Red Christmas

"H-Hannah?" Milo asked, stunned. Gods, what have I done?

There was no response.

She can't be dead. It was only one attack, he thought to himself

It was a critical hit, said a tiny voice in his head.

A critical hit on a dagger, the Milo insisted.

She might only be level one, wheedled the tiny voice.

That's six damage, tops! Milo protested. It's physically impossible for six damage to kill anything.

Maybe back home... but have you seen any indication at all that these people only die at -10 hit points?

Everything dies at -10. Fact of the universe.

Your universe. Remember how surprised Madam Pomfrey always is at your physiology? You can't take anything for granted.

She can't be dead.

Then why are you so afraid go to check on her?

Milo couldn't think of any suitable response to that.

"Okay," Milo said, out loud. "I'll go find her, and she'll be fine. Just... fine. You'll see."

Milo stood up from his prone position, shaking off snow. He waded through the deep snow to where Locate Object told him Hannah lay.

Or is standing, Milo thought stubbornly. She could be standing there, happy as a clam. A happy clam. Not like one of those sad clams.

"Hannah?" Milo called again, yet was again unanswered.

Abruptly, the snow stopped blocking Milo's vision. He realized vaguely that he was standing under the canopy of a tree. A nice, old-growth tree. Milo thought it might be a willow, but then wondered idly if this world even had willows. There was no reason to think they did, after all, everything else seemed to be so completely different. Elves working in kitchens. No limit on spells per day. Gradual learning instead of discrete increments. Goblins running banks. Dragons slaughtered to make gloves.

An, apparently, completely different damage/wound system.

Hannah Abbot lay against the tree, slouched into a half-sitting position. Her wand was held loosely in her right hand, her left was clutching the hilt of Milo's dagger, sticking out of her stomach. It was difficult to tell — her school uniform was black, after all — but there was a lot of blood. A scary amount of blood. Her head was lolled to the side, and she wasn't moving.

"Oh gods. Oh gods," Milo said. Milo was far from a religious person, but if ever there was a time for divine intervention, that time was now.

Hannah stirred feebly.

Holy crap. Pelor, I owe you one! I'll slay some vampires for you when I get home.

She reached for her wand.

Milo blinked. Maybe she knows some healing spell?

"A... a..." Hannah said weakly.

"Hey, Hannah," Milo said gently. "You'll be okay, okay? I've... I've got a Healer's Kit and +1 from Wisdom, so I can do first-aid, okay? So just... don't move." Milo slowly reached into his Belt of Hidden Pouches for the kit.

"Av..." Hannah said again.

"Tell me back at the castle, when you explain just what you were doing out here, kay?"

"Avada Kedavra."

A brilliant green bolt shot out of the tip of Hannah's wand, but her shaking hand fouled her aim. A bush behind Milo burst into flame.

Milo instinctively ducked behind a nearby tree as curses started flying again.

"Okay," Milo said. "She's clearly possessed or something, and whatever's doing it is trying to kill me." As if to emphasize the point, a curse slammed into the other side of the tree Milo was using as cover, and dead leaves rained down, thinning out the canopy and allowing snow to start falling back onto Milo's head.

Carefully, Milo (very slowly) peeked around the side of the tree. Hannah was still slumped on the ground, looking deathly pale. Milo pulled his head back just as a Killing Curse flew by close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from it, and the tip of his nose burned as if it had been exposed to the sun for hours.

How am I supposed to help a person who's bleeding to death if they're trying to kill me? Milo wondered. If I go over to her to try and stabilize her — or, for that matter, de-possess her with Protection From Evil (which requires physical contact) — I'll end up like this tree.

Milo heard Hannah coughing weakly. It was a wet, gurgling sound. Oh, that so cannot be good.

I can blind her with Glitterdust ... but really, I have no idea what that would do to her in her state. If a single dagger can do this, I shouldn't really take any chances. For all I know, Glitterdust could kill her outright.

On the other hand, doing nothing will kill her.

"I'm really sorry about this!" Milo said around the corner. "Glitterdust!" Hundreds of thousands of golden sparks flew out of Milo's spread hand, illuminating the thick white snow like twinkling faerie lights.

Her silence was uncanny. Normally, when people are blinded by Glitterdust, they scream and complain and flail around, but Hannah... if she had any response, Milo couldn't tell.

