Dingbat vs. the Bandit Horde
                            by Those Dudes


     A chill wind blew down the dirty alley in the city of Vermouth.
The still of the night was broken only slightly by the shrieks of the
victims (of the thieves or the town watch, it was difficult to tell
sometimes).  Suddenly a booted foot was applied to a wooden door 
opening onto an alley and a burly armoured man charged out into the
filthy side-street closely followed by another armoured and two 
unarmoured companions - and a goodly number of town guards.
     "Halt!" cried a guardsman and received a magic missile in the 
eye for his troubles.  This was taken as a sign of hostility by his
companions, who promptly opened up with heavy crossbows.  While one
of the unarmoured quarry had a seeming epilectic fit in his attempts
to dodge the shafts the armoured ones merely ignored them (despite the
fact that not a few buried themselves to the feathers in their backs).
The fourth member of the group, a spell-caster by the look of him, 
caught a good one in the posterior.
     "Yeowch!" he yelled, along with several unprintable orc expletives,
then he attempted to scrambled alongside the most rangerical-looking of 
the two armoured figures.  "You jerk Rodent!  If you hadn't taken offense
when that bartender said he didn't understand what you were saying, none 
of this would have happened!"  The warrior addressed, a ranger by the name
of Rodent, shouted back over his shoulder:
     "I would have apologized for cutting off his ear but he just would
have misunderstood THAT too!!  Anyone who leaves so many dangling 
prepositions could have no great amount of intelligence!  Anyway, the
constables wouldn't be chasing us if you hadn't tried to sleep them when
they came in."
     "How was I to know that Dingbat would take that opportunity to jump
up and spoil my aim?"
     "Duh, but you could have waked that old lady up before she drowned in
that beer!" groused the other armoured one, a paladin by the name of 
Playdough.
     "Darn rights!" added Rodent.  "That was my beer too!!"
     "Lucky I could hold them off, eh guys?" interjected Dingbat the monk,
jabbing the air with tiny fists to emphasize this.
     "Duh, hold them off!?!" cried Playdough.  "You tried to belt the 
commander of the watch before he even knew what was goin' on!"  (Though
it was doubtful that Playdough himself even knew...)
     "Yeah!" cried the spell caster, a wizard by the unlikely name of 
Sauramud.
     "Well put." snorted the ranger just as another volley of crossbow
bolts split the air.  Now, this volley would have caused little damage 
amongst the group but Dingbat chose to try monkish dodging again to save
himself and one wildly flying elbow clocked Playdough on the helm rather
solidly.  Caught unawares, the paladin responded as his paladinical 
training would have it, with senseless violence.  Playdough whirled and
brought the business end of his two handed sword downwards in a swift
arc.
     "Yuck." observed Sauramud.
     "Well don't just stand there you idiot!" shouted Rodent, pushing the
confused paladin at the monk.  "Heal him with your holy touch!  And be 
quick about it!"  He glanced over to where the constables were cranking
up the town ballista.
     "Duh, which half?" cried the distraught Playdough.
     "Oh for heaven's sake, here I'll hold this half up." offered the 
magic-user.  While Rodent snarled at the constables and kept them at bay,
Playdough touched the bisected monk.  Instantly he broke loose from their
grasp and began bouncing about chattering:
     "Lemme at 'em!  I'll tear their gizzard's out!"  but was subdued by
Playdough who grabbed the antsy friar and tucked him under one beefy arm.
"MMUUUMMPHHH!" said Dingbat, feet flailing wildly.
     "Come on!" yelled Sauramud, noting that the ballista was being 
cranked in their direction.  The party beat a hasty retreat, the wizard
leading the way.  There was an immense "Twang!" and a crossbow bolt the
size of a cruise missile blew in the side of the 'Gagging Wildcat Meadhall'.
In the confusion the foursome easily escaped, though they had to make for
Wartburg and the physician there immediately.  Playdough, it seemed, hadn't
thought to let go of Dingbat.  They all agreed that his face was a nice 
shade of purple but Playdough complained that his underarm still hurt from
the experience days later.  Dingbat was unsympathetic (after he stopped 
puking).

