Crossovers: the Multilaser Experience

[Author's note: I wrote this as per a request posted in /tg/. I decided to take it as a challenge.]

The black-skinned elf slunk into the inn. He was dripping wet. The filthy weather had kept up for several days now, and surely low-lying areas were flooded. It was no time for any creature to be out and about, much less one with his curse.

He thought about seeking the outhouse, but decided against it. Even with the rain, there was too much of a chance of starting a fire. He would just have to trust his skill in wrapping the item in oilcloth to keep it dry.

Wretchedly, he purchased what passed for food with a few small coins. He was normally a predator, a hunter of game. He would hunt anything that could run or fight, and always took down his prey - but the weather made it impossible for him to track anything but the sickest, most worthless woodland creatures. It would be a long time before he was hungry enough to kill and eat a bear whose flesh was rotting on its bones.

The inn's maid who brought him his food was comely, at least by the standards of humans. He despised them, really, and the woman measured up poorly alongside the plainest of Drow women. But still, the pursuit might be some entertainment in his life, which had been sorely lacking in such.

He stood up and approached her as she swept the floor around the hearth.

"Good evening," he said. "Would one so lovely as yourself care to listen to tales of travels strange and foreign from this unworthy traveler?"

She stared at him, her cheeks reddening slightly, but she shook her head. "I'm working. There are always people to serve."

He looked around him and motioned to the largely empty benches. "On a night like this? Any who would go abroad must surely be bold, or insane."

"And what of you, sir? Are you mad, then?"

"Ah, but I am not!" He chuckled. "Bold I may be, but not so much as yourself, asking that of me."

She smiled. "When I've finished sweeping, then." And with that, she turned her back and continued her labors.

A few minutes later she set aside her broom and sat across the table from him. "Tell me, then, of your travels," she said.

He began to tell her stories: places he'd gone, things he'd done, and people he'd met - many of whom he had subsequently slain. He was wearing his deep-hooded cloak, so she could only see a shadowy impression of his face in the dim, flickering lamps that lit the inn. But she was being entertained, he could tell. The way she leaned forward, the way her pupils dilated... even the way she smelled. She was intensely curious to hear what was going on outside this small town, for news traveled so slowly in this realm.

It was after an hour and a half of stories, some of which made her laugh or sigh, that he begged her pardon, but he must seek a bed for the night. A few coins changed hands again, and she handed him a key and pointed him upstairs to one of thee small, poky rooms. At least the straw was clean. He shucked out of his still-wet clothing and hung it over the chair and on the windowsill, then began carefully to unwrap the item.

It had not gotten damp, thank Llolth for that. The thing would surely have blown itself to pieces if water had gotten inside, and it would have taken him with it.

He examined it carefully for the nth time. It was two thick, parallel tubes of black, polished metal, one slightly longer than the other. The shorter one was joined to the longer near the tip of the device, which was formed into a nozzle. He looked inside, and saw an iridescent crystal gleaming there.

He shrugged and let it be. It was well that he had wasted that time in his youth, learning to spell his name in the snow, for now that he had been cursed, he knew how to use the item. And with that thought, he let his mind wander into a meditative trance, and thence into sleep.

But before he was fully asleep, something intruded. A person holding a candle was outside his door - no, entering his room! He sniffed... by the scent, it was the inkeeper's maid.

She looked at him and said, "My lord Drizzt, I felt I must know you better, and would share your bed this night."

He snorted and brushed off the blanket, then rose. "Ah, I did not think you would go so far with your interest. I was merely--"

But she had seen him fully. She whimpered at his tall, rangy form, covered in midnight-black skin; his hair, silvery-white wherever it grew; but most of all, at the unholy melding of flesh and metal at his groin, where a strange device hung in the manner of a holstered weapon.

Then she took a breath and shrieked, dropping the lantern and diving for the window. Even as he cursed her name he was grabbing for the falling lantern, lest it shatter and set the room ablaze. But he had to admire her athletic grace, as her single strong leap had pushed open the shutters and sent her sailing out into the rain.

But if she came to harm now, it would be his fault. Quickly he threw the oilcloth over his shoulders - it wasn't comfortable, but it would keep him dry, all of him. Then he ran down the inn's stairs and out the door.

It was all he could do to track the woman's footprints in the mud, but it seemed she had run up a nearby hill, where there were caves and a cliff of some note. As he ran after her, he cursed her name again: he had seen troll spoor there, and those brutal creatures delighted in pushing people from the top of the cliff to devour their shattered remains at the bottom.

It was with a sinking heart that he heard the woman's cry of fear ahead of him, and the deep, hungry growl of a troll. It had cornered its prey. As it prepared to strike, he drew the oilcloth away from his body and prepared to use the item, the strange weapon which had replaced his member when he had tried to kill that necromancer the previous year.

Blasts of coherent light fought back the darkness for a moment, but he had merely singed the troll. It spun around, screeching angrily, and grabbed him with one swipe of its massive paws. Though he fought, he couldn't keep himself from being launched into the air, toward the cliff...

But with catlike grace, he turned in mid-air, slowing himself enough to grab at the vines that grew over the edge. It hurt his fingers, but he hauled himself up anyway. The woman was standing there too, kneeling and praying in terror. He put a hand on her shoulder as he rose, then moved to stand in front of her, facing the advancing troll once again.

He drew his weapon a second time. This time, he struck at its eyes. The multilaser's furious assault not only blinded the monstrosity, the fiery plume of vaporized flesh it created blew off the creature's head. Its hands reached for its neck in a futile attempt to fix things, and then it realized it was defeated. It slumped to the ground.

The woman rose from her crouch and touched his arm. "Is it dead?"

He nodded. "This beast shall trouble your village no more."

Beaming by the light of the storm, she threw her arms around him and cheered. It was an oddly pleasant feeling, for all that she was a human - her body was softer, and surely not accustomed to the dark and painful foreplay which the Drow wer used to. He knew it would be wrong to take advantage of her, but there she was, pressing herself enthusiastically against him, calling him "My hero" and the like.

"To hell with it," he thought. It had been a stranger night than most.

They were out in the pouring rain, but they ignored it. He helped her out of her nightdress, spreading it on top of the oilcloth as a blanket, upon which they lay. He no longer worried about moisture getting inside the item now, not that it had been so recently discharged, for its heat would drive off anything that got in; and besides, the power cells were empty and posed no threat of explosion now.

She stroked the thing as they lay together, and said, "Though I am no maiden, never before have I seen such an organ as this; I know not whether I can accomodate it."

He smiled, and the last words passed between them that night were "Roll for vaginal circumference."