The Quest for DEP - Men of Terra

January 4, 2002

Server One Banquet Hall, October 1999. Originally collected by the old Tarakian Library.

Bale (#3195)

If you think you're cool, check out:

www.lonemantis.com/tmot/ Editor's note: Dead Link now.

And you'll realize how wrong you truly are...

Now, where the heck is my DEP...

Greased??? You still have it?

Greased (#17

You mean YOU don't have it?

My god... this could only lead to...

THE QUEST FOR DEP!

Greased,

Feeling naked without that DEP glueing back his hair... Not that me being naked is a bad thing. Actually, you'd all probably like it. STOP STARING AT ME!

January 4, 2002

Tzimfemme (#843)

Tzimfemme loved the new underground tunnels Angel of the Net had zapped into existence, despite the warping of the Terran world-view every time he used his unique talents. Now she could work during the daytime without fear of the blistering sun. Looking among the earthen walls, she re-arranged the glow worms to better light the nodes which clung to the tortoise tree taproot.

This was her most secret hoard of nodes, holding exactly the amount of mana needed to cast Wish. By day and night they recharged, were drained just as they filled, and began again. Each node sparkled with magic energy. It was time.

Tzimfemme held her hands, palms upwards, to the nodes and began chanting. The nodes spun faster and faster, flared with light, then slowed to a near-stop. In Tzimfemme's outstretched hands appeared a small plastic container, less than a quart capacity. She looked down at it with astonishment.

"What is this?" she asked aloud, clicking the spout open and shut. Some odd gooey substance forced its way out of the spout. Tzimfemme tried to shake it off of her hand, but the substance held fast. It didn't smell like anything she could place, but the odor wasn't quite unknown to Terra.

"Yuck," she muttered, wiping her hand off on a nearby glow worm. "Another weird item from another plane, I bet. Another warping of reality, courtesy of Angel."

The light in the cavern rippled. Tzimfemme turned back to the wall, watching every other glow worm cluster around the gelled one, waving their glowing tails in what looked like a 'wave'. This was suddenly one popular glow worm.

Realization hit Tzimfemme, and she dropped the container and fled from the chamber, vowing never to return. What went wrong, she was uncertain, but something had definitely gone VERY wrong. How could a card-carrying Women of Terra member possibly have conjured up a bottle of that most mystical hair gel?

And what were the Men O' Terra going to do to her when they found out what had happened to their Special Item?

January 4, 2002

Tzimfemme (#843)

Several hours later, when night had finally fallen, Arethusa bubbled up from underground to make her daily report. After much searching, through the empty main court, town square, and field of rubble, she finally found the mistress of the realm piling up a mound of dirt over a secret passage. She couldn't help noticing that Tzimfemme was in a blind panic. She also couldn't resist baiting her.

"Wow, what's the world come to these days when an archmage has to do her own shoveling? First that stint in the Banquet Hall manure and now this. Are you aiming to be a gravedigger or what!"

"Shut up and start shoveling," said Tzimfemme, without looking up. "We have to get this buried fast, before anyone else comes in." She finally looked up, tossing yet another chunk of dirt onto the mound. "Damn, it's you, you can't shovel. Could you go underground and erode the tunnel so that it collapses?"

Arethusa sighed and melded her watery form with the ground. She came flying back up less than a minute later, rippling with shock.

"Wh-wh-what's down there?" she chattered.

"You don't want to know. It's a mistake. The casting of Wish went awry," muttered Tzimfemme.

Arethusa stammered, "Did-did you wish for an orgy or something? 'Cause those glow worms are--"

"Shut up!"

"They're all lying in a great heap on the chamber floor, and if glow worms could ever look happy, these do. And one of them, in the center, is making a big fuss about being the only one who is REALLY three inches tall." Arethusa shuddered again, sending waves down to her feet. "What in the world did you DO to them?"

"I didn't do anything," wailed Tzimfemme. "What I got from the Wish did that to them! Don't you see why I have to bury it immediately!"

Arethusa interrupted, "And I have to go strengthen the borders of the realm. Immediately. I don't know what sort of power is in that. . .whatever it was. . .but I don't want to see the people who WANT to wield it!"

January 4, 2002

Tzimfemme (#843)

The next night, Arethusa had set several extra guards along the borders of the realm, even condescending to let Theodora and her sheep patrol the pastures. Rumors were flying around Terra about the loss of a Special Item, mentioned only parenthetically, but something dear to a guild named The Men O' Terra. Arethusa made the connection and flowed back to the overgrown field.

Tzimfemme sat on a stray segment of transport tube, morosely reading the arrow Angel of the Net had sent.

"Can't visit tonight. Many attacks to clean up after. They hurt my frogs! Just got new game for PC, can't wait to set it up in your kingdom. Hugs, kisses."

Arethusa disapproved of Angel, whom she regarded as a hopeless geek and clingy child, so was more than willing to interrupt Tzimfemme's brooding. "Who exactly are the Men O' Terra, because they're mobilizing themselves."

"They're the self-appointed studs of Terra," Tzimfemme replied plainly. "I imagine that they're going to rampage through this country if they can't other supplies of DEP. Although how could they not have back-up supplies is beyond me."

"Does Angel ever back up his supplies?" rejoined Arethusa.

"Of course not. That seems to me to not be in the male agenda. But I can't really compare Angel to the Men O' Terra. (sigh) Love may be blind, but it isn't utterly mindless," she added with a slight grin.

The glint of what seemed like a brilliant plan flashed into Arethusa's mind. The weeds which she was submerging speeded up their growth as the plan formed.

"Tzimfemme. . .why not douse Angel with this mystery substance? I'm sure it's bound to improve SOMETHING." How could it not, she added mentally.

<<<Noble readers. . .I really wouldn't mind if other storytellers (preferably ones who know the other BH characters better than I!) contributed to this string! I'm just trying to keep it within readable range. . .>>>

January 4, 2002

Bale (#3195)

"Listen, strange women lyingponds distributing swords is NO basis for a system of government. Sooo-preme executive power isderived from a mandate from the masses, NOT some farcical aquatic ceremony!"

Bale looked away from the peasant who looked like an old woman, shaking his head in disgust...

There was no DEP in this field, only muck.

Bale runs his hand through his tangled and unkempt hair, and sighs, and begins to replay the events of last evening through his head...

He remembers coming home from his 12th date of the night, and...

<weird, bell-like music>

uhhnnnnnn...

<weird, bell-like music>

Bale shakes his head. WAY to much booze was neccessary to get through that one...

