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     If you ever have trouble thinking, I can definitely tell you that 
having a gun to your head clears your mind tremendously.  I'd really 
recommend it, except for the fact that it usually means you won't be 
living very much longer.  Also, you tend to do most of your thinking 
about how to get the gun away from your head.

     I digress.  Let me explain how I learned that little fact.  I had 
just finished washing my hands in a nearby puddle after taking a leak.  I 
straightened up and had the distinctly unpleasant experience of feeling a 
metal barrel poking the back of my head.  I hoped whoever it was hadn't 
just watched me...you know.  Maybe Espirita was just playing games with 
me.  "That you, Espirita dear?"

      The deep chuckle told me it wasn't.  "I'm not your little senorita, 
compadre.  Now you're coming with me and you're going to hand over your 
little cinnabryl shipment and then I'm going to ride out of here a rich man."

      I sweated.  Well, some more.  Out here in the red lands, it's hot 
as hell.  Actually, it's hot as hell back home in Cinamarron County too, 
but all these damn red rocks everywhere make it look like the whole place 
is on fire.  Okay, back home most of the rocks are red too, but it's not 
quite as bad.  This is the primal home of the Red Curse, after all.

     "Lemme guess.  You're an Inheritor?"  Bastards.  They always want 
all the cinnabryl for themeselves.  Of course, I guess if I was crazy 
enough to go around drinking crimson essence, trying to get more powers 
from the curse, I'd want all the cinnabryl myself.  As it was, I knew I 
could sell this stuff for a MASSIVE profit.  Not to mention I'd never 
need to go buy the stuff myself.  Yeah, I suffer from the Red Curse.  
That's why my naturally blonde hair is red, I look like I'm blushing all 
the time, and I have to have a cinnabryl amulet on me all the time so I 
don't grow extra legs, scales, or some other fun accessory.

       Still, it does have one major good point.  The legacies:  It 
screws you up, but it gives you power as well.  For a few minutes a day, 
I can gain any skill.  ANY skill.  And be good at it.  Speak any 
language.  Make anything.  Only problem is, it only lasts about fifteen 
to twenty minutes.  It's not much help when someone has a gun to your 
head, either.

       "Why don't you just go get your own cinnabryl?  I didn't spend 
months digging this stuff up just so you could..."  

       "Ha ha.  You stole it just like I'm about to.  Now let's move 
it."  

       "Drop the gun,"  a female voice said.  I thinked my lucky stars.  
Espirita!  I couldn't turn to look, but I knew it was her.

       "How quaint,"  the man said.  "You realize that you can't shoot me 
fast enough to keep me from shooting him."

       "Yes, but then you'll both be dead, and I'll get all the 
cinnabryl.  Not precisely the fate I'd have chosen, but at least I'll be 
rich."  Espirita smiled and flashed her white teeth.  That's one thing 
the curse doesn't touch.

       My keen hearing picked up on the sound of a gun being cocked.  I 
sighed.  More visitors.  Oh, did I mention I'm an elf?  Keen hearing is 
one of the many benefits, even if I never seem to hear ANYTHING I like.

       Espirita found a gun to her head.  Unfortunately, being human, she 
doesn't have as good of hearing as me.  A voice slowly said, "Drop the 
gun, softskin."  It sounded like a tortle.  They're human sized bipedal 
tortoises, in case you've never met one.  They're kind of rare outside 
the savage coast.  Whoever gave our homelands that stupid name anyway.  
Savage Coast.  Makes us sound like headhunters or something.  And of 
course, just to make things worse, I live in one of the 'Savage 
Baronies'.  Bleah.  Yeah, Cinamarron County isn't the greatest place in 
the world, but we're not primitives.

     "Miguel!  I was wondering when you would get here,"  the man said.

     "Well, if you'd listened to me, you wouldn't have a gun to your 
head, Pedro,"  Miguel (the Tortle) said.

      "And if Tomas had listened to me, he wouldn't have a gun to his 
head either,"  Espirita said.