Maybe she made her Will save? Milo thought. And she can see just fine, and if I stick my head out again the last thing I'll see will be green... well, at least it's holiday appropriate.

Had Hannah been carrying a gun, or had Milo been from this universe to begin with, he likely would have slowly stuck a hand out to determine if his attacker would re-open fire. At worst, by that logic, your hand will be injured. However, in Milo's form of magic, the location on the body that the spell hits is irrelevant: if Disintegrate hits even your baby toe, you're powder. As far as Milo knew, and he didn't even question that this wasn't the case, if Avada Kedavra so much as glances the tip of your finger, you're waking up in your Alignment-appropriate Outer Planar afterlife.

Milo stepped out from around his safety, praying to his often-forgotten deities that whatever was possessing Hannah had been blinded.

The thing about snow, especially thick snow, is that it's impossible to walk through it without making a distinctive crunching sound. As soon as Milo had taken a single step, her unseeing, bloodshot eyes whipped towards his general direction, wand raised.

A red curse of some sort flew out of Hannah's wand, but missed him by several yards and hit impacted the snow harmlessly, causing a cloud of steam to erupt as the snow flash melted.

Milo felt like an idiot. They need wands to cast, he thought. That little stick really should have been my first target.

"Grease!" Milo cast, not on the ground underneath Hannah, or even on Hannah herself, but on her wand. Hannah remained expressionless, but Milo imagined (perhaps, somewhat fancifully) that her possessor at least blinked in surprise as her only weapon slipped harmlessly out of her hands, landing lightly in the soft snow. In some detached part of his brain, Milo realized this was the first battle he'd ever won in which he really didn't care about the XP earned.

Milo heaved a sigh of relief and walked over to his injured friend.

"Master's Touch," Milo cast, granting him +4 to Heal, which, combined with his naturally high Wisdom and Healer's Kit, would allow him to easily make the check to stabilize Hannah. Sudden insight flooded his brain about human anatomy and emergency medical procedures.

"Okay, I'd best leave the dagger in," he said quietly. "Because I could do more damage just taking it out." Hannah stared at him blankly, her eyes still wide open. Milo winced — human reflex, when looking at an exceptionally bright light (such as a laser or, in this case, Glitterdust) is to close one's eyes immediately to prevent damage. Whatever was controlling Hannah had evidently overridden that instinct, leaving her eyes red and bloodshot, glittering gold like the rest of her. Unfortunately, there was nothing Milo could do to end the spell once it had started.

As Milo got to work cleaning the injury and trying to stop the bleeding, Hannah stirred again.

"What, you're not still trying to kill me, are you?" Milo asked, surprised. As a precaution, he dismissed the Grease spell on the wand and stashed it in his Belt of Hidden Pouches.

Despite her injuries, Hannah moved like lightning, ignoring the pain entirely. One moment, her hands were by her sides; the next, they were pulling the dagger out of her own injury. Milo blinked, then snorted.

What's she going to do, he thought, stab me? Unlike her, I have twelve hit points. That's three good stabs before I even notice it, minimum.

Hannah lunged at Milo, nicking his arm for a paltry two damage.

"Better safe than sorry," Milo said, mostly to himself. "Protection from Evil." He tapped Hannah on the forehead and a glowing gold cylinder briefly appeared around Hannah before, leaving her protected from mental control for the duration of the spell (seven minutes with the help of his Arcanist's Gloves).

"Gah!" Hannah shrieked in pain, rubbing at her eyes frantically. This only had the effect of smearing blood into them.

"Hey, Hannah, it's okay," Milo said in what he hoped was a soothing tone. "Your vision will return in a few seconds. I know it's hard, but I need you to stop moving while I try to deal with the bleeding, okay? Can you do that for me?"

Mutely, Hannah nodded, tears starting to flow from her eyes.

Mordy climbed out of Milo's belt and helped him hold a bandage in place while Milo tied it off. The rat knew, without any form of communication necessary, exactly where to be and what to do to help Milo the most — a combination of their long partnership, empathic link, and the fact that Mordy benefited from Milo's Master's Touch spell just as much as he did.

"I'm..." Hannah started to say. A brief memory of when he first encountered her out here, and she struggled to say the words to curse him came to mind.

"Don't say anything," Milo said.

"I'm s-sorry," Hannah said weakly.