That's it! That must have been when the DEP disappeared! It was on the counter... he was looking in the mirror... an hour went by... the DEP was GONE!!!!

Bale thinks back... there was a blue flash... Could that have been it?

Bale whips out his cell phone, and hits MEMORY 1.

"Greased! We have a situation! Meet me at the Hall of Suaveness... and bring the suits."

Bale hangs up the phone, a grim expression on his face. Time was running out...

January 4, 2002

Greased (#178)

"Greased! Greased!" The cries of a million diplomats representing all of Terra clamor for his attention.

Greased sighs, and murmurs in the ear of his herald, Insectorama. Insectorama nods, looks confused, nods again, looks confused again, gets whapped in the head, nods, nods, nods, then turns and announces:

"His Coolness can no longer listen to delegations from the hundred and ten guilds seeking to host the first annual 'Man o' Terra' games!"

Complaints and hisses and boos follow, but eventually, all the delegations trickle out of The Man's Party Palace.

"I dunno, Insectorama," Greased sighs. "Who woulda thought being The Man would involve this much work?"

Insectorama begins to speak -- but is cut off by the ring of the cell phone.

"Greased! We have a situation! Meet me at the Hall of Suaveness... and bring the suits."

"Ah, I dunno... my hair's a mess, and I'm still waiting on you to send me DEP. I can't go about Terra, riding my dragon and whipping up my mane without a fresh -- WHAT WAS THAT?"

A pause, and then, the horror spreads across his face.

"Greased what's the matter you look like my dad when he realized I could transform into a flea and like going down people's pants because it's --"

"Shut up. This is big. This is real big. Saddle up Smoke 'Em and bring out the suits. I'm off to the Hall of Suaveness."

"Yes sir!"

"And Insectorama!"

"Yes?"

"Bring me a hooded cloak... I can't have the Terran public seeing my hair whacked out. Be bad for their confidence in the world and all."

"Yes sir!"

"And Insectorama!"

"Yes?"

"Call in the rest of The Men of Terra..."

January 4, 2002

Cid

Cid and Wedge make it back to the Kingdom by the early evening, a few hours before sunset. Their hands covered in blood, sweat pouring off their faces, and large bags, which appear to be more then full, flung over their shoulders.

The women crowd around them, their eyes gazing passionately into Cid's strong, dominate, blue eyes. Wedge is forced to hold them off by weilding the large bag that was once slung over his shoulder. Blood started dripping from the bag, and the women fled, fearing they would end up on the recieving end of a blood bath.

Cid and Wedge quickly make for the castle, and proceed to Cid's private Chambers.

"That was some nice work back their kid," Cid says to Wedge while patting him on the back.

"Oh, those Empire mages were nothing, sir!"

"No, I meant with all those women. A horde of sex crazed females is much more difficult then taking on any one guild. You handled the situation rather nicely."

(Cid throws his bag onto the floor)

"Now what do you say we do with the bags, kid?" Cid asks Wedge, while grabbing himself a nice cold beer from the fridge.

"We could go through the remains and look for anything valuable........."

"NO, NO, NO, I've seen enough blood for one day. I am going to go grab a shower, and put on something else. Wedge, take those heads from the bag and add them to The Empire Wall of Fame. I believe Karkamel makes 11 now!" Cid slowly walks through the bathroom entrance.

"Yes, sir!" Wedge replies as he grabs the other bag from the floor and throws it over his other shoulder.

Cid turns on the bathroom light, and looks around puzzled.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?" Cid yells!

"What is the matter, sir?" Wedge asks curiously.

"Okay, I see Various hairsprays and moose products but still no DEP! I told those damn pages to go and get me DEP! So where the f_ck is my DEP!?!?!..................."

(Cid is interupted by the vibration of his pager!)

Cid checks the pager. He realizes it's a voice message and grabs the nearest phone............

"Call in the rest of The Men of Terra!" "Meet at the Hall of Suaveness!"

"My God, The Men of Terra are in trouble. This could definatley turn into a world crisis!" Cid yells, while grabbing his sword, and another beer.

He checks himself in the mirror. Quickly he splashes water on his face, washes his hands, cleans his ears, and blows his nose.

"Damnit, my hair is terribe! The once so beautiful, soft, golden curled locks are now dirty brown, tangled, and greased back with sweat. I can't make a public appearance like this, maybe if I was drunk, but this is only my second beer, DAMNIT!" Cid paces back and forth across the room.

"Sir, what is wrong, what is this crisis?" Wedge asks Cid with puzzled eyes.

"We will possibly have a Y2K problem in the coming months, but right now we have a Y2Dep problem. The DEP, it's gone! Not just mine, Greased's, Bale's, it's all gone. We have a DEP thief among us. I was hoping the day would never come, but Wedge it is time! Go to the vault, and grab me all of the TMoT, fullback, one size fits all baseball caps. We are going to need them to hide our shame!"

"Sir, may I come with you?"

"Wedge, you know the answer to that. You are not one of us, therefore I cannot take you. But don't worry about it kid, I need you to stay here and defend my Kingdom, can you do that Wedge?" Cid puts out his right hand towards Wedge.

They embrace in a manly handshake, and Wedge accepts the offer. Cid quickly runs back over to the fridge and grabs the rest of the two-four, they get the hats from the vault, and Cid is off.

"Y2Dep, here I come!" (I just hope Bale and Greased can hold on)

January 4, 2002

BelZpock (#16)

Sitting quietly in his meditation chamber, BelZpock awakes with a start to the sound of a rarely used device.

Its high-frequent buzz reaches from the deepest levels of his mountain castle, and even the immortal BelZpock is alarmed at this sound.

"This cannot be. We agreed not to use that unless something REALLY serious happened!"

Broken in his concentration on the scrolls of linear algebra spread before him, he sighs at the thought of knowledge that must be gained at a later time, before he hurries down to the source of the sound.

As he reaches the vast chamber that houses nothing but a high piedestal in the centre, with an ornate globe-shaped ruby perched on top, the buzzing ceases. The chamber echoes with the voice of Greased:

"We have an emergency - meet up at the hall of Suaveness!"

As the last of his message booms out through the hall, silence grabs a stranglehold on the castle.

BelZpock summons his assistant, a female dark elf magician given to him by Zaltais, and gives her a quick mission: "Get me the suit. I'll be in the transportation chamber. And hurry!"