     Later that week as the party rode into a large village...

     "Duh, how long do we have to hide out in the country?"
     "Long enough." growled Rodent.
     "You hate town anyway.  You're always pissed off when we're there."
     "Heck, he's pissed off everywhere."
     "Shut up you two!  I'm a ranger!  I deserve more respect than that!"
     "Duh, well I thought that paladins got all the respect!"
     "Respect?" demanded Sauramud, voice rising.  "I'll tell you about
respect!  I don't get no respect!"  He adjusted his wizardly tie needlessly.
"Why just last week I was fightin' that dragon, and the ranger turns to me
and says, 'Hey, you're out of spells - go draw it's fire!'."  Sauramud 
squirmed and tightened his garish tie.  "I says to him, 'That ain't no 
fire breather!  That's a blue dragon!'  'Well, charge then!' he says."
Sauramud turned to a passing peasant.  "Get it?  Charge!  Blue dragon!"
     The peasant stared at him, open-mouthed.
     "Ignorant bumpkins, all of them!" scoffed Rodent, spitting on the 
poor peasant.
     Sauramud caressed a glass rod and mused, "Maybe if I blast his hovel 
with a lightning bolt it'll teach him some respect for his betters."
     "And maybe for YOU too!" piped Dingbat.
     "There!  See?  No respect!  Why just the other day..."
     "SHRIEEEEK!!" shrieked a nearby lady as a big greasy thug in studded
black leather armour attempted to molest her.
     "I daresay!  A damsel in distress does call!" cried Dingbat.  "Come
gents, let us go to her aid."
     "Let's not." warned Rodent.  "We can't afford to get involved in 
anything."
     "Duh, yeah." agreed Playdough, glancing nervously in the direction
of Vermouth and, presumably, the posse.
     "C'mon wiz!" called the monk, but Sauramud seemed to be suddenly 
absorbed in the task of picking a loose thread from his tacky wizardly
embroidery.  So before anybody could move to stop him, Dingbat sprang 
over to the screaming wench and landed a series of fatal monkish blows
on the ruffian.
     "You saved me!" cried the gratefull lass, kissing him full on the 
mouth.
     "E's a regular bloomin 'ero!" called someone.
     "Here son." said a wealthy-looking merchant, stepping forward and
handing the monk a sack of gold.  "Here's a thousand gold for saving my
daughter from that baddun!  And let me add that if you ever need a wife,
she's available, with a BIG dowry in your case!"
     "Heck.  T'weren't nothin'." said Dingbat in a suspicious baritone.
He adjusted his monkish sash and ground the toe of his monkish alligator
boots into the dirt.  "All in a day's work, sir and ma'am."
     "I hate to spoil your festive mood," said Rodent unassumingly (and 
just a bit gleefully), "But there are five more of those fellows up the
road.  And they don't look too festive."
     "What?  Just how many of them are there in this town?" asked 
Dingbat.
     "Counting the leader, Mad Dog Morag?" asked a peasant, wiping a blob
of rangerical saliva from his face.  "Dozens, sir."
     "At least FIFTY!" squealed an urchin.
     "Aye." said the merchant with the dowry.  "T'was a bad day when they
came to town.  Now they just camp on the edge of town and loot our stores."
     "And beat our women!"
     "And rape our men!"