"It's fine, I'm here, I have magic, I can get you to safety," Milo said. How the Hells am I going to pull that off? He wondered. All I have left are Benign Transposition, Feather Fall, a pair of Prestidigitations, Dancing Lights, and Mage Hand.

Not for the first, or last, time, Milo wished he were a Cleric.

Why, oh why didn't I buy that Healing Belt back in Myra (cityoflight!cityofmagic!)when I had the chance? He thought bitterly. Or at least a few Potions of Cure Light Wounds.

"Uhm," Milo said. "I don't mean to shake your confidence in my abilities or anything," he said cautiously, "but I don't suppose you know any healing spells?"

"Sorry..." she said. "I'm... useless."

"Untrue," Milo lied. "Dancing Lights," he cast, in a vain hope that someone would see it and come to their rescue. In the current weather, however, it seemed all but impossible.

I flew here in a more-or-less straight line at 120 feet per round for five minutes, sans one minute to cast circle dance... that's 4800 feet, or almost a mile. Normally I can hustle on foot at 60 feet per round, but carrying Hannah will cut that down to 40, and the snow will take it down to 20...

Milo managed to conceal a groan. It would take, assuming everything went well (which, in his experience, was rare to the point of impossibility), twenty-four minutes to hike Hannah back to the castle. Twenty-four freezing minutes through snow deeper than he was tall. Twenty-four minutes at maximum carrying capacity.

Milo glanced at Hannah, who was shivering in a somewhat concerning manner. He really wasn't sure if she'd make it that far. Milo figured his best bet was to rig up some form of shelter, then return to the castle to get help.

Fortunately, being an experienced adventurer, he was absolutely loaded with gear to help in the first part of that plan.

"So," Milo said in a conversational tone. "I'm going to make a tent, keep the snow off of you, alright?" A thought struck him. "But first, here." He reached a hand into one of the pockets of his belt and fished out a heavy, thick fur Winter Blanket and placed it over her shivering body. Milo, like any decent Wizard, tried to be prepared for anything.

"Th-thanks," she murmured. As an afterthought, he passed her his Bedroll as well.

Pulling fine silk rope (made by Elves, of course) and thick canvas sheets out of his magic belt, he immediately got down to work. He tied the rope between a four nearby trees in an X shape and used the canvas sheets (of which he had five) to create walls, and a ceiling. Looking critically at the result (which was most certainly not up to any code you could name), Milo realized the whole thing would fall apart if a decent-sized twig fell on it from one of the overhanging trees. To remedy this, he strung up a large fishing net about four feet over the 'tent' to catch falling objects. Lastly, Milo cut a small hole in the centre of the roof to allow smoke out, and started hunting for decent-sized sticks to use as firewood. He had his obligatory Wizard staff, of course, and his 11-foot pole, but the idea of burning either of those things was too horrible to contemplate. After finding a few moderately dry twigs, Milo gave up and decided to use a bucket as kindling (yes, he carried a wooden bucket in his extradimensional belt. You never know when a bucket might come in handy; just because it never has doesn't mean it never will).

The whole process took about ten minutes. Milo was just stepping back to briefly admire his (crude) handiwork when he realized he should have been keeping better track of time: Protection from Evil only lasted seven minutes. Hannah could have been repossessed for quite some time while he was wasting time breaking a bucket into pieces.

"Uh," Milo asked nervously, sticking his head into the covered area. "I don't mean to be, you know, insensitive or anything..."

"Hmmm?" Hannah asked.

"You don't feel, you know, Evil or anything?"

"Nope," she said.

"Good, good..." Milo said dubiously. Well, what would she do if she were, anyways? Spit at me? "Well, if you start feeling an overwhelming urge to murder me, let me know, would you?"

Hannah simply nodded weakly.

Milo briefly considered Manacling her, but quickly decided against it. If anything, that would give her possessing spirit/ghost/demon/whatever (assuming it was still in her) a heavy metal improvised bludgeon.

Milo glanced at the pile of firewood he'd created out of his bucket (one of his ever-dwindling physical ties to his old world) and sighed. He could light it with Prestidigitation, of course, but he was already running precariously low on magic and didn't think wasting it on something so frivolous would be a good idea.

Grumbling to himself, Milo employed the decidedly mundane method of Flint and Steel.

"You carry all this stuff around with you?" Hannah asked. It was the longest sentence he'd yet heard her say since her... accident.

