shaman yelled.

"Um...yeah."

And the french toast left to go travel.

[Scipio]

The insistent shaking of her shoulder dragged Imoen back from the depths of her wine-induced slumber. The shaker was Elvis Hasleft, her companion since their childhood. He was ashen-faced.

?Heya, wozzup, other Ward of Gorion?? she slurred. ?And why do you have ash rubbed all over your face, Inferior Ward??

?Oh, that? just the effects of the party I went to last night. There were some friendly fire elementals there. Did you know some of them are female? Man, those babes are hot!?

Then he tensed. His voice went all dry and squeaky, like a swinging door with rusty hinges just before you slam it on your mother-in-law?s head. ?I do feel pale, though. I?ve just had the most dire premonition.? He peered into Imoen?s cosmetics mirror. ?Yes, I am a little wan.?

?I didn?t know you were Hispanic,? Imoen said.

?Huh??

?You just said you were a little Juan.?

He stared at her blankly, then blurted, ?The premonition ? I see us encountering something much worse than a battle horror. Picture, if you will? a whole wheat horror!?

?You mean ?? and suddenly Imoen was alarmed ? ?you mean one of those dreadful monsters??

?Yes!? he interrupted. ?One of those creatures that gives a whole new meaning to the term ?bread slicer.? It?s coming here seeking revenge for the death of its ferjer.?

?Oh, you poor boy, but you mustn?t look so worried,? Imoen purred, throwing in a few extra ?heyas? to keep her persona in character with the master script that guided her very being. ?I can make you feel better in two ways.?

?Really?? Elvis Hasleft looked at his sort-of-sister inquisitively. ?What do you have in mind??

?Well, first we?ll play that game from our childhood, the one you enjoyed so much when we were little, the game called ?Let?s Be Strangers? where we pretend we don?t know each other and then I lie on you.?

?I see what your game is! You want all his attention all the time! Leave him to make up his own mind and decide that I am the only one he will ever want!? piped up Aerie, the wingless and partly brainless Avariel, who had annoyingly Ctrl-J?d into the middle of the room.

?And why would he want you?? sneered Imoen. ?By the way, heya, Aerie.?

?I have what you don?t!? pouted the little blonde elf with eyes so slanted that her tear ducts were lower than her nostrils. ?I have wing stumps! He can use them as handles when I lie on him, so there, and you can?t imagine how grateful I was when Uncle SomethingGnome taught me that trick!?

?I?ll get rid of this blasted elf once and for all,? growled Imoen. ?By the way, heya, Elvis Hasleft. I?m going to destroy her with that wrestling hold Gorion used on Elminster, the Candlekeep Camel Clutch. But first, I told you there were two ways I could make you feel better.?

?What?s the second way?? panted Elvis Hasleft, wishing Imoen had taken off her Plus 5 Plate That Doesn?t Impede Thieving Skills Or Spell Casting before she had climbed on him.

?I anticipate. Heya, it?s once of the things women do. Heya, aren?t you glad we can multitask and recruit allies while we?re cooking breakfast and beating up Avariels all at the same time? These allies are romanceable NPCs who can take care of any angry French baguettes or whatever. And I expect our new modded friends should be here? about? now!?

With a flash and a bang, three amazing men teleported into the lying-on-sort-of-brother chamber. One sat upon the neck of a huge elephant with great ears. The second was seated on a smaller elephant with smaller ears but it was none the less a formidable beast. The third mod was unaccompanied by any battle-pets; he didn't need any. He was almost as big as the smaller elephant and he was completely covered by coarse hair.

Imoen climbed off her sort-of-brother but they only met when she was ten and he had been instantly drawn to her proto-bosom and all that and Bhaal would approve and so on. She smugly gestured at the new arrivals. ?Elvis Hasleft, I?d like you to meet Tarzan, Mowgli and Bigfoot.?

[Isilven]

Sapphira awoke the next morning, and she streatched languishly. Her godlen hair was spread on the pillow like the gold straw in that one story... Rumplestiltskin, yeah, that's right. Well, anyways, she rolled over and saw the most beautifuly man ever. Haer'Dalis, with his gorgeous blue (or is it lavender? Pale blue-violet? Sky blue?) hair falling over his incredibly chisled and manly fisique. "Good morning, my bird of paradise" he said in his musical trilling voice, his emerald eyes glittering like glitter.

"Mmm, good morning, Haer, my love." She arose, the sheet falling off of her sumptuous breasts and finely-formed butt like a hot wire through butter. Her amythest eyes glistened brightly, like the head of a well-lubricated... drive shaft.