      "Excuse me, but I seem to remember someone else who likes a little 
privacy for certain things!"  Okay, she was right, given the value of 
what we had...acquired from the orcs, I shouldn't have gone off alone, 
but I mean...sometimes you just don't want people watching you.  Privies 
have walls for a reason.

      Espirita blushed, though you couldn't tell it due to the Red 
Curse's effects on her.  Her legacy was bursts of speed.  I was starting 
to wonder why she hadn't put it to use yet.  

      Then another thought struck me.  "Espirita.  If I'm here.  And 
you're here.  Who's guarding the wagon?"

       "Cinnabryl doesn't just get up and walk away, you know.  Besides, 
the only thieves in the area are down here with us."

       "Thieves?  As if you didn't steal it from the orcs?"  Miguel said.

      "Oh come off it.  No one considers taking things from orcs to be 
stealing,"  I said.  At that point, I heard the sound of one of the wagon 
wheels squeaking.  It always does that when it first starts 
moving...starts moving?

      "Hmm.  If we're all down here holding guns to each other's heads, 
then why is the wagon moving?"

      Pedro laughed.  "A nice bluff, but I'm not that stupid."

      "I can hear it, you idiot!  I have excellent hearing!"  Why these 
stupid humans never seem to believe me...I don't know.

      Pedro started to say something, but then the flight of arrows 
descended upon us.  We all lept among the rocks for cover.  I got an 
arrow in the arm.  

      Up at the top of the hill that we were all part way down, was a 
group of ten orcs with bows on horseback.  We could see more orcs, 
stealing back the wagon-load of cinnabryl.  I took cover and got out a 
handful of sand.  Chanting a few words, I blew the sand towards them.  
I'm a magician by training, if not necessarily by deed a lot of the 
time.  Still, this is a fairly simple spell.  The sand blew up the hill, 
carried by magic.  Five of the orcs slumped over and fell asleep.  That 
left only five orcs to fill us full of arrows.  Wheellock pistols are 
nice, but they aren't worth much at this range.  If we charged them, 
they'd shoot us down.

      I was all out of sand too.  There was plenty of vermeil, the ever 
present red dust that practically coats everything in the red lands, but 
it wouldn't work.  Just like castor oil may look and taste like lamp 
oil...but you shouldn't use it in your lantern.

     I gestured at Espirita.  She started sneaking around, trying to 
crawl up through the rocks to get closer to them.  I saw Pedro was doing 
the same thing.  Miguel simply hid behind a rock and pulled into his 
shell.  He almost looked like one of the rocks, himself, except for not 
being coated with red dust.  I noted he had less of a reddish tint than 
the rest of us.  Probably from further west where the curse isn't so bad.


     After a few minutes, the orcs concluded that we weren't going to 
come out and play and rode off.  I sighed.  Espirita swore.  "Well, looks 
like we all wasted OUR time."

     Miguel turned to me.  "If you're a mage, why didn't you blast them?"

     "I wasn't expecting a fight, so most of the spells I had memorized 
were intended to make sure we didn't starve, could fix the wagon, find 
water, etc.  Given that this is a pretty lousy place to live in."  I sighed.

      Pedro said, "Well, we need to just track them down and get it 
back.  It should be easy to follow them.  I propose we work together.  
Otherwise, we'll never get the stuff back from the orcs again."

      Why not?  We'd probably all end up shooting each other, but at 
least we'd have a reason to now.  We'd need help getting the stuff back.  
The orcs would be more wary now than they were before.  

      It was a long, hot, unpleasant walk following the orcs, who had 
taken our horses as well as the wagon.  Miguel didn't seem to care.  
Tortles ought to bake in those shells, I'd think, but they seem to love 
the heat.  Pedro and Espirita, on the other hand, sweated enough for five 
humans.  I myself was fine.  One of the reasons I hadn't had many combat 
spells ready was I had stocked up on temperature control spells I spent 
last winter designing in preperation for the summer.  At least it meant I 
was comfortable.