"Yeah," Milo said, clicking away ineffectually at the flint. A few pathetic sparks appeared, but nothing ignited. "Saved me from the Troll... well, sort of. I mean, I got thrown through the window anyways. But it helped. A bit. Maybe."

"If you give me my wand," Hannah said, "I can light that for you."

Milo, grateful, had his hand halfway to the appropriate belt pocket when his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"No thanks," he said. "I love doing this by hand. Very zen." He also had Tindertwigs, of course, but he preferred to save those for a situation in which he really needed fire as a Standard Action.

It took awhile, but eventually, Milo got his pitifully small fire going.

"Okay," Milo said. "Now, look. I'm going to go and get help," he said gently. "You just stay here, all right?"

"You're leaving me alone?" Hannah asked him.

"Uh... no. You'll have Mordy to protect you." With a flash of COLD, UNHAPPY, SLEEP, Milo pulled his protesting familiar from his warm home in the belt. "Now, I know he doesn't look like much, but trust me. He's a badass."

Hannah gave him a peculiar look when, over the crackling of the flames, they heard a loud crunch from the snow outside.

"Stay here," Milo commanded unnecessarily. He hesitated for a moment, then dived out of the tent as fast as he could, hoping to take whatever was out there by surprise.

Standing outside, looking somewhat surprised, was the most horrible little creature that Milo had seen in a long, long time. It looked a little like a Goblin, with thick, leathery green skin, red eyes, and long, sharp nails. It was wearing crudely-tanned leather breeches, but was naked from the waist up (Milo shuddered to think how cold that would be). As the creature recovered from its surprise, it grinned at him. Its teeth, of which it had several rows, had at some point been filed to needle-sharp points. In one hand was a short, crude, wickedly curved, needlessly hooked, serrated sword. Its most distinctive feature, by far, was its bright, unevenly-dyed blood red hat.

"HolycrapRedcap!" Milo gasped in surprise. He'd hoped that the psychotic, mass-murdering evil little Fey didn't have an alternate-universe version in this world. Milo wasn't sure whether the thing had been attracted by the smoke from the fire, commanded here by whatever had possessed Hannah, or was simply attracted by the girl's blood.

Unfortunately for Milo, who had already burned his one Nerveskitter for the day, the Redcap had a +5 Initiative bonus. The weird little creature (which are easily repelled by a variety of simple Charms and Hexes, none of which Milo knew or was, in any case, able to cast) charged at him and let out a screeching, high-pitched, ululating wail.

The Redcap brought its blade down in a high overhead chop which Milo caught, frantically, on the arm of his enchanted robe as he raised his hands in panic.

"Acid Splash!" Milo cast desperately. A thick green glob of acid hit the Redcap full in the face, causing it to take a step backwards, clutching at its head. Milo knew that proper Redcaps had upwards of 22 hit points, depending on how many sentient creatures they've slain, although he had no idea what it would take to faze this world's equivalent.

The Redcap, its face now red and raw, again charged Milo, who put his 14 Dexterity to good use and sidestepped, just barely avoiding the wickedly sharp steel weapon. Milo, now out of spells, pulled his least favourite backup plan out of his belt.

Every Wizard has a staff. They come standard-issue. Some are gnarled and rough, some are covered in glowing arcane runes, while some are plain and practical. Many staffs are magical, although a smart Wizard realizes that, by and large, magical staffs are overpriced and distinctly use-impaired. Nevertheless, as has already been stated, every Wizard has a staff. A staff, for a Wizard, is like his robe or pointy hat. A Wizard without one of these three things would be as lacking as a political career without scandal or a trip to the dentist without an unpleasant aftertaste. Everyone knows this. Hells, even Muggles know this. A staff is a symbol of a Wizard's power, of the triumph of knowledge and reason over chaos and insanity (note that Sorcerers, by the way, generally prefer spears, although this is certainly coincidence), and as a warning to others: Do Not Meddle, For I Am Subtle And Quick To Anger. Also, For Reality Is My Plaything.

What most people tend to forget is that, in addition to all of these things, a staff is also a large, heavy, wooden stick.

A stick which Milo brought down on the head of the enraged Redcap.

Hard.

While the Redcap staggered in pain, Mordenkainen crept up behind it.

The Redcap took another swing, enraged beyond reason, but its quarry vanished just before the blade struck home. There was a quiet popping sound, and a small, spotted rat sat in the ground in front of it, staring upwards with unblinking eyes.