Well anyways, they got dressed and stuff, and went downstairs. Imoen was there, looking really hot and redheaded, and probably hungover. Sapphira's heart skipped a beat when she saw her puffy-faced sister, who may or may not have had a little dried vomit on her chin. She blushed, and cherry blossoms blew through the room, and the sound of a soft angelic chorus played. Elvis, Haer'Dalis, the still-tipsy Imoen, Aerie, Tarzan, Mowgli, Bigfoot, a yeti, and a strange alien creature which kept yelling loudly about Mountain Dew and how he had a sword that was +3 vs. ogres all stopped and watched the petals for a moment, then went back to their conversations. Stuff like that happened a lot around Sapphira.
It's probably because she was half Japanese.

And so, Sapphira went and had some breakfast, while Aerie alternated between whinging about her wings and glaring at Sapphira for sleeping with Haer'Dalis.
"EGG EATING FOR JUSTICE!" came a cry from the front door. It was quickly kicked down by none other than Minsc, who loudly and, apparently with only a vague understanding of Common, ordered a trencher filled with eggs, sausage, potatoes, grilled tomatoes, dragon steak, and two rashers of bacon, topped all with gravy. He began to tuck in noisily.

Sapphira, was, of course, too beautiful to notice this. She smiled at Elvis. "Have fun with those fire elementals last night, brother?"

[Cygnea]

(Okay so Ive made a change of plans and decided to introduce a new chracter ^_~ Guess who it is!)

"It was alright" Elvis said but sapphira was looking passed him and towards the back of the crowded room. Her specail ability was letting her know that someone was trying to break into her mind which was almost impossible because she was protected by shields that no one could break unless she let them in and she would always know when someone was trying and be able to get into their mind instead. "I think I burned something important (lol could you imagine?)

"Sorry brother no time for that." Sapphira stood up and gestured for Hair'Dalis not to follow her "I have to do this alone" she whispered and he nodded because he new she could take care of her self

Sapphira stopped in front of a man. (Here he comes!! ) He had orange-red hair and wore a yellow bandada and great outfit that was medievaly but didnt make him look dumb (like those pictures in the book my mom bought me. the guys looks so stupid XP) He had great green eyes which Sapphira blushed under but she was made of stuff strong enough to stay strong. He also had a katana with a dragon on the sheath that looked real and had gems for eyes, and the handle was done up with black and white binding. the part where the handle met the metal had a pheonix on it and was done in pearl.

"Your trying to get into my mind," she acussed

"I was" he said and she was surprised he didnt try to deny it.

"Your the one that made Imeon act like that towards Elivs and you put those thoughts about her in my head" (Im thinking about making her and imoen not related because someone said girlongirl might bring in more readers. id have to make sure my parents didnt see though)

"I am" (You should know who is it now! He's super hot and I coudnt help but put him in)

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to get your attention."

Sapphira was schocked! But he wasn't lying. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen with long golden hair the color of sunflowers that shone like a bar of gold and eyes that were currently orange (cool orange,not lame) with shock and he just couldnt help himself. "In fact" he said "I want to journey with you"

"Oh no!" Sapphira cried "I forgot all about the person whose coming here to get revenge! we have to leave!"

"Can I come?" he said again pleedingly and saphhira nodded. "but whats your name?"

(ready?)

...

...

...

"Sculdig." (THAT'S RIGHT FROM WIEB KRUEZ XDDDD!!!1!)

(I had an idea to make a lot of people fall in love with Sapphira because its way more interesting that way and this way she can have a lot to choose from because even though Hair'Dalis is awesome (I heart him) if i make this a crssover I can tottaly bring in every hott guy. By the way how old is Mowgli ^_~ I think i heard of him once in that live action movie with the hot actor so im going to check and if thats him then hes totally going to be in the story romance styel. Tarzans old enough but I need him to get a bath and stuff first]

Edited by Cygnea, 15 March 2008 - 09:35 PM.

[Scipio]

INTERMEZZO:

An almost ethereal sheet of paper floated in through one of the arrow slits, danced briefly in a sunbeam, then settled on Sapphira's lap. It has been recorded that she was sitting when this happened, although why she was doing so is unknown because she was walking somewhere when this happened.

"Dear Sapphy," she began to read, distracted only a little by the rude contraction of her name. "It is likely, according to the Oracle of Broccoli, that you may soon meet some new males and may be curious about their romantic potential. You are an ageist; you don't want an ancient man. You are a hygienist; you don't want a smelly or grubby man, and you keep people's teeth nice and white.

"So let the ages of these new males be known relative to each other as measured in a different universe in a year they call 2008 over there.

"Tarzan is the baby of the three. He will be created by Edgar Rice Burroughs in 1912, so he is 96 years old. Mowgli, who is the spitting image of Pakistani cricketer Imran Khan, is slightly more mature. He sprang from the pen of Rudyard Kipling in 1894, which makes him a trifling 104 years old. These ages are of course as nothing to an elf, say, who can watch seven or a dozen consecutive human lovers die of old age before she hits elven menopause and becomes Jaheira.