     "So how did you find us anyway?"  

     "We followed you from Texeiras.  You didn't exactly hide your 
intentions very well when you headed into Terra Vermeila with a wagon and 
horses.  Unless you were going to collect vermeil for fun, you'd have to 
be after some cinnabryl.  No one comes here for anything else.  If you 
were government sponsored, you'd have had a larger group of people.  You 
had to be planning to steal some cinnabryl.  Either that or you're 
whacko, and you don't have a reputation for being insane."  Pedro started 
to spit, then decided he couldn't spare the moisture.  "If I'd realized 
you were a mage, I'd have gotten one myself, though.  I'd rather not mess 
with mages.  Too unpredictable."  He wiped the sweat off his brow.  "I 
take it Elves don't sweat?"

      Espirita smiled.  "He's not a magi for nothing.  Now if you could 
stop ME from sweating, maybe?"

      Oops.  I quickly got out the little clear crystal I needed for the 
spell and cast it on her, then lied and said, "Well, I only memorized 
that twice.  Now I'm out."  Better to let Pedro sweat for getting us all 
into this.  

      We kept on into the night, and soon located the Orc camp.  Luckily, 
a large group of orcs leaves blatant tracks in Terra Vermeila, due to the 
massive quantities of red dust everywhere.  The wagon slowed them down, 
or we might have had to chase them a very long way.  We found a pile of 
rocks up on a hill overlooking their camp near one of the rare streams.  
Hiding amongst the rocks, we observed their camp.  There were about fifty 
orcs, scattered along one side of the river.  They were busy cooking 
dinner and pitching tents.  Probably stolen, since they had the heraldic 
sign of Texeiras on them.  Unless they were working for...naah, the 
Texeirans would never hire orcs.  Get robbed by orcs, yes.  Hire them, no.

     Pedro said, "Hmm.  We can probably sneak down and try to steal the 
wagon if you can create a diversion with your magic.  They've got 
guards...but orcs aren't too bright."

      I tried to think of a diversion.  I had a few spells left.  One 
for creating food and drink.  One more for temperature control.  A 
disguise spell that I always carry.  A spell that summons a magical 
umbrella.  A flight spell.  Conjure Ice Cream Sundae.  A spell that 
summons a tent and some cots.  Piethron's Flaming Darts.  That was it.  
Hmmm.  The tent...that could have potential.

      "Okay.  Go get into position.  The falling tent will be your 
signal to move."

      Pedro blinked.  "The what?"

      "Trust me.  You'll know when to move."  I cast the flight spell 
first and flew into the air, hoping the fairly dark night would keep me 
unseen until I was ready.  

       It did.  Soon, I was over the middle of the camp, about a 
hundred feet up.  I cast my disguise spell and took on the image 
of a small thrush, then I cast the tent summoning spell, putting it 
at the edge of the orcish camp, away from the wagon and horses...and 
about 100 feet over the camp.  Several orcs got clobbered by the 
falling tent and the whole camp went into an uproar.       

       I followed this up by summoning the umbrella and letting it gently 
fall downwards.  The orcs started filling it full of arrows.  At this 
point, multiple gunshots went off inside the camp.  The orcish horses 
started panicking and running everywhere.  It was at that point that I 
realized we hadn't come up with a decent way to prevent them from 
pursuing us.  I felt like an idiot.  The wagon was in motion through the 
camp.  I could see Pedro and Miguel driving it.  Espirita vaulted over 
the side into the back, cutting down an orc trying to leap into the 
back.  Miguel flung a bolt of fire from one hand at another orc, who 
collapsed.  Well, now I know his legacy, I thought.  I wonder what 
Pedro's is.

     More diversions.  An array of hams, vegetables, beef, wine, and 
other of my favorite foodstuffs rained down on the orcs.  Some stopped to 
eat.  Others just got hit in the head.  The horses...I had to do 
something about the horses.  I flew low and fired off my gun, hoping to 
further panic them.  They bolted further.  That would have to do.  I fled 
into the air, hoping none of the orcs noticed the thrush.  Time to go 
catch up with the others while I still could.  