"— Transposition," Milo finished casting, standing, now, where Mordy had been lurking just a moment earlier. With a meaty thud, Milo whacked the Redcap again, this time on the back of its hard skull. Redcaps back at Milo's home (Milo still thought of them as 'real Redcaps,' although the one standing in front of him looked — and smelled — pretty damn real) could only be hurt by Cold Iron. However, from what Milo could tell, this world didn't even have Cold Iron, so these Redcaps (in the interests of fairness and balance) must, by Milo's somewhat screwy meta-logic, therefore be without damage reduction. It was a risk Milo figured he had no choice but to take, as the staff did slightly more damage than the dagger and Milo badly needed all the killing power he could get.

"This is so unfair," Milo said, narrowly catching a poorly-aimed blow with his staff. "Clerics get the same number of spells as I do, but they also have a good Base Attack Bonus and Armour Proficiencies." The Redcap gave no sign of understanding him, and continued to flail wildly at him. Milo blocked a surprisingly amateurish high attack with his staff. "And even if that's not enough, they can just command armies of undead to go in first."

The Redcap, taking advantage of Milo's now raised staff, slashed him expertly in the stomach through the somewhat unreliable Robe of Arcane Might (leaving Milo with 6 HP).

"And Druids!" Milo said, jabbing the Redcap in the solar plexus with the butt of his staff. "Don't even get me started on Druids. Armour? Hit Points? Good Base Attack Bonus? Full casting?"

The Redcap made another feint, which Milo, now that he'd cottoned on to the Fey's trickery, failed to fall for.

"And failing that, they can have a wolf backing them up!"

Milo swung, but the Redcap rolled to its right with surprising agility for something to wrinkled and ugly.

"And failing that," Milo continued his rant uninterrupted, swinging his staff horizontally like a baseball bat and taking the Redcap dead on in the side of the head with a satisfying thwak, "they can just turn into a godsdamned grizzly bear!"

The Redcap, realizing that Milo had overextended himself, slapped him hard on the wrist with the edge of his blade. Milo dropped the staff as his hand, ignoring frantic orders from his brain, released the polished Darkwood weapon, which the Fey contemptuously kicked off into the snow.

Milo staggered backwards, drawing his dagger with his left hand (by our standards, Milo was more-or-less ambidextrous; although to him the word Ambidexterity meant something completely different) and eyed up the Redcap. By his calculations (assuming this beastie was anything like those he was familiar with), the Redcap had somewhere in the vicinity of three hit points remaining. Milo's dagger, propelled by his scrawny frame, was capable of doing exactly that much damage, assuming he hit.

Well, it was risky... but it just might work.

Milo took a deep breath, and, on the exhale, released the dagger in a powerful overhand throw. It spun once, twice, three times, and buried itself to the hilt... in a tree about ten feet from the Redcap.

Unfortunately for Milo, while his 'physics' did run on a number of different story conventions, poor rolls can, and do, happen regardless of dramatic necessity.

The Redcap messily ran Milo through the stomach with his serrated sword.

"Gah!" Milo gasped, suddenly tasting blood. He fell into the deep snow, and tried to scurry away, backards, from his attacker. He got a respectable distance away, leaving a trail of blood, before bumping into a most inconveniently-placed tree.

Milo glanced back at the Redcap, who was, to Milo's disgust, licking Milo's own blood off the edge of his weapon with a long, almost prehensile tongue, making horrible little sounds of delight, as if tasting, for the first time, fine Belgian chocolate.

Milo coughed weakly, spitting blood. He only had one hit point remaining, meaning his wounds weren't exactly physically debilitating — they just hurt like hell.

The Redcap, finally finished with its little snack, looked at Milo with a hungry expression. Throwing his sword to the side carelessly, it ran up to Milo on its stubby little legs. Mordy, hanging onto the creature's legs, bit the Redcap repeatedly on the ankles. Despite himself, Milo grinned. A rat's bite deals a pathetic 1d3 - 4 damage, which, as simple math will tell you, is a maximum of negative one.

However, the minimum damage any attack can deal is 1, meaning Mordy was steadily, slowly, from regular attacks and Attacks of Opportunity, gnawing that Redcap's heel to death.

The Redcap's collision with Milo was almost meteoric, and Milo found himself pinned against the tree, the Redcap holding both of his arms down with deceptive wiry strength.