"But forget about the mightiest of the three, Bigfoot. He predates the creatures known as Homo sapiens, Homo neaderthalis and even the greatly ancient Homo rolling stonus. He only goes for immortals. He does have exceptional prowess in the romance department, though. This may be why Jon Irenicus wants to be a god and live for ever. By the way, do you know that Irenicus wears his blood-sucking sister's underwear?"

There was a footnote that really caught sapphira' s eye: "Hey, if you want a different type of romance entirely, think outside the humanoid box. Umm... do you like French bread?

PS: So how YOOOO doin'?"

[cmorgan]

It was a bright and shining morning, the beauty of which dazzled all but the most banal of creatures, and made them forget that good writing includes phrases, or sentences, or even funny small makings on parchament paper in quilled ink known as "Kurderaz" in dwarven, "elirilllaniiri" in high elven, "uggy-puggy" in the quaint halfling toungue, "ahhgetysai" in the mysterious far off languages muttered in the dark places of the Underdark, "thrass" in the subtle language of seaturtles, and known among the common writers at The Lusty Paladin, a local Bed, Booze, and Breakfast Bar, as "commas". French was unimpressed, for he was anything but banal. Besides, Fench Toast is never pressed, save in a faboulous sandwich called a Monte Christo, which happens only to be available on an entirely different plane of existence, Dear Reader. He had descended from a long line of Toasts, all the way back to his Yeatsy proto-sponge roots where his father was a fighting Irish Sodabread who waged battle with heroic poetry (due to an unfortunate accidental use of a ground up volume by Yeats instead of the usual "yeast") and his mother a buttery smooth Highland Shortcake who melted in the mouth like warm tea on a cold winter's knight when said knight's binge drinking and haggis-eating ways have overcome his sensibilities and he lies prostrate in the dirt road, begging for a small cup of tea or perhaps an shrubbery. But that is a romance for another time, another place, another book, dear Reader, for as we gaze apon our glorious <CHRANAME>, he was faced by a quandry only known to those fortuante few, those special of heart, those unique of character... he was possessed by the outrageous appetites surrounding his very soul. Forces of destiny that played with his density, deep delicious desire duelling descision-making, dastardly discussion duly delved.

The sunlight from the narrow arrow barrow shone on his strong browned shoulders like the headlights of a truck on a deer before it is struck. His buttery soft chest heaved and struggled under the powdered sugar armour, and he grasped his golden Dundee ™ Three Orange Marmalade (available at fine purveyors of fine foods everywhere, especially <a href> here at our sponsor's website </a> ) but his larder was aroused, and his ardor as well - it marched forth from among the rolly-polly eggs and fine ground flour of his arsenal. For he had seen the One. The True One, the very eppittt ('scuse me - *ackthpppt* - there, carry on) Epitome of Beauty. Those luscious lips that would consume him with lust and passion, that long tounge that would caress his soul, those pearly white oh-so-perfectly-straight teeth (made possible only by the Ancient Japanese Kendo Master Den'Tist of the Bushido Alchemical Dwarves, Wire Clan (B.A.D.:W.C., more commonly known as the Blocked Commodes)) that would nibble along his length like the small fiery caresses of a small white rabbit nibbling her carrot... Sapphira.

Their eyes met from across the dimensions of time, across the dimensions of space, across the dimensions of unreality, an exquisite whirlwhind of love, of fate, of butter with maple syrup and honey with just a *little-teensy* brushing of cinnamon and a single drop of bourbon vanilla hand pressed from the beans by the faerie enslaved in the dark deep forests of KatManDu (on loan from MGM Studios, All Rights Reserved, © MCMXLVVVIVIV ). Her perfect breasts heaved mightily, the soft sighing of her breathless pants due to both extreme exciitement and the fact that she had squeezed her perfectly formed buttocks into a pair of low-cut accoutremonts two sizes to small. (The pants, not the pants). His brow beaded with salty butter-sweat, lines creasing his bronzed face looming close to hers, and pattering to the floor in a mixture of love, lust, fate, and culinary desire... and time froze for a moment as they leapt towards eachother across the cobler-stones, wafting gently on unseen breezes from the electric fans positioned under the floorboards for just such romantic occasions, much to the dismay of Union Local #2374, Camera Operator's Division, who had just settled down to read the trades and smoke cigarettes.

As our True Lovers lept to consummate their passion in an orgiastic exctacy of unendurable epic proportions, the soundtrack cut off. HaerD'Alis appeard, clutching the conductor's baton and a hapless member of the trombone section. His screams of agony (Haer D'Alis, not the trombonist's) could be heard for miles, reaching even those unfortunate souls on the Nether Planes forced to read this FanFic as pun-nishment for their horrific sins in former lives (multiple sins, behavioral rehabilitation, special clauses with exceptions made for santa; see subsection 4, paragraph A, standard Reincarnation Contract).