As the dark elf bows and rushes to obey, BelZpock strides towards the transportation chamber, almost tripping on his pet pacifist resting in a passageway. On the way, he stops by a mirror, noting he needs another heavy dose of DEP to keep his hair looking as youthful as ever. After all, one does not live for eons without growing older.

So thinking, he passes by his most holy room - the DEP shrine. But even as he enters, he sees the horrible fact: he's all out of DEP! How can this be!

In distress, and with his hair in sudden disarray, he breaks out in a dead run to the transportation chamber, and quickly changes into the suit his servant has brought him. More used to wearing robes, emergencies sometimes call for proper attire, BelZpock muses to himself.

Checking to see what else might be missing, and finding nothing, he flicks the switch on a small globe in his pocket and disappears with the sound of air rushing in to fill the spot where he stood a second ago...

January 4, 2002

HawkAngel (#2771)

HawkAngel was busy relaxing next to the pool contemplating exactly what position he and Stiletto should try next when the cell phone rang.

Well that's not exactly true. A cell phone rang. HawkAngel, being a Man of Terra had several cell phones in order to keep his women straight. A-J had the number to phone, K-M had the number to another, N-T had another and U-Z had yet another. Of course none of them had been answered in ages due to the reconciliation between Stiletto and HawkAngel. The Man of Terra was being hard pressed to keep up with Stiletto's rather inventive mind.

Grumbling to himself and throwing on his silk bathrobe he rummaged through the attache case he kept next to him.

Much to his surprise the TMoT phone was ringing. Thinking back HawkAngel could only remember one or two times the phone had rung before. And fifteen minutes into those parties he didn't remember anything else.

Sighing with memories he prepared himself to turn down one hell of a party elsewhere to return to the party that was Stiletto.

"Hi, I'm here but I'm kinda bus....."

Out of the phone growled the voice of Greased.

"Hawk...we're out of DEP and we're all meeting in the Hall of Suaveness in fifteen minutes. If you could answer your phone once in a while..."

"Save it. On my way."

With that HawkAngel looked down at the very tempting Stiletto. But upon reflection he couldn't remember exactly the last time he'd seen his DEP. Having been busy with Stiletto he hadn't applied it in several days.

Turning swiftly to his lady love his kissed her, and then under his breath cast a simple spell to dress him in his black suit and trenchcoat.

Stiletto just as swiftly cast a second spell leaving the trenchcoat intact but turning the suit bright white.

"You always did look better in white"

"You know best dear" What am I saying thought HawkAngel....I'm becoming....domesticated! Ah well. A matter for another time.

Securing his black blade under his coat and donning his sunglasses HawkAngel summoned his faithful Wraith servant Kestrel.

"Kes, I need the Vamp warmed up and outside in sixty seconds or I'll turn you into a sprite!"

The wraith flew off in a fright and sure enough thirty seven seconds later the fearsome black car that was the Vamp was growling outside the Topaz Fortress.

Stepping in HawkAngel gripped the wheel and bared his teeth. Whoever had disturbed his week with his love was going to be in pieces when he was through with them.

Flooring the Vamp out of the courtyard HawkAngel left a trail of dust heading for the Hall of Suaveness.

January 4, 2002

Greased (#178)

Bale approaches The Hall of Suaveness. The road leading up to the glistening temple to coolness is lined by commoners, warriors, kings and not a few mages. All throw confetti and cheered his every step. Bale shrugs off many chicks' hands -- be they human, elf, dwarf and oh GOD, orc -- yet doesn't break a sweat. "Not again," Bale mutters, even as he flexes a pec to give the ladies something!

The Ladies' Man enters the Hall.

Greased flies in on Smoke 'Em, the biggest baddest dragon you ever did see. The people are torn -- run away in fright, or watch The Man land. "Not again," mutters Greased, not wanting any closeup pictures snapped. He orders Smoke 'Em to huff and puff, and the masses run away, but for a few brave souls.

The Man enters the Hall.

Like a piston of power, Cid steadily runs across the horizon and, much to the delight and awe of the returning witnesses, continues the same pace mile after mile after mile. He hears the cheers from afar. "Not again," Cid says without loss of breath. As he runs through a blizzard of confetti and a thunderstorm of "Huzzah! Huzzah!," Cid distracts the chicks by tossing replicas of the classic TMoT baseball cap, different from the original only in that it says "TMoT FAN!"

The Party Man enters the Hall.

BelZpock the Immortal materializes above the gasping masses, who don't know whether they should even lay eyes on the living god, wondering if they shouldn't bow to and worship his maleness. "Sigh... like always," he mutters. Fortunately, BelZpock is in a lighter mood, and doesn't strike the chicks crazy with a snap of the finger.

The Wise Man of Terra enters the Hall.

This exhibition, this Parade of Manhood, has nearly drained the people. How much more can there be? How much more can they take?

Fortunately, HawkAngel understands. As he races past the weary crowds in The Vamp, almost too fast for them to cheer yet not fast enough, HawkAngel screeches to a halt just inches away from a head-on collision with the Hall's portal. He climbs out and is nearly overcome with a mob of chicks, who simply can't allow yet another Man of Terra to leave them. "Not again," mutters HawkAngel, already exhausted but even so, still considering...

"BACK OFF, WENCHES!" screeches Stiletto from afar.

The Man enters the Hall, unmolested.

TA DA!

January 4, 2002

Bale (#3195)

Inside the Hall of Suaveness...

Bale paced back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, then he stopped. His capable valet, Mini-Sarah Michelle Gellar, bumped into his ankel, unnoticed.

Where in the name of all that is HOLY is the DEP? And where are the Men???!!!???

A loud noise from outside snapped Bale's attention to the door. The Front Portal of the Hall swung open, and in stepped Greased.

Bale sighed with relief, but it was short-lived.

"Bale!" shouted Greased. "Yours isn't the only one!"

Bale exclaimed in a voice of pure terror. "NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Greased tossed Bale his suit, which Bale hastily donned.

-note to self. You look DAMN good in silk!-

"Bale, the others should be arriving shortly."

And they did, but after they got there, they grew back to their regular height.

They were all here- those that had survived the last week of Uncoolness.

The Leader, Greased.

Bale, Himself.

Wise old BelZPock.

Smooth-ass Cid.

And...

WAIT! Where was HawkAngel?

A screech sounded from outside, followed by the slamming of a car door. The Portal swung open, and- A RED GLOW SLAMMED DOWN, BLOCKING HAWKANGEL'S ENTRANCE!

Confused, HawkAngel rebounded from the entryway.