To Milo's revulsion, the Redcap bent down to Milo's stomach and started licking at his open wound with its long, slimy tongue. Milo, who had never really understood the Grapple rules, struggled in vain against the Fey's superior strength.

Any adventurer, other than a Monk, is essentially worthless at unarmed combat. Unarmed Strikes get a massive penalty to hit, deal nonlethal damage (and barely any, at that) and provoke an Attack of Opportunity. Fortunately, from what Milo could tell, nobody had taught the locals about AoO's (which was reasonable enough, as they were bloody confusing). Further, Unarmed Strikes have one thing going for them: they can be made with virtually any part of the body.

Milo's arms and legs were pinned underneath the grotesque little abomination, but his head wasn't.

THWAK. Milo headbutted the freak with colossal effort, his skull colliding with the Redcap's hard, leathery head and leaving him seeing stars. The damage was, frankly, negligible; however it was, thanks to Mordy's repeated bites, combined with the beating Milo had given it earlier, enough.

The Redcap toppled over onto the ground, unconscious.

Milo slumped against the tree wearily, his forehead damp with blood from the Redcap's eponymous bloodstained cap, and started laughing weakly. He couldn't help himself.

"And what do Wizards get?" he asked nobody in particular. "A heavy wooden stick, a rat, and phenomenal cosmic power beyond that with which mortal man was meant to tamper. And sometimes, that's enough."

Milo stood up, brushed himself off, and, with a cast of Mage Hand and a casual gesture, pulled his dagger out of the tree. It floated into his hand, as he stumbled over to the Redcap and administered a coup de grace (adventurers are not known for their mercy, especially to things that look like Goblins) and staggered into the makeshift tent.

Hannah gasped when she saw him.

"What happened out there?" she asked. "I was so worried! I thought maybe I should help, but I didn't have my wand, so I couldn't see what I could possibly do. There were shouts, and a weird scream, and sounds of fighting —"

"Redcap," Milo muttered, falling down onto the ground wearily.

"Oh, that's all?" Hannah asked, looking visibly relieved. "Did you drive it off with —"

"Nope," said Milo.

"Well, how about —"

"No dice," Milo said with a groan. "Different magic, remember?"

"Oh. Well, what do you usually do to get rid of Redcaps?"

"Carpet bombing with Fireballs from eight hundred feet away, then toss their teeth — that's all that they leave behind, where I'm from — into the Elemental Plane of Fire to prevent anyone from Raising them. This one, I just used my head."

Hannah gasped.

"You're injured! Pass me my wand, I'll cast Episkey —"

Milo froze. His suspicions were confirmed.

"So you're still in there," Milo said grimly. Hannah stared at him, confused.

"Hannah doesn't know any healing Charms."

Hannah, or whatever was controlling her, froze for a moment.

"Ah," she said finally, and glanced frantically around the shelter like a cornered bobcat.

"So, here's what's going to happen now," Milo said firmly. "I don't care who you are, but I will find out. And when I do, whether you're Snape, Lucius, the ghost of Salazar Slytherin, or bloody Voldemort himself" (Hannah winced at Milo's use of the name, confirming it wasn't the Dark Lord) "I will find you. And I will kill you." Hannah's eyes widened. "This is nonnegotiable."

Hannah stared at Milo briefly, then spoke.

"You foolish, ignorant boy," she said in a cold, low voice. "Just because you can defeat a handful of Death Eaters and a Red Cap doesn't mean you're capable of —"

"You have no idea what I'm capable of," Milo spat. "There are depths to which I will stoop, if necessary, depths which you've never even dreamed of. Tell me," Milo said, his voice low, "have you ever heard of a Candle of Invocation?"

Despite herself, Hannah shook her head.

Milo grinned.

"Pray that you never do, for there lies the path of darkness and Extreme Munchkinry." A Candle of Invocation is a minor Magic Item that helps Clerics concentrate when preparing spells. Its other use allows it to summon extraplanar beings via the Gate spell, including Efreeti, which, while under the summoner's control, can be ordered to grant three Wishes — say, for a permanent +1 Intelligence boost, 25,000 gp, and another Candle of Invocation. The Candles were prohibited items of Dark Magic in the Azel Empire, and trafficking them was seen as worse than trafficking in human souls. The Empire had an entire task force of high-level Wizards whose sole job was to prevent their use — not that it was necessary, as the gods themselves would step in and simply delete the soul of anyone who attempted to create them before completion. It was one of the few things they all agreed on.