"No no, my Deareast Creature-Who-I-Must-Call-A-Birdname-Because-Bioware-Wrote-The-Dialogue-With-It-And-Thus-Avoided-Japanese-Subcontractors-Wages, stand away from his embrace, I implore you by All that You Hold Holey, or even Holy, Depending On Your Victoria's Secret Fall Catalog Underwear's Status...

For he is no ordinary Toast, but a Brioche!!"

Edited by cmorgan, 20 March 2008 - 03:56 PM.

[Tempest]

And now for something completely different... Sapphira clearly needs more firepower. And a proper ride.


Unfortunately, Sapphira knew immediately that something bizarre was going to happen today. Something bizarre happened every day, of course, but today's would be stranger than most. As she gracefully stretched her perfect limbs and donned her plate mail string bikini, the goddess Sune, who acknowledged only Sapphira as her superior in looks and wisdom, appeared to her.

"Sapphira, my granddaughter and Chosen, it is time to progress the storyline, but it will be interrupted by the great deity Tempest and his machinations."

"What storyline?" She scoffed. "All I know is that I'm supposed to get a new romance today. Haer'Dalis is boring now."

Whatever the goddess might have said was stolen from her lips by a sound like a thousand-wait, a hundred thousand, no a MILLION angry dragons. It was a sound Sapphira was familiar with, of course. She looked up into the sky, and saw several dark figures descending at high speeds, slowed only by strange devices on their backs that she sensed could alter gravity. Invoking the power granted to her as both a granddaughter of Sune and Sharess, and as a Chosen of Sune, Sapphira sprouted angelic wings from her back, which would have put even Aerie in her childhood to shame. The Avariel began to cry, but was soothed by the powerful aura Sapphira emanated as her birthright.

Then the figures landed. Twelve ruggedly handsome men with deep tans and violet eyes like shining amethyst carefully removed the devices from their backs, and pulled out arcane devices like magical arquebuses, connected by wires to their bulky backpacks. They wore dark green armor of a sort even Sapphira couldn't identify, marked with a peculiar sigil-a double-headed eagle. Following swiftly in their wake was a great construct, perhaps twice the height of Sapphira's elegant seven-foot frame. The construct was like a golem, with a bloated chest, reverse-jointed legs, and no discernable head. It did in fact very much resemble a giant mechanical chicken, if it were not for the long autocannon barrel poking out from near the thing's waist. Two pipes on its back belched black smoke, but with a simple magical incantation, Sapphira waved the smoke away.

The leader of the men immediately knelt before Sapphira.

"Most holy Sapphira, I am Sergeant Anomen Delryn of the Cadian 397th Radiant Heart Regiment. Long have I seen your shining face in my dreams, giving me courage where I had cowardice, strength where I had weakness, and hope where I knew none. My men and I have come to grant you our service to the death if you will it, for you are the Emperor re-incarnate and the light of our lives."

Sapphira paused only for the briefest of moments. "I don't know. A kasrkin in carapace armor just doesn't have the same ring as a knight in shining armor."

No sooner had her words left her perfect mouth than reality began to bend to her will. Winds enveloped Anomen and his troopers, obscuring them in a tide of [insert appropriate poetic analogy here]. When the winds faded, they stood as soldiers of the Imperial Guard no more. Each retained their rugged handsomeness and deep tan, but their carapace armor had been replaced by silver plate mail so shiny it could blind lesser beings, and where once they held powerful hellguns, they now carried a holy avenger each. Only the walker remained, but its dark green and brown camoflauge pattern had been exchanged for a pattern of pink and sky blue.

"Solders of the Imperium!" Anomen shouted to his men. "We are no longer of the 397th! I hereby declare us to be the Order of Sapphira!"

A great cheer arose from the men, and the knight knelt before Sapphira once more.

"I have no horse for you, my lady, but do you know how to pilot a sentinel?"

"Of course." Sapphira had excelled at her piloting tests-breaking every record in the book.

"Then I give you your new chariot. Would you care to take the controls?"

"I would."

And illuminated by the sun's glow, Sapphira sat in the luxuriously appointed leather seats of the walker as Anomen set a course to Nashkel. Their destiny awaited them.


Note: The walker and spare knights are free to mess with as you like

[Scipio]

He stepped into the pantry, then stopped short and looked at the shelves, a deep frown contorting his already crumpled and wrinkled features. Once again he couldn?t remember what he was looking for. Nor could he remember where he had been before he had walked into the pantry.