     "Come on guys!" bellowed the friar to his companions.  "Let us right
the wrongs in this town!  Let us fight for the cause of JUSTICE!"
     "Perhaps your math is not as good as mine." said Rodent.  "I seem to
recall the number 'fifty' being bandied about."
     "But they're evil and we're good!" shrilled Dingbat.
     "I've been giving serious thought to this whole good/evil thing..."
mumbled Sauramud.
     "Duh, I don't see no evil." observed the paladin, averting his gaze
from the bandits.
     "For shame Playdough!" cried Dingbat.  "We must put an end to these
evildoers who serve no purpose in life but to cause anguish to poor 
defenseless on who they prey, looting and pillaging!"
     There was rousing applause from the rapidly gathering townsfolk.
     "Duh, but howscum when we do that to orcs and stuff it ain't evil?"
asked the paladin, scratching his helm.  Rodent sneered and backhanded him.
     "Gee mister, are you going to help us?" asked a tousle-haired little 
boy, gazing up at Dingbat with wide-eyed admiration.
     "Why sure son." he said, patting the youngster's head.
     "Not bloody likely." muttered Sauramud, edging towards his horse.  
The little boy immediately burst into tears.
     "Will someone shut that kid up?" snapped Rodent.
     "Oh you beasts!" cried the girl whom Dingbat had saved.  "All of 
you... except the noble Dingbat!"  She pulled the little boy to her ample
bosom and comforted him to the envious stare of the monk.
     "I'm sure his comment was in jest and not truly meant." said Dingbat.
     "Yeah, we're good.  I guess we gotta do it." grumbled the wizard 
charitably.
     "In the morning." added Rodent.
     "Can't we just get it over with?" growled Playdough, swatting at a 
large bug that had crawled out of his armour.
     "Yeah!" cried Dingbat, abandoning his baritone and bouncing up and 
down impatiently.  "Let's go right now!  Let's run in there and baff them
all!"  He took a mighty swing at an errant dustmote and just missed 
smacking an over-curious peasant lady.
     "We can't go today." explained the thaumaturge.  "It's already three
in the afternoon.  By the time we go there, kill them all..."
     "And loot the corpses." interjected Playdough.
     "...and loot the corpses," continued Sauramud with a nod towards the
paladin, "well, heck!  It would be dark before we could get back."
     "So?" prompted the monk.
     "Do you think I'm walking the streets of this town at night?  Not 
with _that_ ugly lot around!" he said, jerking a grimy thumb at the 
stupidly grinning townsfolk.
     "Well, I guess we'll stay the night." groused Dingbat.
     "Please sirs!  Stay at my inn!" called a townee, separating from the
crowd.
     "Why, is there any other to stay at?" demanded Rodent.
     "Why... no." said the man after a moment's thought.
     "Where is this inn kind sir?" asked the monk.
     "Just there." said the bumpkin, pointing up the road to a quaint 
building with a sign over it that read 'THE INN'.
     "Charming provincial name." muttered Rodent, brushing past the innkeeper
brusquely.  They entered the inn (decorated in early Judges Guild plain) 
and seated themselves at a table in the nearly empty commons room.  On the
wall was a chalkboard with a menu on it reading:

                              BEER  1cp
                              FOOD  5cp

     "Well, what'll ye be having gents?" asked the innkeeper shuffling over
with a pad and a quill ready.
     "I guess I'll have the food." sighed Playdough.
     "Oh gee, I'll just have what everyone else is having." said Dingbat
airily.
     "And you sir?"
     Sauramud was staring at the chalkboard, deep in thought.  "Haven't 
decided yet."
     The innkeeper turned to the ranger expectantly.
     "I suppose a wine list is out of the question." grumbled Rodent.
     "Why, no sir!" cried the innkeeper chipperly.  He pulled a card out
of his apron pocket and handed it to the ranger graciously.  Rodent glanced
at it for a moment.
     "Might have guessed." he snorted, tossing the card with:

                              WINE  2cp

enscribed thereupon over his shoulder.  After much deliberation they all 
had the same thing.
     "Oh look!  They's got icecream!" shouted Playdough gleefully, pointing
at a parlour across the street.
     "Hm," said Sauramud, squinting at the sign.  "Icecream.  Thirty-one
flavours.  Hm, let's see: Vanilla, vanilla, vanilla..."

                        Later that evening...

     The party, minus Dingbat, was seated at a booth in the tavern, enjoying
some drinks.
     "I hate light beer."
     "Shut up, it's less filling."
     "Well I say it tastes..." began one of them when they overheard a 
passionate female voice from the adjoining booth.
     "Oh Sir Dingbat!"
     "Sir?" mouthed Rodent, exchanging puzzled glances with the others.
     "Tell me what makes you such a marvelous warrior!"
     "Well ma'am," responded Dingbat, who's voice had again dropped several
octaves.  "I don't usually show this to people, but..."  There was a 
rustling sound, followed by a breathless silence as three sets of ears were
pressed to the separating wall.
     "Oh Dingbat!  It's so big!" gasped the girl.
     "Yes, isn't it?" said the monk proudly.  "Sometimes it's a burden,
though."
     "How did you come by it?"
     "I inherited it from my father, ma'am." laughed the monk in a manly 
sort of way.
     "May I hold it?" asked the girl timidly.
     "NOW JUST A MOMENT HERE!" shouted Rodent as he stormed around the 
corner into their booth.  He caught Dingbat in the act of handing his book
of Monkish Combat and Philosophy to the damsel of the afternoon.
     "Uhhhh, oh!  Yes, about that book." stammered a red-faced Rodent.  
"I've been meaning to ask if I could, uh, um, oh!  Borrow it!  Yes, borrow
it!  Of course!"
     "What?  You?" squeaked the monk.  "Ahem," he said, dropping his voice
back down.  "I mean, of course you may borrow it brother ranger.  May its
wisdom benefit you as much as it has myself."
     "Oh Dingbat!" gushed the girl as Rodent backed awkwardly away.  "You're
so generous!"
     "Yes." agreed the monk.
     "Yeah, right." muttered Rodent, staring at the cheap looking book.  He
held it between two fingers as if it were bathed in owlbear spit (which in
fact it had been once, but that's another story).
     "Anyway my dear, 'tis late, and if I - that is, we - are to sally forth
and do battle in the morn, we need our sleep." said Dingbat grandly.
     "Please, Sir Dingbat, just one more drink?"  Dingbat grinned smugly.
     "Nay lady, for I must keep my wits about me in your enchanting 
presence."  Attempting to bow Dingbat smote the table edge with his cranium
and staggered back, muttering something about a sneak attack and his 
monkish inability to be surprised.
     "Ignore him, my dear." urged the ranger.  "He's not used to intoxicating
drinks."  Then he noticed the scoop of vanilla in the last 'drink' they 
had shared.  "Oh, skip it!" he snapped, striding off to bed with the still
loopy monk in tow.