But there was no Azel Empire in this world, and, judging by the lack of Divine Magic, no deities — at least, no active ones.

"With one Candle, I can challenge the gods. So here's the deal," Milo said, feeling somewhat numb from loss of blood, "if you leave my friend now, and I mean within twelve seconds of when I finish speaking, I won't kill you... until I'm strong enough to do it fairly. If I ever so much as get a hint that you even touch her again, I'll sell my Alignment to the Demon Prince of the Lower Aerial Kingdoms" (Milo was careful not to say his name, for Bad Things could happen) "for a Candle before you can say 'Moral Outrage.' And then I will find you — there's magic that will let me do it instantly — and then I will kill you. Slowly. And then I will rip out your soul and trap it in a shiny rock, which I will then hide on a moon — which moon, orbiting which planet, orbiting which star, in which galaxy, I will leave to your imagination — so you can never be brought back." Greater Teleport had no range limitations at all.

Hannah opened her mouth briefly, but Milo cut her off.

"And before you ask, the Demon Prince only answers the summons of Good characters. So that rules you out." And me, Milo conveniently forgot to add, because I'm True Neutral.

Milo stared at Hannah directly in the eyes, and she stared back.

"I've finished talking. You have twelve seconds. One," Milo counted, and Hannah stared coldly at him.

"Two," said Milo, but Hannah's expression remained unchanged.

"Three." Hannah's gaze intensified, her normally sweet, happy expression twisted into one of contempt.

"Four." Milo briefly wondered if he was going to have to go through with it in the end, and whether Pazuzu was interested in branching out and tempting the souls of Neutrals.

"Five." The flame in the middle of the tent crackled and snapped, tiny glowing embers flying out like a mundane Glitterdust.

"Six." Milo readied an action to say 'Pazuzu' three times if he didn't get any sign that Hannah was released from her enslavement within the next round. He was committed now.

"Seven." Hannah's expression wavered slightly for a brief, almost-imperceptible moment.

"Eight." Hannah blinked. Milo suppressed a smile, sure he'd won.

"Nine." Abruptly, Hannah broke into a wicked cackle, made all the more disconcerting because of it was still made with her voice.

"Ten," Milo continued, trying to pretend he was unfazed.

"Eleven." Ohcrapohcrapohcrapohcrap, I'm going to summon a Demon Prince into this universe... worst Readied Action ever, what was I thinking?

"Twe—" Abruptly, Hannah collapsed from her rigid posture and fell to the ground. Milo heaved a sigh of relief.

"Hannah?" he asked.

"Y-yeah," she said weakly. "It's me again."

"Any chance you can, I dunno, prove it? Maybe?" Milo asked hopefully.

"I d-d-don't think so, but you have to believe me... I'm so sorry..."

Eh, so much for that idea.

"What the Hells is happening?" he asked.

"Dunno... it's like I could hear this voice, giving me these suggestions... and they seemed like such a good idea at the time and it made me so happy to follow them..." she shuddered. "I'm so sorry, I tried to kill you." She started crying.

"What? No you didn't," Milo said. "That's absurd. You were possessed, obviously. Otherwise, Protection from Evil wouldn't have helped."

"Wh-what?" she asked.

"Just trust me on this one. I'd bet you didn't even know how to cast those curses you were sending at me, right?"

"N-no..."

"There you have it. We're safe, caloo calay," Milo collapsed back to the ground. He hadn't even noticed when it had happened, but at some point during the staring contest he'd gone to a crouching position (standing up would be all but impossible in the confines of Milo's crude shelter).

"A-are you alright?" Hannah asked. "You look kind of... drenched in blood."

"You should see the other guy," Milo muttered, his eyes closed.

"But seriously," she said, her voice starting to come back to her. "You need help at least as much as I do... what are we going to do?" she asked, panic evidently rising.

Milo laughed.

"Me? I'll be fine. I can just sleep off anything short of death, trust me. Which is more than I can say for that Redcap outside."

"There's a — wait, what was it you said earlier? I wasn't really... all there. There was something about a Red Cap."

"Uh. Yeah, I think it smelled your blood... erm. Sorry about that, by the way, I didn't know it was you."