For several hours he munched on oatmeal cookies he couldn?t remember buying, re-stacked cans of baked beans he couldn?t remember liking, wiped the shelves with a cloth to remove a fine layer of something that his memory finally told him was ?dust,? and wondered at the strange garment hanging on a peg until it came to him that the garment was an ?apron.?

Many hours later he found the crumpled note in his pocket. He spread it open and squinted so that he could read between the creases.

?Memorandum. To: me. From: me. Re: me,? it began, then continued: ?This time try to remember to upload the next installment of the Fanfic, not these notes. BTW I was in my bedroom before I came to tidy the library.?

The Fanfic would have to wait until the evening. First he had to find his way back to his bedroom and take a nap.

* * * * *

Yes, the next installment, not my thoughts about what it should be. It?s time to straighten out this thread. There are far too many new characters coming in. None of them seems to have anything to do except gape at Sapphira.

We need something to kill off all of the extraneous characters. Do we need a man from the African jungle and one from the Indian jungle and a monster called Bigfoot who eats insurance salesmen during deer-hunting season? What?s with this animated piece of French toast? How come this Anomen has brought a platoon of new people with him ? won?t some of them get lost off-screen?

I like this Sapphira, though. A big woman, much taller than me. I bet she has long, strong thighs that could crush a man?s ribs with ease. Better not say that to the Forum, however, or they?ll think senile elven scribes are weird.

But how do we eliminate Tarzan and Mowgli and Bigfoot and the piece of bread before one of them takes over the plot? As for Anomen?s cohorts, they appear to be heavily armed and armoured. We need something huge and nasty. If it stays here after they?ve gone, it had better have some personality or someone else will kill it off in the next episode.

Ah, got it! A new playable and romanceable NPC to rival Anomen. Damn, I suppose it?ll have to be attentive and intelligent if the girl gamers are going to recruit it into their parties of adventurers. Boys don?t need sensitive. We don?t need articulate. We just need a bloody big sword and a few damp nights with Viconia. Without a personality, however, this new NPC will have to be one mean Mutha.

If I base it on Firkraag and Haer?Dalis? dragons are no-nonsense, like the boy gamers, and the girl gamers seem to like Haer?Dalis even if we boys think he?s a pompous, camp little dweeb who would lose to Aerie in arm-wrestling. OK, so a huge creature something like a dragon but with the romance of a sissy tiefling in its soul. A gigantic lizard-like being with a mouth that never stops spouting poetry and stuff. It?ll have to know a lot of words.

So, a dinosaur-type NPC with a gift for language. Yes! He?ll be a Thesaurus Rex. On his own he would still struggle to get rid of all those redundant characters. He?ll need minions. Smaller things something like dinosaurs so the boys will like them, eloquent and talkative so the girls will like them. Yes, they will be Verbosity Raptors.

To mingle with townspeople our Thesaurus Rex must be able to shape-shift. Let?s give him some Nordic characteristics so that all of the Swedes and Finns will like him. There are also many Australians here. We need to please them too. How about we give the Thesaurus Rex special hopping skills and he can jump over castle walls! Like a huge, malevolent kangaroo? the Aussies should like that. And to link the Australian-Scandinavian theme with someone who appeals to boys and girls, we?ll make him androgynous. He shapeshifts into a humanoid called Bruce Sheila who looks like Nicole Kidman and sings like that girl from Abba but also looks like Viggo Mortensen and sings like Rolf Harris.

His pet Verbosity Raptors enjoy swimming in cold water so they?ll be right at home in the fjords or Faerun?s Legendary Frozen North. They will also have an Australian feature ? huge, crushing jaws like a saltie. (Do I think I should clarify that a saltie is a salt-water estuarine crocodile, or doesn?t it matter if the Poms and the Yanks think a saltie is a bag of crisps?)

Almost ready. First, though, I must remember that thing about hit points. Oh, yes, I was going to give Bruce Sheila like a billion HP. Then Anomen could smack and smack the Thesaurus Rex and think he was dealing out horrible damage, like, and meanwhile he would be, like, doing nothing, y?know. Won?t work, unfortunately. What if one of Anomen?s paladin buddies drops his paladin sword and uses the Vorpal on Bruce Sheila and beheads him with one blow or something? That would be, um, crap.

Excellent, now that we?ve thought through all of this, let?s work it into Fanfic and add it to the serial drivel. Maybe I can remember to get Bruce Sheil to ask Viconia if she has glowing red nipples. But how the heck do you kill a piece of bread?

[Scipio]

"Nothing much seems to be happening here," said Anomen. "I'm bored."

"I can think of something that'll get your juices flowing," said Sapphira.

"Wow!" Anomen enthused. "I'll to that!"

"So," Sapphira continued, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Heh, heh," chuckled the handsome cleric and/or paladin. "More than that, baby. I have a very athletic tongue..."