"What the hell?" he exclaimed.

Greased and Bale made eye contact. They had been troubled for sometime, and apparently, the worst has happened. Ever since HawkAngel stopped answering his phones, the other TMoT had begun to wonder, if... if he had succumbed to a woman. They all knew how Stiletto's wiles could cause a regular fellow to forget his name, and now, THIS.

Bale looked to the other TMoT, and each gave a nod. Bale raised his voice:

"Computer."

"Yes, Bale?" a smooth, sensuous, and incredibly masculine voice replied.

-note to self. Let Elle McPherson finally record HER voice into the computer. Kill 2 birds with one stone. 1) she'll finally stop calling. 2) I won't be so damn attracted to the computer.-

"Computer, down shield. Let Hawk in."

The shield dropped, and HawkAngel ran in, a bewildered look on his face.

The TMoT sighed... an easy problem to deal with, really, we just need the...

The TMoT looked at each other. The crisis was worse than they imagined.

"OK boys", said Bale. "Let's get down to business. Greased said he had a plan. Greased?"

January 4, 2002

SatyrRider

And in a little- known slot of the hall, between a misplaced column and the wall, shadowed just enough so that anything within could not be seen except from less that 1 metre away, a crouched figure listened, watched, and waited.

January 4, 2002

HawkAngel (#2771)

Still not understand why he was rejected from the Hall of Suaveness at first HawkAngel cast a look around the room not paying attention to Greased who was busy outlining the plan.

Thoughts of Stiletto filled his mind...mmmm.....damn he missed her. In his state of mind (or rather state of out of his mind) he saw SatyrRider hiding in the corner and pounced on him pinning him to the floor.

"AH HAH GUYS!! I think we have our first lead"

January 4, 2002

Greased (#178)

The Men of Terra sit about the table. Rock music and booze served by scantily clad maidens provide atmosphere.

"Greased, you said you had a plan?" Bale wonders, downing a shot.

Greased kicks back in his chair, plants his boots on the table, downs his Jack, and says, "Ah, that's like mother's milk!"

The Dudes look on.

"OH! A plan! Yeah... here it is:

"We find out who took our DEP, we rampage through all male obstacles, and seduce all female obstacle, be it Moon herself! And then, we win, like we always do."

TMoT considers for half a second, and in one voice call out, "AYE! LET'S DRINK TO THAT!

Five days of straight drinking later...

"You know," says Greased with only the slightest swoon, "we don't look all that bad, coshidering we have no DEP, haven't showered, an' have been drinking ourshelves shtinky."

"Agreed," decides all!

January 4, 2002

Bale (#3195)

"Aye" grunts Bale, and abruptly falls to the floor, snoring loudly.

Sighing, Mini-Sarah Michelle Gellar throws her studly master over her capable, though stunted, shoulders and brings him to the Capsule of Rejuvenation, located in the back of the Hall.

Mini-SMG places hermaster facedown in the Capsule, and closes the lid, pressing the start button as she walks away.

As she leaves the Capsule Room, Bale is pumped full of Snapple Iced Tea, and Lo-Fidelity All-Stars, featuring Pigeonhed, blares from its inner speakers.

5 minutes later, Bale strides back into the main Hall. The other Men take their turns.

Bright eyed and all that, they mercilessly interrogate SatyrRider. Finding no news of the DEP, they realize one thing.

They are too slim in numbers. They needed another TMoT.

Greased shouts, "Let's have a contest!"

BelZPock, in his infinte wisdom, agrees.

The RULES:

48 hours from now. ONE MAN will be chosen.

You must post a story that tells us how INCREDIBLY COOL you are. Why you should be ALLOWED to join the ranks of the TMoT. And it HAS to make ALL of us laugh so hard that we cry for the first time in our studly lives!

We reserve the right to choose no one.

LET THE GAMES BEGIN!

January 4, 2002

SatyrRider (#7258)

SatyrRider, beaming, starts,

"Thank you! I was actually hoping someone would find me so I wouldn't have to start!" SatyrRider exclaims.

Seeing the doubtful look on HawkAngel's face, SatyrRider strives to clarify himself better.

"Excuse me, I work for the Alizzi 'Outrider,' a weekly publication that provides the news around Terra to thousands of Archmagers worldwide. Since this is the latest, greatest development within Terra, and I am the Editor and Reporter-In-Chief of the 'Outrider,' I would be very obliged if you and the other MoT would allow me to ask a few questions..."

SatyrRider pauses, looking hopefully at HawkAngel.

January 4, 2002

Corvus Corax

Sir, GOTMA #2,598 is reporting Movement from Subject "LM"

Your Highness, GOTMA #6,983 is sending an algorithm reporting that subject "WM" is active.

President, GOTMA #504 has sent a Stripper-O-Gram to strip the message that Subject "PM" is mobile

Sir, GOTMA #438 sent a Bard to Sing that Subject "TM2" sorry scratch that, Subject "PWM" has put on his pants

ALLFATHER! I've received conformation from GOTMA #1 Subject "TM" is Flexing, I repeat "TM" is Flexing!

Calm down, agent this isn't the first time we've had this happen. It's probably just another kegger. Go to Yellow alert, have the supply team prep for dust off.

Yes, your Highness

Corvus Corax turns to contemplate the Atlas of Terra so thoughtfully provided to him by Elvish Presley. He watches as the symbols on the map start to converge for a single place within the lands of The Alliance.

Agent, activate all Groupies Of The Man Association in the Kingdom of the Alliance. They are all converging on the Hall of Suaveness. I'll be in my ready room. Report to me any changes in status.

Yes, Sir! Activating reserve GOTMA's now.

Corvus, barely heard him as he passed into his ready room. Some thing about this disturbed him deeply. He could not put his finger on it put it felt as if a fundamental part of reality were missing. At times like this he wonders WHY he ever agreed to become the "President" of the Greased Lightning Fan Club. It seemed so innocent at first he can remember it as if it were yesterday.

<<BEGIN FLASHBACK>> (Doodlely, do, doodlely do, doodlely do!)

Yo, Corvus, My, MAN!

Greased, always a pleasure to see you what brings you to the City of Splendor?

Well Corvus you are well known for your loyalty and honor and after talking with Vatec and Mordain I've decided to come to you to ask a favor.

A Favor? From me? My this is quite a surprise! What can I do for the Purveyor of Truth?

Do you have somewhere we can talk privately?

Sure follow me.