     The next morning, bright and early, the party slunk out of town.  They
had just evaded notice by one sleepy drunk stumbling home when Playdough 
suddenly stopped dead.
     "Ooofff!" said Sauramud, who ploughed his ample bulk into the paladin's
broad back and rebounded.
     "Duh, hey!  We're not in trouble here.  Why are we hidin'?" said 
Playdough.
     "That's right!  We're the good guys here!" Rodent cried.
     "Guys, we're in a rut." advised the wiz.
     "No we're not, this is a street." said Dingbat, moments before the others
slapped him around soundly.
     An hour later the motley looking group stood facing a small valley with
a large farmhouse.
     "There it is!" shouted Sauramud.  "And look at that!  The entire west 
wall could be brought down by one well-placed lightning bolt!"  He started
rummaging around for a glass rod to use in the spell.
     "Yes, oh mighty wizard," said Rodent sarcastically, "But yon domicile
is not our intended target!"
     "So what." said Sauramud, undeterred.  "It would still make a great
'dry run' for the bandits."
     "Now that's an idea." said the ranger thoughtfully.
     "There's the bandit hideout!" shouted the monk, jumping up and down
wildly.  "C'mon men!" he called, racing off to the nearby dark wooden 
building.
     "Come on men?" cried Rodent indignantly at the rapidly distancing form
of the monk.  "Who do you think..."
     "Duh, we'd better go."
     "Have you considered the possibilities if we don't?"
     There was a moment's rapturous silence.
     "Unfortunately, we're good." said Rodent.
     "Duh, does that mean we're goin'?" asked Playdough.
     "Not neccessarily." said the wizard, pulling out a game of elf trivia
and settling down comfortably.  "We might just be able to get away with 
moral support."
     "Now stop that!" growled Rodent, smacking the box out of the wizard's
hapless hands and sending the little ivory game tiles flying everywhere.
"Come on.  I feel twinges in my alignment."
     "Besides," chuckled Playdough, "they's evil, so I gets ta kill 'em 
all."  He drew his glowing two hander and swung it experimentally.  The 
ranger did likewise and the three advanced with their usual caution - that
is, at a full run.
     Their haste was to little avail however, as Dingbat - having slipped
into monkish overdrive - had left a trail of smoke and dust leading up to
the building's door which he was frantically booting.  The others arrived 
on the fifty-seventh boot.
     "I've almost got it guys!" panted Dingbat cheerily.  "Any second 
now..."  Even as he spoke the door handle turned and it opened.
     "Yes?" asked a sleepy voice from inside.  "We don't want any... GURK!"
     "Ha!" cried the monk, jabbing two fingers at where he thought two 
eyes should be.  He was rewarded by having a figure in black leather armour
stumble out to fall at the feet of his compatriots.  He left the sound of
meaty chopping behind and slithered into the house motioning Sauramud to 
stay behind.  The wizard shouldered past him into a small nondescript 
antechamber who's only distinguishing feature was a door on the opposite
wall that even now a black clad figure was slamming shut.  As they advanced
on the door Rodent and Playdough stepped in the room as well, followed 
immediately by the entry door slamming shut.  There was a click.
     "Playdough you dip!" said Rodent.  "Why'd you shut the door?"
     "Duh, I'm lawful!" blubbered the paladin.  "I hafta close doors and 
pick up litter and stuff."
     "Did you hear that click?" mused the monk.  "Classic sign of a trap
being set.  I bet this whole place is rigged."
     "It doesn't matter." said Sauramud, "They've retreated behind this inner 
door.  Rodent can open it."
     "Hmph.  Not my turn to open any doors." said Rodent, eyeing the door
suspiciously.
     "Don't worry guys!  I'll open it!" cried Dingbat enthusiastically.
     "Okay, I'll open it." grumbled Playdough, already wincing at the 
expected compression of his shoulder joints.
     "No!  Really!  It's no trouble!" piped the monk.
     "THOMFFF!" said the door, as the paladin applied himself to it 
solidly.  It shuddered obediently and, after a moment's consideration, flew
into kindling.
     "YAAAH!" cried the party, reflexively charging through.
     "Oh look, it's just another room!" said Dingbat, annoyed.  
The room was bare except for a rope hanging from a hole in the ceiling with
a sign tied to it reading "PULL ME".  A single door stood closed on the 
right hand wall.
     "An obvious trap." said Rodent, dismissing the rope and turning to
examine the walls for secret doors.
     "Excuse me?" said Dingbat in an icey tone.  "But do you have the 
ability to detect traps indoors?  I think not."  He skulked monkishly over
to the rope and peered up at the hole in the ceiling, ignoring Rodent's 
angry sputterings.  "Hah!  As I thought!" he exclaimed.  "There is no trap.
It probably opens the door there."  He calmly reefed on it.
     "Waitaminnute." said Sauramud.  "Don't you have only a twenty percent..."