"There's no need to be crude! "

"Sorry, , but I am into fetish stuff. It must be a reaction to the stifling atmosphere at the Radiant Heart. Would you like to try some of my kinky games?"

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Anomen, take off that mask! I don't like men in leather!"

"Oops, sorry again, Sapphira. Then let me show you my aesthetic side. Would you like to come up and see my etchings?"

"Er... OK."

They ascended to his seduction chamber. She inspected the art on the walls.

:-(

;-)

"Nah... I prefer more representational stuff, Anomen, more like or ."

"Dang! And everybody told me my art collection made me so cool! !"

"Be that as it may, AnoBoy, what I had in mind was a little ."

"Just romantic music? Shucks, I was hoping for some ."

"No way, dude. I don't believe in without 0."

"What's 0?"

"It's tennis symbology for 'love,' you dumb jerk."

Flumoxed , Anomen paused to plot his next move.

[cmorgan]

Minsc rose from his sitting position, grasping Lilacor with both hands while dextrously flipping aside French and relegating him to the garbage heap of history while at the same time managing to overturn two carts and making three small dwarven women swoon senseless at seeing his strong berserker chest heaving mightily under the exertion of lifting his massive muscles clear of Toril's gravitic hold. (It should be noted that the garbage immediately applied for refugee status as Conan's refuse, claiming that brioche were unsuitable working mates.) He stode forth, his able minion Korgan, twisted evil hunchback and scourge of the Ten Towns (Eleven, until that day not so distantly past when his pirate ways accidentally destroyed ten miles of coastline after an unfortunate overdose of beans, curry, and a potion of firebreathing all at the same time, creating new meaning to the phrase 'fire in the hole') establishing a loping pace alongside his master. It is not noted in historical treasuries exactly what befell French from that point on, but his tale passes along with his tail, and it did not help that Minsc crushed him into a jelly which Korgan soon added to the back of his toungue, a noted place for such delecacies as goblin-ears and four-day-old-sushi. Perhaps we should not examine his passage much further, for fear of coming apon the same fate as that of the fabled Eleventh town and whatever else passes from Korgan's nether regions.

"We seek the fair Saphhiria, and her Worthy Company of Charioteers of Flight!" Minsc intoned, after using Lilacor to open the emergency tin of Prophetic Cryptic Words For Use In Case Of Actual Dialogue With Wisdom Below 10. Korgan made suitable sounds, having not yet finished Toast, and being altogether a Sinister Henchman of Great Lusts and Little Speech except when cornered or having partaken of too many tinned beans. HaerD'Alice (female helpmate of HairD'Alis) and the great Bard Himself (HaerD'alis, not Shakespeare, he's dead) leapt forward to bar the chamber door, but they were too quick in their motions, and Lilacor and Minsc and Boo were too slow to understand, and so the battle was short but fierce and stained with the deep dark blood of the innocent, or as innocent as a philandering extra-planar bard with romantic aspirations towards anything that moves can be on this plane of existence when confronted with such a spectacle and having had free access to Viconia for all of ten minutes in the Under... erm... nevermind. Mighty muscles bulged as the ferocious sword bit once, twice, thrice, then twice again, then thrice, then did a seductive dance, then sent out for fresh sushi, then did it's cuticles while yawning, before finally striking thrice in the breath of an instant... and our bard and compartiots fell like carrots in a RonCo ™ Food processor should such a contraption have ever fallen from the kitchen of one Mergatroid Van Hoosing, 12 Downers Street, Surrey, England, UK, and made it to the fair Baldur's Gate City to thuis be enmeshed in wordsmithing use of similie and analogy to titilate and engage Our Fair Reader.

With a resounding wordless cry (though technically it was sounding not resounding, but what is a preposition among such beings of destily and ability), mighty Minsc mananged more massacre, and waved his bloody sword (who immediately complained to the Fair Trade Commission and Screen Actors Guild that the use of "bloody" in this context probably was an unfair and entirely too descriptive a personalization description, until pointed out that "sanguine sword" was already under copyrights in Zimbabwe) while reaching over the fallen to knock on the stout Iron-clad oaken doors which barred him from his appointed date with Destiny (or Saphhira, or whatever her name is). His berserker strength proved too much for the door, which was expecting to go on early retirement anyways, and it fell inwards as one giant pile of rubble landing at Anomen's and Sapphira's feet.

"Barney!" exclaimed the giant berserker, his face alight with both happiness at seeing his friend and the remaining candle wax and oil that had spewed forth from the torches, lanterns, and other light-giving devices destroyed in his passage, "It's Anomen! And he is asking about seing a girl's sketches! Quick, Boo, the Appropriate Greeting For An Old Friend We Are About To Crush When We See A Beautiful Women I Want In The Said Buddy's Arms Under Pretext Of Viewing Serialist-Influenced Non-Representative Art And Using Emoticons For Representationalist Emotive Visualization Cues!"