Corvus turns and behind a curtain there stands a glowing portal. Chanting a few words in his native Tslagi, a language dead and forgotten the portal shimmers and opens.

This way.

As Greased steps through he asks, "What is this place?"

We stand in the most Holy Part of Tarakia. This is the original home of Hogfather, Founder of the Tarakian Guild. It was in this very chamber that I met Hogfather shortly after our first reincarnation from Hell.

Whoa, Dude. That's like Deep.

So anyway what to you need?

Well, Frankly I'm having problems with the ladies.

YOU, Having problems? as Well endowed as THAT and you have THOSE problems.

NO, no, no no no GOD no! I'd kill myself first! The equipment is in tiptop shape. However I'm finding it harder and harder to find the time AND privacy to work my Mojo with the "Babe of the Moment". After speaking with V and Mordain they said you were the man to see. I need a place to go where I can have some privacy.

I see, I see, as it so happens I have been studying the nature of Terra and how it differs now from the Terra I remember after reincarnation. What I have determined is that whatever event that destroyed Terra during our first lives did more than destroy the planet and kill 99% of all mages. It seems that that Armageddon has tore a rip in the very fabric of Reality. I have so far located THREE other Terra's like ours but subtly different. During this research I have learned how to create one of this "rips" in a controlled manner. As such I have created a Room that exists neither here nor any other Terra but BETWEEN them all.

DUDE! That's terrific, it sounds perfect!

However there is a problem I can only open these rips in certain locations. As of now I only have a few mapped out. The best location that I know of is near the SilverFang Forest. But there is nothing around for miles but open fields. It would make hiding it almost impossible. I tell you what give me a week to make some preparations and I'll work things out.

C. My man that's the best, you ROCK dude!

A week passes. During this time Corvus picks a fight with a mage known as MagusX. As part of his defense he "spontaneously" creates the "Greased Lightning Fan Club" and declares himself president.

Following up this declaration Corvus constructs the Greased Lightning Fan Club HeadQuarters, "GLFCHQ" near the SilverFang Forest.

Soon after Greased receives a call asking him to come to the City of Splendor.

Greased!, Glad to see you I think you'll be quite pleased with what I've done. Also I've something to show you. Let's go.

Corvus teleports the both of them from the AllFathers Throne Room to the President's Private study in the GLFCHQ. Sitting there was a STRIKINGLY handsome man admiring himself in a mirror on the wall.

Greased, I'd like to formal introduce you to Bale one of my mages and the Minister of Ass-Kicking. He has been working with me to find uses for some of the items I have discovered in my "rip" study.

Dude, you are looking Fine!

Thank you, you look Very studly yourself.

The mages clasp in a Bond that shakes the foundations of Tarakia.

Anyway, without further ado I would like to show you to the Realm I created that I have christened, "The Nookie Palace!"

Corvus then walks straight towards a wall and promptly vanishes!

Bale turns to Greased and says "After you"

Greased walked through the wall and found himself in a lavishly furnished room with no furniture but pillows and mirrors everywhere. The room contained no exterior walls or ceiling but instead a hazy pink glow providing a VERY romantic lighting.

I hope you approve of the decor. I followed Bale's recommendations. He has quite the reputation with the ladies himself. You will find a Full Salon style bathroom with all the necessary equipment for grooming including sauna, Tanning beds, Jacuzzi, Showers etc.... The entire place has a full fidelity sound system voice activated. Over there you will find a fully stocked Bar containing all manner of liquor and prophylactics. Over here a dimensional closet contains all manners of costumes, equipment and restraints. If there is anything else you need I will be more than happy to provide it.

However I think you will find this to be the most startling discovery. Bale found a use for this substance that I discovered during my research. It is a gel like substance that I call "Dimensional Ectoplasmic Poultice" But Bale just causes it "DEP".

It has no magical properties that I can find but it seems to function much like the magic item "Cosmetics" but the Power is multiplied by a factor of at least a thousand. The strange thing is that it causes different reactions in the two genders. In most weak-willed males it causes Envy and Shame in others it causes effects that range from Respect to Awe. In women it causes MAD, adoration for the wearer.

Yes but how do you apply it? I already have oils to Grease my fine physique!

Ah no need for that. I'll have Bale demonstrate.

Bale reaches into the container and pulls out a small amount of the substance, rubs it into his hands and then runs his hands through his flowing locks. Suddenly it's as if he had changed, his muscles bigger, his smile whiter, his tan bronzer and his hair, his hair was PERFECT! Every move, every shake, of his head, not a single solitary hair out of place!

DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDDDDDDDEEEEEEEE!!!!

That is the MOST amazing thing that I have seen since the Dryad Triplets two resets ago!

I thought you'd like it.

However like the rips the obtaining of this substance is difficult. Where as for a rip you need location but for the Dimensional Ectoplasm it needs to be time. It seems that for some strange reason some of the "other" Terra's move TWICE has fast as our own! There seems to be some sort of Time anomaly in this space. This particular region is one of "slow" time it seems that for every DAY that passes here is only an HOUR back on Terra thus an entire week of fun and games will only take a day of your time in Terra! DEP seems to exist in an unstable region that cycles in what is "Hyper" time. I can start harvesting this material to keep a backstock supplied during the "dry" periods. But until we have sufficient reserves I suggest using it sparely!

Corvus, Bale, I'm touched, I really am. This is the greatest gift I have received since my mother gave birth to my immaculate Bod! I feel that we should mark this occasion somehow with a PACT of some sort.

I have a suggestion, says Bale quietly. I would be honored if I were to be able to refer to myself as "The MAN."

THAT'S it! We are now known as The Men of Terra! I of course am "The Man", Bale you shall be "The Ladies' Man" Corvus you shall....

Wait, wait a second, to preserve the secret of DEP and the Nookie Palace I should not be associated with The Men of Terra. Instead I'll work on building up the GLFC start to recruit agents to help protect the secret and keep you both supplied with DEP. Call me the Procurer. I'll be the mysterious supplier of DEP and other TMOT needs. After all I have an entire Dimensions of worlds to get whatever you need. Communications, clothing, liquor you name it.

That's it then you shall be, or rather NOT be referred to as the "Mystery Man" of Terra! Let the women of the world treble at our might approach...

Sir, Sir, SIR!!

Corvus shakes off the reverie returning to the crisis at hand. Touching the intercom at his desk he replied; Yes agent?

Sir, it's THAT line. The one you said was to never be touched or answered.

