"That's better," said Dietr, a grin plastered across his cherubic face. "If the venerable drow would like to leave, then he's certainly free to go on his way."
"There will be no violence here," the female said, her voice even and strong. "If I have to blast you to pieces to ensure that. ."
"We've all been blasted to pieces at least once, haven't we?" Dietr said. "No one wants to do that again, so let's all be friends."
Gromph took a deep breath and said, "I will be leaving, but there will be residual effects from the gate, and you won't want to go where I'm going. Back away or not, I'll leave that up to you."
The female continued to stare daggers at him, but still she drifted the slightest bit back from the archmage.
Gromph looked her up and down. She was half his size, and she looked ridiculous. The whole world looked ridiculous—the whole world was ridiculous. Dyrr had sent him there on purpose, and looking at the winged halfling in her grass-infested setting made Gromph angrier and angrier by the second. Dyrr was trying to get rid of him, was trying to dismiss him by sending him to that pastoral universe, and Gromph Baenre, Archmage of Menzoberranzan, would not be dismissed.
"Fine," Gromph said, and he began to cast his spell.
He was only vaguely aware of the female moving farther away, and he assumed that Dietr was doing the same thing. The words of the spell came easily enough, and the gestures went smoothly from one to another. There was a part of the spell that few of the experienced casters who'd ever done it knew could be manipulated, and Gromph began to maneuver it. He wove into the spell a subtle modification that would take him precisely where he wanted to go.
He finished and could feel himself falling backward out of the Green Fields—and he felt a hand on his arm.
There was light everywhere but it wasn't too bright.
There was sound coming from all around him but it wasn't too loud.
There were colors in the air but they weren't too vibrant.
They were moving in every direction at once but not too fast.
They appeared in Menzoberranzan, their feet on solid rock, their eyes comforted by the gloom lit by faerie fire.
Gromph turned and looked at the halfling. He was naked, shaking, his wings were gone, and he looked older, smaller, and weaker. His eyes were red, his skin dry and yellow. His face, twisted in a rictus of suffering, revealed gray, decaying teeth.
With a sigh, the archmage turned to survey his surroundings. It was Menzoberranzan—the Bazaar. He'd made it. There weren't many drow in the streets, and the few who were there recognized the archmage immediately. The smart ones scattered.
Nauzhror,Gromph thought, sending the name along the Weave to the Baenre wizard.
After a tense moment of silence a voice echoed in Gromph's mind: Archmage. It is gratifying to hear you again. Welcome back to Menzoberranzan.
It was Nauzhror.
Before he could reply, Gromph was distracted by a high-pitched whine. He looked down at the desiccated halfling.
"You are a fool," Gromph said to Dietr.
The halfling cowered from his gaze and quivered.
"I didn't ask you to come with me," Gromph added, "and you don't belong here any more than I belonged in the Green Fields."
"I wanted. ." the halfling began then coughed. Dust puffed from his throat. "I wanted to live again."
"Why?" Gromph asked.
"My mother. She has been attending seances to contact me. She has no other family and needs me to support her."
Gromph laughed.
"It's not funny," Dietr said.
Gromph laughed more then cast a spell.
"An amusing diversion, traitor," he said into the air, "but a temporary one. We'll finish it in the Bazaar. Now."
He still had ten words left in the spell but had nothing more to say.
The lichdrow has been hiding in House Agrach Dyrr, Nauzhror sent. The siege continues at a stalemate.
"I don't understand," Dietr said.
Gromph turned to look down at the halfling again.
"Can you get me home?" Dietr asked. "Can you send me back to Luiren?"
Gromph raised an eyebrow at the little creature's audacity then slid his tongue around a quick divination. Obvious as it was by the halfling's appearance, it didn't hurt to be certain. The spell revealed a telltale glow around the slight humanoid.
Where have you been? Nauzhror asked.
Nowhere I'd like to visit again, he replied, but someone's come back with me.
I see, said Nauzhror. The gate effect seems to have given him some kind of physical form.
But he died on this plane, Gromph added, so when he came back. .
"Yes," the archmage finally answered the halfling. "I can take you anywhere you want to go. Of course, I won't."
The halfling shook, and Gromph thought he could actually hear the creature's bones rattle.
"Please. .?" the halfling whimpered.
"Your mother will not be happy to see you, Dietr," Gromph said. "You died. Remember? You came back to this world unbidden. You came back as a. ."
It is a huecuva, Nauzhror provided.
"An undead creature," Gromph said to the halfling. "You're a huecuva. Do you know what that is?"
The halfling shook his head, terror plain in his bloodshot eyes.
Gromph, my young friend, the lichdrow's voice reverberated in the wizard's head, welcome back. Of course I accept your gracious invitation. It will be my honor to attend you on your last day.
Gromph nodded, mumbled through a simple necromancy, and directed it at the halfling. The archmage felt the undead creature come under his control.
"Stand up straight," Gromph commanded, and Dietr instantly complied, though it seemed to cause him some discomfort.
Gromph cast another spell on him, one that set a flicker of magical fire playing over the halfling's dead flesh.
"No. ." the halfling muttered. "Please. ."
Gromph tightened his grip on his staff and conjured a globe of protective force around himself.
"Please don't. ." the huecuva pleaded.
Gromph looked around the Bazaar—abandoned tents and stalls, most with their wares secured under lock and key, and a few curious drow eyes watching from safe places in the surrounding stalactites.
"Won't you please just let me—?" Dietr begged.
"Silence," Gromph said, and the halfling was compelled to obey. "You decided to come through with me, Dietr, and now you're in Menzoberranzan, not Luiren. In Menzoberranzan, undead are property."
The huecuva's mouth worked in silence, and his skin crawled over his bones.
Gromph felt something, a presence, and quickly scanned the Bazaar again. At the far end of the wide thoroughfare was a splash of green light. The spell he'd cast on Dietr continued to give Gromph the ability to see a distinctive aura around undead, and the green light was just such an emanation, but all Gromph saw was the aura—a smudge of green light surrounding empty space.
Gromph rushed through another incantation, leaning his staff against his chest so he could use both hands to work the magic. Twisting tendrils of blue-hot flame leaped from his fingertips, growing as they made their way unerringly at the green shadow. The fire shuddered in the air and was drawn thin. It poured into a spot at the top of the shadow and disappeared into it.
The crown, Nauzhror sighed.
"Stand in front of me," Gromph said to the halfling.
The huecuva did precisely as he was told, even as the wave of blue fire shot back at Gromph. The flames hit the halfling full in the chest, and activated the protective spell Gromph had cast on him. The blue fire was replaced by a flash of red-orange that carried back along the path of the reflected spell. The green shadow was replaced by the fully revealed form of the lichdrow Dyrr, who was no longer invisible.