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Suppose three things were diff’rent: the world beneath her feet,
The friends who rode beside her, and the foes she must defeat?
Dust rose as mage and warrior rode along the track. Suddenly, a hole appeared in the sky – and a girl fell out of it.
Kethry spoke and gestured. The girl’s plunge slowed, so she landed with only a soft thunk. “That’s odd,” the sorceress said, hand on her sword-hilt.
“Odd?”
“Need isn’t making sense. Apparently our visitor doesn’t need our help – but Need thinks we need hers.”
The new arrival groaned, talking incomprehensibly. Kethry cast a translation spell. “—being dead is like? Shouldn’t there be, like, angels? And a buffet?”
Tarma blinked. “You don’t look dead.”
“Looks aren’t everything – I’ve met seriously hot vampires. But if I’m alive, where am I? Dungeons-and-Dragons-land?”
“Southern Rethwellan,” Tarma replied. “Few dungeons, fewer cold-drakes. There is, however, an inn back thataway.”
“That works. I’m Buffy,” the girl added.
[One question,] Warrl, Tarma’s wolf-like mindmate, said as the party reversed course. [What’s a vampire?]
These three things remember well when evil walks the night:
The Watcher’s eye, the mage’s spell, the Slayer’s will to fight.
By summer’s end, Tarma and Kethry had been crash-tutored in Slayer-lore, Buffy had (somewhat) adjusted to low-tech civilization, and they had – barely – destroyed the Hellmouth a rogue Sunpriest had attempted to open in Karse.
“What was he thinking?” Buffy asked.
Tarma laughed. “That sort doesn’t, mostly.”
Kethry coughed. “Where now?”
“Need isn’t pestering?”
“Not—” Kethry stopped, pointing. Buffy was going fuzzy around the edges. In moments, she’d vanished entirely.
“Damn. That girl was actually useful.”
[And we never did meet any vampires,] observed Warrl.
Three things then are constant: someone’s bound to write a song,
The Slayer’s side will triumph, and the bard will get things wrong!