                 T  H  O  O  O  M  M  M

     The ceiling of the room had, quite suddenly, decided that the life of
a ceiling was not all it was cracked up to be and took it upon itself to 
drop down and see what being a floor was all about.  Through the dust and 
twisted beams several painful groans emerged.  The amazing thing was that
Dingbat (having made his saving throw) had taken no damage and thus stood
somewhat bemused in the midst of the chaos with not so much as one hair 
out of place.
     "Wow." he chirped.  "Hey, what a neat trap.  Gee guys, didja see me 
dodge that rubble?  Gosh!  I'm great!  Wow!"  He danced about, skipping 
merrily over the debris (from which protruded several vaguely stirring 
limbs).  "Boy!  Don't you guys wish you were monks?"
     With many a groan and curse the other party members dug themselves
out from under the wreckage.  Playdough winced especially at a few of the
more blasphemous orcish curses from the wiz.
     "Geez Sauramud, I hate it when you talk orcish like that.  It makes
me so mad I feel like hitting you again and again and again..."
     "Hey, I get the picture Schvienhunt!" snapped Sauramud, pushing in 
a few broken bones with bandages.
     "Dingbat you jerk!" coughed Rodent, digging himself out from under a
massive support beam.
     "LOOK!" yelled Dingbat, pointing to where several nasty-looking thugs
in black studded-leather armour were sauntering out of what remained of the
hideout, brandishing wicked swords and surly dispositions.  "HAH!" screamed
the monk, flying into their midst with arms and legs flailing wildly.  
Before the rest of the party could muster up enough concern to aid him, four
of the bandits had been taken out by their own compatriots in their mad 
attempts to hit the bouncing monk and Dingbat had groined three others.
     "Duh, let's get 'em!" cried Playdough, drawing his magic greatsword 
and setting forth to do battle.
     "Oh great." said the ranger, who's keen senses had detected the 
surprise force approaching from behind.  The three whirled to face thirty
bandits, lead by a huge figure in black chainmail wielding an axe fully 
six feet long.
     "Surrender or die!" cried the menacing figure.
     "Take 'em guys!" yelled Dingbat.  "I'll take care of this lot!"  He
made a furious grab for one of his three opponents and managed to give him
a viscous arm-burn.
     "Gee thanks." said Sauramud sourly.
     "If we take out the leader," said Rodent, "that will lower their 
morale and they may flee."
     "Duh, but what about our morale?" cried Playdough.
     "That's why we don't have a leader." said Sauramud quickly.
     "Oh.  Okey-dokey." said Playdough.  "LET'S TAKE 'EM!"  And with this
the fight began.  Heroic deeds were contemplated.  Feats of dazzling 
swordplay were attempted.  And the upshot of all this was, after several
rounds of furious combat, all three were dropped.  But, before they hit the
dirt, a last desperate blow cut down the bandit leader.  A stunned silence
ensued.  (Well, almost silence.  Dingbat was yelling monkish war cries and
kicking a downed bandit in the shins over at his end of the conflict).
     "The mighty Mad Dog Morag is dead!" wailed one of the remaining twenty
bandits.  "We must surrender to save our miserable hides!"  And with that,
to a man, they surrendered to Dingbat.

     Afternoon found Dingbat leading a dejected procession of baddies into
town, the much-bandaged members of his own party staggering on behind.  The
townsfolk went wild.
     "Hooray for Sir Dingbat!"
     "May the gods bless you, you are our hero!"
     The mayor stepped forth grandly.
     "I hereby declare this Dingbat week, with festivals and celebration
for all!" he called.
     "Oh Dingbat!" cried a passionate female voice as Dingbat was bourn up
by the joyous crowd and carried forward to cheers and a shower of ticker-
tape.
     The last scene anyone ever reported was the monk's comrades helping
up the stricken form of the bandit leader, forcing healing potions and 
paladinical curing on him, handing him his axe and sending him down the
street in Dingbat's direction.

                                  End

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Those Dudes" are mmcalees@csr.uvic.ca (Michael McAleese) and
                  David_Braun@panam.wimsey.bc (David Braun)