Edited by cmorgan, 26 March 2008 - 02:01 PM.

[Scipio]

?We?ve been parking off here since this epic saga began,? said Imoen. ?Isn?t it time to move on? We haven?t even been to Nashkel yet.?

?True,? agreed her sister, Sapphira. ?It?ll be at least half a year before we get rid of our evil brother ? what?s his name again, Voldemort? ? and another six months after that before we land up in a dungeon in Amn.?

?Yes, and that makes me wonder how we?ve been able to meet so many BG2 characters when we haven?t even started BG1,? said Imoen.

?Never mind that, we have a bigger problem, Immy,? said Sappy. ?Our sibling, who is supposed to be the central character ? yea, verily, the PC ? this sibling hasn?t done a thing all game so far.?

She turned to the sibling. ?Hey, Elvis Hasleft, what?s up??

?That is no longer my name,? the sibling huffed.

?Why not??

?I introduced myself to a visiting bookworm at Candlekeep and he asked if I was an impersonator! We can?t have that, so I?ve changed my name back to <CHARNAME>.?

?That?s pretty dumb. And what are the chevrons for??

?They represent my ears.?

Imoen look more closely at the sibling. ?With ears like yours you should be called {CHARNAME}.?

?Forget the ears!? Sapphira interjected. You must remember that in real life people may speak, say or talk, but in fiction writing they interject, observe, opine and remark. ?Sibling needs a real name,? Sapphira continued (although in real life she would have just "said"). ?<CHARNAME> is generic.?

?Hey, I like that,? <CHARNAME> mused. ?Generic? it has a nice ring to it and it sounds like many of the better names in the Realms. It?ll do for a first name. But what should my second name be, my surname??

Sapphira caught Anomen?s attention. ?Hey, would-be lover geek! What?s a good <CHARNAME>??

Annie frowned. ?A good car name? Er? Volvo.?

The PC nodded. ?It is decided, then. Henceforth I shall be Generic Volvo.?

?Fine,? interjected opined remarked observed said Sapphira. ?Now to get the rest of you sorted out. Have you chosen an alignment yet??

?I couldn?t decide. There are too many choices. Good, neutral, evil? lawful, chaotic, all that stuff? I think I?ll settle for Indecisively Procrastinating.?

?Whatever, it doesn?t make much difference unless you kill shopkeepers or want to romance Saerileth. How about your class??

?Those professions take too much training and they all seem like such hard work. And dangerous, too. I thought bards sang at rock festivals and clerics ran Sunday school classes. They?re not supposed to be eaten by trolls. Can I be, um, a janitor??

?OK. But you can?t shirk some of the more basic choices. Next, f?rinstance, what race are you? We don?t even know that yet, do we??

?Aha, I?ve been able to narrow down that choice!? said Generic Volvo smugly. ?I shall be an extant race. The extinct ones don?t fight so well.?

?Fine, fine. That leaves the most important decision of all if you?re planning to romance anyone. Have you decided on your gender? And don?t say you?ll just use the gender-bender belt if you want to change your mind later.?

?Again, my dear sisters, there are so many tempting options! I can go for you, Imoen, if I?m male or female. That Drow guy in the Underdark also isn?t fussy about gender. But I have to make the right gender choice now if I?m to get anywhere with this Anomen guy or that Jaheira schoolmarm.

?I?ve thought long and hard about this, and the only safe route is for me to be a straight homosexual lesbian hermaphrodite. Do they have those people here, or only in San Francisco??

After several more minutes Generic Volvo had a gender, race, class and alignment adequate to see him/her/it through the prologue, at least. G.V. also had appropriate weaponry and equipment. ?Nice touch, this, Sapphira,? said G.V. ?Clever idea to give me a sling that shoots fire arrows and a mace with a Vorpal blade. I especially like the halberd that turns into a wand of angina pectoris.?

?Let us be practical before we depart,? said Imoen. ?We need more XP before we leave the safety of wherever we are. I have arranged a fight that will take us all up a level or two. We?re going to take on a Single Mother Fitness Instructor Wyvern With PMS.?

?How on earth? um, how on Toril are we going to take on such a fearsome beast?? whimpered Generic Volvo.

?Easy,? smirked Imoen. ?We?ll use CLUAConsole:CreateItem(?Claymore_Mine?).?

?Isn?t it wrong to have double quotation marks inside double quotation marks?? asked G.V.

?No, the quotation marks inside the CLUAConsole bit aren?t punctuation marks, they?re required programming syntax.?

?Fighting a wyvern? Do we have to go now?? The whining, squeaky voice drifted in through the window. ?I?ve never walked this much in my whole life! My legs are just uncooked pork sausages, all blotchy and shapeless. Can we rest soon and then go to a gym to buy some muscle tone??