Ah, yes I was expecting that. I'll handle it from here. Activate the rest of the reserves, move to Red Alert and contact Gehn. I think we'll need his Investigation skills soon.

Yes sir! Right Away!

Corvus turns as a picture of on his wall shimmers and becomes the Face of Greased.

Corvus! Are we secure? It's an emergency!

Yes Greased we are secure What seems to be the emergency?....

To be continued,

Corvus, The MYSTERY Man of Terra

January 4, 2002

Nemesis

This once powerful mage formerly know as the reaver of souls(working for Satan had its benefits, but the death and dismemberment plan sucked rocks)was rather content with his existance outside of Hell. Until word came to him of a great tragedy that plagued Terra. Nemesis took his army away and had his squirrels gather his posessions. Leaving his kingdom to some caves in the wastelands of Terra. Knowing few were brave enough to enter this land he knew his most sacred posession was safe.

Many days passed and the Nemesis began to succumb to madness. Having his ghouls set up his tv was his first mistake, for now it only recieved two stations: QVC and TV Land. Not wanting the location of his prized posession to be discovered, Nemesis refrained from watching QVC and watched TV Land. Figuring that watching the old tv shows would make him fall asleep, he felt at ease. This feeling was stopped suddenly by a three month Brady Bunch marathon! Out of utter fear, Nemesis could not move from his chair. A week passed and he found himself singing along to the Brady's theme song. During the song he said "Hmm.....I never noticed before but Jans hot." His squirrels who have been guarding his most prized posession finally saw the torture their master has been going through. Most of the squirrels thought it would be best to kill him and end his misery but his most favored squirrel, Itchy, took a swig from the pouch of bubble wine on his hind leg and flew into the tv screen.

A day passed and Nemesis finally recovered from the terrible experience. Growing bored he turns on his 200 disc cd player. After days of listening to his favorite bands: Metallica, Korn, Incubus, Creed, Megadeath, Godsmack, Bizkit and Sevendust.....something terribly wrong happened. The cd player began playing Celine Deon and Spice Girls. When it reached Barry Manilo, Nemesis realized that Omga and Mithrandir had tampered with his cds again. Unable to stand it any longer Nemesis takes the scythe and slashes the cd player. In mid swing he remembered that scythes and electrical appliances dont go togethor, but it was too late. The electricity coursing through his body sent him flying across the cave. When the smoke cleared Nemesis shook his head and uttered "well that sucked." Checking to see if he was ok, he realized that the electricity actually gave him an awesome tan. In celebration of his new tan, he ordered the squirrels to get his emergency stash, 100 kegs of bubble wine. A huge party erupts in his army.

The party was a success, considering the only other things to do were to guard the posession and watch their master go insane. Many hours of drinking and celebrating passed until one of the lizard men told Nemesis there was an emergency in the dragon cave. Stumbling as fast as he could Nemesis reached the dragon cave and his worst fear had become a reality....."Its gone......What happened to my DEP!?!"

Itchy's twin brother, the 60ft dragon Twitchy(dont ask), told him that there was a grey blur that took the DEP. Looking in the direction the blur went a small figure could be seen shivering. Nemesis, still drunk, walks towards the figure and sees that its his squirrel Itchy. He seems to have fallen into one of the kegs of bubble wine and the shock made him run through the cave and into the DEP. The DEP mixed with the bubble wine and spines formed from Itchy's fur. Nemesis attempts to grab Itchy but the spines pierce his hand like Richard Simmons' voice in a room filled with fat people. In a blind rage Itchy kills 3 dragons and runs out of the caves. With the threat of a squirrel capable of taking out dragons unleashed on Terra only one thing is on Nemesis' mind. "That was the last known DEP in Terra." "I must seek out The Men o' Terra, perhaps togethor we can recover the lands lost DEP."

January 4, 2002

Bloodfang (#5477)

In a secluded corner of the vast world known only as Terra, lay a country that, though small by land standards, was the high seat of one of the most cunning mages of Terra. A black tower was seated at the very edge of a sheer cliff in the middle of the country. Overlooking the precipice below, it was the absolutely best place in all of Terra to take a shot at hang-gliding, had it not been for the Chimeras that populated the mountainside. Bloodfang looked with irritation at the steely grey sky above him, cursing loudly about the effects of that last Weather summoning spell.

His plan was slowly unfolding, however, and he had little reason to be cursing. TMoT was now the main topic at every tavern and inn throughout Terra, and many a whispered rumour was starting to circulate about the background to the recent course of events. He smiled maliciously and pulled back his long mane of silver hair as he leaned over the edge of the tower, looking down through hundreds of miles of emptiness and at the ground below. He used to "drop" things for fun from up here, whereupon he ordered his servant to bring back the remains. At least it was a good way of keeping the unemployment rate at a minimum. Usually, there wasn't even anything left to find, since most trinkets he dropped would catch fire as they entered the lower atmosphere.

Oh, things were going sooo well. TMoT were all incapacitated for now, probably not willing to risk their coolness factor by showing up without their beloved DEP. Boy, had it been a trick to get that Miscast magic spell of his to work as it should! Hundreds of mages that had used the Wish spell for the last couple of months had been ending up with shampoos, brushes, hair curlers, pomades, and even a rare case of a few hundred wigs materialising from all over Terra, as he, the player in the shadows, had refined his spell, coming ever so little closer to the goal with each failed attempt.

The wig incident had actually become the cause of a not so inconsiderable number of wars these last days, as some pretty DAMNED odd accusations were being thrown back and forth between many lesser magedoms. This was none of Bloodfang's concern however.

- Garuda! he barked. Prepare the EE, I'm going for a trip. Garuda had been a gift from his close friend Viper, though he had no idea as to what he was supposed to do with a manic depressive Fire Giant, except for, perhaps, as a mobile heater.

- You know you're gonna get killed, the brooding Giant murmured with a voice that made the very rock tremble with resonance. At this height, his flaming hide was reduced to merely a cozy glow that seemed to attract flies. How flies could survive up here was not an issue that Bloodfang wished to raise, lest some pretty scary truths would unfold before him.

- I am NOT going to get killed! the mage retorted irritatedly. The only reason to the last incident was the fact that I wasn't wearing a helmet. AND that you started the EE before I had the chance to fasten the seatbelt. So, just do it, no more questions!

- As you wish. The flaming monster paused. Can I have your Really Fancy Clothes once you are dead, master?

- What!! Get out of my sight, you overgrown firefly, or you're gonna have to learn how to fly really damned soon! The RFC are MINE and MINE ONLY!!! A mere mortal like you would perish if you garmented your sorry body with them! Besides, they AREN'T your size!