      I flew as fast as I could and managed to catch up.  My spells soon 
wore off, just as I managed to land in the back.  "Very good, amigo,"  
Pedro said.  "I just hope we can get a long ways off before they gather 
their horses."

      I dug through the back of the wagon.   My spellbook was where I 
left it.  I thanked the gods.  It had taken me years to research and gain 
all these spells.  I started paging through it.  What's the best way to 
get rid of fifty orcs.

      Miguel leaned back.  "I hope you find something good in there.  The 
horses do not want to keep this pace up much longer, I think.  Soon, they 
will need rest."

      I looked around at all the dust the wagon was kicking up.  Stupid 
red vermeil dust.  Only thing it is much good for is making...smokepowder.
The beginning of an idea crept over me.  I searched through the wagon.  
It had just what we needed.  Steel Seed.  The other half of 
smokepowder.  It's commonly dug up with cinnabryl.  They occur together 
for some reason.  I don't know much about alchemy.  Normally.  I 
concentrated for a moment and I did know.  Everything.  Time to make a 
REALLY big boom.


      We halted the wagon while I made my preparations.  I had to write 
down what I would need to do to detonate it after mixing it all up.  Once 
my legacy wears off, I forget it all unless I write things down.  The 
orcs charged across the plain.  They wouldn't know what hit them.  A 
large chunk of plain between them and us was now probalby one of the 
biggest mixtures of smokepowder ever made.  

       The orcs charged forward, firing arrows.  We took cover as best we 
could.  I wished I'd had time to memorize more spells, but I would have 
had to sleep and we didn't have time for that.  The orcs came closer, 
closer...right to the edge of the smokepowder.  I cast my spell.  The 
flaming darts flew forward and detonated the smokepowder.  The night lit 
up like the autumn lights celebration in Slagovich.  My head rung with 
the sound of the explosion.  I hope to never see the like again.

       The orcs fled.  That was too much for them.  We cheered as they 
ran.  "Nice job, magus,"  Pedro said.  "Now we just have to get back to 
Texeiras alive."

       "What else do we have to worry about?"

       "Bandits.  All the armies wandering around here looking for 
cinnabryl lodes.  Claim jumpers.  Dragons.  Who knows what could happen."

       I smiled.  "You two trying to steal the wagon in the night?"

       "Y..No, no, of course not!"  Pedro sweated some more.  "I have no 
desire to blow up like that...or worse."

       I wondered if I could trust him.  Probably not, but if he was 
afraid of me, that might work just as well.

       I sat back and cast my last spell.  Conjure Ice Cream Sundae.  It 
was time to relax.  I kicked back and started to relax.  Of course 
Espirita stole half of it, but hey, ya gotta make sacrifices for love, ya 
know?

       So did we get back with the cinnabryl?   I wouldn't exactly be 
telling this story if I died, now would I?  Or wearing these nice 
clothes.  So you really, really want to know the rest?  Well, buy me 
another round and maybe I'll tell you...

Finis.

Author's afterword:
This is set in the AD&D Savage Coast setting, part of Mystara, one of my 
favorite fantasy worlds.  I tried to explain the most important stuff...I 
think :)

I might write more with these guys eventually...I just had to get them 
out of my head and on paper. 

Enjoy!  No weighty themes or anything, just a little light frothy fun :)





John Walter Biles :  MA-History, Ph.D Wannabe at U. Kansas         
ranma@falcon.cc.ukans.edu      bailesu@komodo.hacks.arizona.edu  
http://www.hacks.arizona.edu/~bailesu/falcon.html 
http://www.dhp.com/~wraven/john/index.html
"It's good to kill the King."  "I still think the Saxons should have 
put a higher price on our heads.  I'm more valuable than 25 librum."
--Frequent quotes from our PENDRAGON sessions.