?Aerie is going to be a problem,? muttered Sapphira through gritted teeth. ?She?s such a wuss that she has to rest every two miles.?

?We?ll fix that by giving her some Shoes Of Walking Quite Far Without Much Effort,? said Imoen.

?How do we get shoes like that??

?CLUAConsole:CreateItem(?Nike?).?

?Great! But I have an even better idea for getting us around the Realms quickly,? chirped Generic Volvo. ?Let?s use CLUAConsole:CreateItem(?Harley-Davidson?)!?

?So it?s agreed then,? Imoen sighed after a few more minutes of rambling argument. ?We kill the premenstrual wyvern, level up, then head for Nashkel.?

?Wait!? interrupted Anomen. ?Shouldn't you all be making for the Friendly Arms Inn first??

?That?s not necessary since they set up their networked franchises,? Imoen told him. ?We can use any of them ? the Friendly Arms itself, or the Amicable Legs in Beregost, the Cordial Breasts in Baldur?s Gate, the Congenial Sideburns in Ulgoth?s Beard? or we can go straight to the Sociable Earlobes in Nashkel.?

[Scipio]

"We're leaving for Nashkel now before this thread dies of disinterest," said Sapphira, who had projected herself into the leadership of the group since the supposed PC, Generic Volvo, had proved to be as ineffectual as the political opposition in Zimbabwe.

"Choosing the party of six should be easy now that so many of the prospective members have left. Tarzan of the Apes has defected and become Tarzan of the Orcs. Mowgli of India couldn't get that far east but he's moved to Calisham as a tiger trainer. Bigfoot eloped with a frost giant. The French toast went soggy.

"Anomen's cohorts have all disappeared in pursuit of some con woman. She told them she could dual paladins into sorcerers and took all their money."

"Who's this confidence trickster?" asked Imoen.

"She's that new Tammy Fae Bakker mod."

"So who's coming with us?" asked Generic Volvo.

"You, me, Imoen, Anomen, Haer'Dalis and a lovely girl who offered to show us the way to Amn when we've finished up in Baldur's Gate. She says she can show us all the most interesting parts of the southern regions and the islands. Her name is Bohdi."

"So what's the schedule?"

"First we load up the Improved Items pack to give ourselves some potent weapons. Then we add the Flirtpack so that I can get my juices going again.

"Our first away match is against the Kobald Semi-Professional Archers just south of Beregost. Minsc is coming along as head coach, Aerie is the team mascot and Jaheira will also be coming to moan at everyone."

[Scipio]

"This thread is dead," said Fred, the red dread, from the head of the bed. "Nothing can revive it."

"Maybe there's just something that can," said the hero of the piece, Generic Volvo. "Let's enliven this fiction by inserting some fiction inside the fiction. I shall tell you all a story."

They gathered around, sitting on their own or each other's haunches as the mood toook them.

"Once upon a time," began Generic Volvo, "life began in the oceans. So does this uplifting tale."

And this is what he told them:

The captain gloomily surveyed what was left of his catamaran. A huge swell had split the vessel in two, snapping the central deck like a big board being broken in half. The sea had literally shivered those timbers. The shattered deck was now so much flotsam drifting away to the horizon. One of the two hulls had sunk below the waves. In spite of certain beliefs to the contrary, this is where most things go when they sink in the ocean.

Now the captain had only half a boat. Luckily it had a mast, a rudder and a keel. It appeared to be completely seaworthy.

He plotted a course for Thailand, many hundreds of sea miles to the west. If you're wondering why they use "sea miles" in sea stories, do you really think they would use "land miles" unless they were cruising along the ocean floor in a waterproof bulldozer? He needed money to buy enough bits to rebuild his catamaran. The easiest way to do this would be to pick up a load of drunken, womanising, whoring businessmen at a conference in Phuket and take them back to Darwin, Australia (not to Darwin, middle of the Kalahari Desert, because catamaran hulls don't travel so well through sand dunes).

They were a moneyed lot but a most unpleasant bunch. The last lot I'd want my daughter to meet in search of a husband, he mused. Already they had tried to cajole him into giving the Gulf of Tonkin a miss and heading straight for the Gulf of Bonking. He was in a difficult enough position already with half his vessel gone; he didn't want to be completely screwed.

At last, after several unpleasant weeks at sea on a strange-looking yacht packed with scheming, fornicating, slimy businessmen, the captain and the vessel made port in Darwin.

"Anything to declare, mate?" asked the customs officer.

"Not mate, captain," he replied stiffly.

Then he looked at the vile bunch of passengers he had been carrying. "Yes, Officer Bruce, I actually do have something to declare, " he declared. "My half a craft is full of heels."