- Yes, yes... The looming creature made his way inside the tower, shuffling his feet as he did so.

Bloodfang remained, and waited impatiently, one foot tapping uncessantly on the hard stone floor. Suddenly, with a 'swoosh', the Terracom Inc. Express Elevator X3.900 Hyperdrive Version (bought at the extra favourable price of 300.000.000 Geld when purchased along with Terracom Inc. Express Flytrap X2000, a thing which Bloodfang had, as of yet, not dared to try out because of the explosion risk easily competing with that of a lesser Volcano Eruption), materialised before his eyes. This beauty was the only way to reach the ground down below and make a somewhat decent time. Carefully buckling his seat belt and donning his special helmet, he gave Garuda the sign. - Launching, the servant stated dryly. With a magically enhanced speed of mach 6, Bloodfang plummeted to the ground below. The transport's sudden stop in mid-air completely took the breath out of the unprepared shapeshifter. Recovering somewhat, he looked around, wondering what the hell had happened! Quickly, without wasting any precious time, he produced the receipt for the elevator, and examined it.

"Terracom Inc. Express Elevator X3.900 Hyperdrive Version. Guaranteed quality until these very letters fade, or we pay You Your money back.

Should You have any complaints, feel free to contact us at 666-T-E-R-R-A-I-N-C, or send a message via crystal ball."

Swearing loudly, Bloodfang fumbled with his cell phone and dialed the number. An overly friendly and cheerful voice that would have best belonged to a tour leader in a Red Dragon pit, answered. - Terracom Inc, good morning. What can I help you with? - Nothing, Bloodfang answered flatly as he watched with dismay at the magical receit where the letters were slowly fading away before his very eyes. He hung up. "Damned, tricked AGAIN!! Why do I never learn to get these kinds of things in the grocery store instead!" he thought to himself. He looked down. It was quite a fall... And the Chimeras seemed restless today, too. Oh, what the heck, he couldn't possibly get into troubles worse than those he were already having. So he jumped.

January 4, 2002

Tzimfemme (#843)

Three nights had passed since that awful Wish, and Tzimfemme had trebled the guards in her paranoia. Yet there had been no attack by the DEP-dependents, no retribution; for that matter, no one had seen the Men O' Terra since they convened. Not even hours of self-inflicted pain, an obsession which had manifested after confronting the death masks (and which she could never rationalize), could lessen her anxiety.

Tzimfemme had hung herself in the weedy field, the last piece of wilderness in her realm, feverishly calculating how to cram more nodes into the node-fields. With the loss of the underground system, several dozen nodes needed new points to balance upon. An arrow whistled overhead and buried itself in the crosspiece of the makeshift gallows. Tzimfemme reached up, savoring the additional disjointing of her shoulder, and retrieved the scroll. It bore the pink-tinted edges that marked Women of Terra correspondence.

"Our allies, our protectors, our local studs, the Men O' Terra--"

Must be a note from mazzy, thought Tzimfemme.

"--are refusing to speak to us. When I tried to 'drop in' on Greased, I was blindfolded and escorted out. If one of us has offended them in some way, the Women of Terra will not aid the offender if TMoT seek retaliation."

Tzimfemme sighed. So much for her hope of a decent burial. Arethusa was a capable second-in-command, but her liquid form did have limitations, and mages could not be laid in graves dug by peasants' hands.

She began to write a reply, but Arethusa flowed into the field, agitated. She formed herself before Tzimfemme, her new shape resembling an angel with sylph's wings.

"Tzimfemme! Something has poisoned the altar of--what are you DOING up there!"

Tzimfemme let her head loll. "Joining with the common criminals in death, why?" Why did she feel that urge to be so morbid? Armageddon wasn't going to happen for a long while.

"You didn't drink from the altar of Harmony recently, did you?" Arethusa queried. "You're acting strange like a lot of people are."

"No. Speaking of which, I better remove this," said Tzimfemme, taking the water of Harmony out of her coronet. The vial burst and showered upon the ground; moon jasmine sprouted from the moistened ground and began to spread its tiny lavender petals. "I'll go over there and investigate."

She reached over the crosspiece and undid the knot. Noose and mage fell to the ground together. Coiling the rope around her waist, she trudged through the field. Arethusa noted how three days without sleep had darkened the mage's eyes and outlook. She was almost worried enough about Tzimfemme to contact AngelotNet and allow him to enter the realm again. Despite the space-time litter he left and the paradigms he upset as easily as an overfull node, he could keep Tzimfemme from lapsing into these grim periods. Also, she thought with derision, he can't get any more messed up than he is, so he'll be OK with the foul water around here.

The altar of Harmony had indeed changed. Inside the ring of trees was a Bacchic revel, with hundreds of half-naked peasants chasing one another gleefully and making far too much use of the surrounding bushes. The flower fountain resembled one of the fantastic lotuses, and the water flowed much more slowly, dripping lazily from the newly formed stamens. Tzimfemme blinked twice and looked at Arethusa.

"When did this start, you say?"

"It was the morning after. . .you know. . .that little incident with the glow worms. You were busy scanning the borders and repairing the fortresses. You didn't hear anything anyone said. It's like as the rest of the realm relaxed, you got more uptight." Arethusa looked at the fountain. "Actually, it might be a good idea if you had just a sip."

Tzimfemme glared at Arethusa. "Would that be as good an idea as trying to dose Angel with DEP? WHAT were you thinking? I did a projection of what would have happened. . ." She shivered.

"Oh, what the hell," muttered Tzimfemme. "Life can't get any worse. And I'm an Archmage, not a peasant." She manuevered through the orgy, after detaching the hand of a peasant whose fingers had strayed onto her ankle, and explaining patiently to a goggle-eyed group that it was customary to cover one's body with clothing where she came from. . ."Which is where YOU also come from! I am the overlord of this realm, and as punishment, I expect to see you clothed throat to ankle for the next week! Bare your arms, or legs, or a bit below your neck, fine. Bare everything at once, NOT fine!"

As Tzimfemme investigated the strangely sticky water, Arethusa cried out as an arrow flew through her and landed in the zodiac bush. Arethusa retrieved the scroll and began to read the first edition of "The Alizzi Outrider" as Tzimfemme sipped the water of the former altar of Harmony.

January 4, 2002

Greased (#178)

Greased, with bleary eyes, looks at four empty chairs...