"The Red Cap," Hannah pressed, "did you... I mean, is it... did you kill it?"

"Uh. Yeah, I made pretty sure of that."

"And it's right outside?"

"Yeah, but trust me, it's not going anywhere."

"Bury it!"

"Oh, come on, it's just some random monster —"

"Don't you ever listen in Defence? They're attracted by spilled blood!"

"Yeah, I know that. But I don't see... oh."

"Get out there and bury it before it attracts more!"

"Don't have to tell me twice... er, three times," Milo said, getting to his feet with a wince, and crawled out of the improvised tent.

He stumbled over to the dead Redcap, grabbing his fallen quarterstaff on the way. He groaned, using it as an improvised shovel.

"This is the worst," he muttered to the Redcap. "The absolute worst. I mean, you're dead, but you've got it lucky," he said between jabs with his staff to loosen up the snow. "It's like, practically Frostfell conditions out here, and I decided to make my bloody robes resistant to bloody heat. And now I've got to dig a great, bloody big hole in the ground for you, and believe me, the less time I spend around you the better." After every good dig with his staff, he reached down and pulled out handfuls of snow.

"And you know what the worst part is?" he asked the corpse. "No, I guess you don't, 'cause you're dead. The absolute worst part is that, right now, you know what would actually help? The damn bucket." Milo scooped another handful of the freezing snow out of the quickly-growing pit. "Been carrying it around in my pocket for three years and when, for once, I actually need it, it's in bloody Chateau Canvas keeping someone else warm while I'm out here digging a big hole in the ground, and did I mention how cold it is?"

Fortunately, the ex-Redcap wasn't very large, and snow is much easier to dig in than dirt. It took him about an hour to finish, but when he had, Milo unceremoniously pushed the little monstrosity into the pit face-first. As an afterthought, he threw the thing's weird little sword in after it, then piled in several feet of snow.

"And good riddance, too," he muttered. "Ain't nobody gets to lick me and walk away from it." With that, he trudged back into the (what could charitably be called a) tent.

Milo stumbled back inside again, and fell face down, immediately drifting off into sleep.

He wasn't quite sure how long he was out for, but when he woke up, the fire had burned low and the sun had gone down. At some point, someone had either Animated his Winter Blanket, or Hannah had put it on him.

"Happy Christmas, Hannah," he said wearily.

"Happy Christmas, Milo," Hannah replied, sounding just as tired. Her stomach rumbled. "Hey, I don't suppose you still have any of those Everlasting Rations?"

"Nah, they ran out weeks ago," Milo responded automatically.

"What, really?"

Milo sighed and passed the blue bag over to her, trying very hard not to roll his eyes.

Hannah took a bite.

"It's... completely tasteless," she said. "That's so weird."

"It's all I've got," he confessed. "Unless you want five pounds of garlic powder."

Milo frowned. Something Ron had said was coming back to him.

"What's Christmas Dinner?" he asked curiously, stoking the fire in an unsuccessful attempt to get it to pick up a bit.

Hannah explained in great detail, lovingly describing the wonders of roast beef, mashed potatoes thickly covered in gravy with carrots and peas on the side and a salad for dad, 'cause of his Cholesterol. Her eyes glazed over somewhat, and Milo was briefly worried that she'd again come, again, under the effects of the Possessor.

"Pass that back for a second," Milo said, gesturing at the Everlasting Rations.

Hannah, looking surprised, complied.

Milo has, in the past, gone on at length about the uses and abuses of Prestidigitation, which, despite the fact that it's used by novice arcanists for practice, he firmly believed ought to be renamed 'Least Wish.' Among its many uses, which have saved Our Hero's hide a number of times, are the ability to soil or clean a large area (which comes in very handy during Milo's many detentions spent cleaning the thousands of Hogwarts statues and armour), move about a pound of material, recolour objects (or, of course, potions), create flimsy little objects — or change something's taste for up to one hour.

"Prestidigitation," Milo cast. It was his last, best spell.

He passed the Rations back to Hannah, who looked confused.

"Try it now," he urged.

Hannah took a bite of the granola-like rations, and her eyes widened.

"It tastes just like..." she paused mid-sentence to take another bite. "Like..." Hannah said again, but seemed at a loss for words.

"Christmas Dinner?" Milo suggested.

"Exactly," Hannah voiced her agreement.

"Beautiful. Now pass some here, I'm starving."