Two of the chairs had Zorak's, The Green MANtis, and Thane's, The Old Man, favorite drink set before it. They may not be of this plane anymore, but they remain TMoT.

One chair, with no drink set before it, awaits the contest winner, he (not she!) who would win the first Annual "The Man" Games.

And Mordain, who comes and goes as he pleases (as does all of TMoT, really), who has not deigned not to appear. Yet.

"URP!" declared Greased, rising from his seat. "Time to announce the winner... c'mon guys..."

"Oohhh...." moan all of TMoT, arising from their drink-induced stupors...

January 4, 2002

SatyrRider

Cover Story of Sunday's Alizzi Outrider...DTNWrepost

~~~~~~~~~DEP MISSING ACROSS TERRA~~~~~~~~

The Author: Archmage SatyrRider, #7258, Editor and Reporter-In-Chief of the Alizzi Outrider.

In the last few days, a disturbing occurrence has happened across Terra. It seems that all the DEP stored by many male Archmages, most notably the TMoT, has mysteriously vanished without a clue. DEP, a gel- like substance, is actually imbued with extreme magical properties that the author will not even bother sharing with the public because they would be so amazed that they would simply be petrified for a month. Since that would bar readers from enjoying several installments of the Outrider, the author kindly refrains from explaining DEP's effects. Suffice to say that they are, to say the least, spectacular.

Realizing that he is going farther and farther off topic, the author will go back to the story. All DEP in Terra has dissapeared, either by being stolen, destroyed, or some other cause. No DEP was safe, no matter how secret or safe the holding place was. Many ArchDetectives are on the job to locate the missing DEP; the Queen's Guard has been mobilized (much to everyone's chagrin), and the TMoT themselves, along with a smattering of admirers, wannabes, and the press, have met in the legendary Hall of Suaveness to mull over this very issue. This meeting is running as you are reading this article.

Reports as they come in in future issues.

January 4, 2002

Greased (#178)

Bale, BelZpock, Cid, HawkAngel and Greased stumbled out of the Hall of Sauveness and into the harsh light...

The people gasp! These once-proud specimens of maleness are pale, pasty, puffy. Their faces unshaven, their clothes rumpled, their hair running every which way, confirming the rampant rumors...

DEP is missing from Terra.

A great wail begins to arise, cut short by Greased's sudden bark.

"LISTEN! Yes, DEP is missing. Yes, we -- while still very masculine and attractive as compared to the rest of you wannabes -- don't look our best.

"BUT, as long as there is TMoT, there is hope!"

A great "HURRAH!" drowns out the gloom that had been creeping over the masses. "BelZpock will save the day!" cried one fan. "No way! Bale will! He kicks butt and doesn't break a sweat!" cries another. "Dude, Cid is the Best Man for the job!" cries yet another! "HawkAngel is The Man!" says yet another! And, very distincly, all hear Mazzy cry out, "GREASED I'M YOUR SEX KITTEN!"

All of TMoT acknowledges the crowd, and turn to go back in...

"WAIT!" cries SatyrRider, scribbling notes. "Whose the next Man of Terra?"

The Men of Terra look at each other, confused a bit. "Oh yeah..." murmurs HawkAngel.

They huddle up.

Bale approaches the podium. "Err... after much, uhm, consideration --"

"-- there were a lot of great entries, both public and private," yawns Cid.

"Yeah, uh, that's right," says HawkAngel, shrugging.

"Well, we finally decided on," BelZpock turns to the rest, whispering, "What was his name?"

"Uhm..." Greased delays, searching his memory. "Oh yeah! The next Man of Terra, who shall hold all rights and priveleges thus conferred, is..."

The crowd waits, anticipating.

Even the birds are quiet.

Hell, even the chicks are quiet! (This wouldn't be the case if the DEP disaster wasn't upon Terra, of course...)

"CORVUS CORAX!" calls out TMoT in one voice.

"HuRRRRAAAAHHHH!" calls out all of Terra!

"Cuz, dammit, he really spun a story that spun our heads!"

January 4, 2002

Greased (#178)

As they stumble back into the Hall, Greased realizes...

...ALL of the Women of Terra United guild were there, per usual. Mazzy made it an unwritten requirement of her mages, and never once had one of those beautiful babes missed a convening of TMoT...

...yet Greased, who knew all the mages of WoTU by face, noticed...

...Tzimfemme missing!

"Hmm..." considers Greased.

January 4, 2002

BelZpock (#16)

Having summoned his statistical scrolls of all spellcasting and attacking in Terra from his castle, and of course a few wagonloads of Jolt Cola along with it to clear his mind from the drunken stupor of a week's partying, the Wise Man of Terra sits down in his HoS study to check for unusual things.

Checking the statistics of this Terra compared to those of the previous Terras, he finds many peculiarities...squirrels overwhelming entire countries - or wait, it was ONE squirrel. Waitaminute...

After tracking this lead for hours, BelZpock eventually finds it to have a reference to the missing DEP, although not leading anywhere other than to a decision to track down that squirrel and investigate the effects DEP has on creatures other than Men of Terra.

Returning to his original study, he finds that special spells, rarely used, have begun to arise. They are very rare, but none of them seem able to do anything quite on the magnitude of the DEP bereavement. But as he out of curiosity looks up who have casted these spells, he finds two special cases: HawkAngel, the Man of Terra, has been seen casting more than one of these spells, and...interesting. VERY interesting.

Bloodfang seems to be the ONLY caster of the Miscast spell. (seeing a curious eye peek out behind a pillar, BelZpock wonders how that nosy little Allizzi Outrider correspondant manages to sneak into the Hall of Suaveness all the time. nevertheless, that thought lasts for about a millisecond before he sends SatyrRider out in the masses to get his news from there instead)

Looking up the time indexes for these events, he finds an uncanny correspondance with one casting of this spell and the time Bale first found his DEP to be missing. Not missing a beat, he backtracks the target of this casting, but suddenly his scrolls are...gone?

Befuddled and DEPless, it takes a few moments for BelZpock to gather his senses before he sees the arrow with a letter sticking out from a pillar near the window. It reads:

"Truth hurts. /Bloodfang"

THIS IS IT, BelZpock thinks. But, refusing to be blinded by anger, he fishes up the final scrap of evidence left to him: the vector of the misled spell, a wish. It leads towards the lands of the Women of Terra...

Greased! Bale! HawkAngel! Mordain! Cid! Corvus! Time to gather up our wits (whatever is left of them after that partying streak) and kick some BUTT!

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