************************************************************************************** D&D "YOU BE THE DUNGEON MASTER" FAN FICTION CORNER! Rhonda Robinson E-Mailed me with this super idea a few weeks ago. Read more about it! "Hi, gang! (We gotta come up with a name for ourselves.) I was just re-reading the newsletter, specifically, the part about the Elseworlds stories Vic suggested, and a similar idea came to mind. If anyone is interested in the AD&D role-playing game, he or she may have some books and/or boxed sets on some of the different "campaign settings" DMs can use: Ravenloft, Spelljammer, Forgotten Realms, Al-Qadim, Planescape, Dark Sun, Mystara, Dragonlance, or others. A person with one or more of those settings might put the kids in them and see how they'd react to the worlds. Maybe they made it through a gate, but they were misinformed, Venger tampered with it, or they just entered it at the wrong time, and wound up on another world or plane in the Realm instead of home. Or maybe the Dungeon Master told them that there weren't any more gates to Earth from where they were, and sent them through a gate to another world or plane where they could find a gate home. (Face it, most of the gates got destroyed, and the few that didn't would take a century or more to open again, so they'd HAVE to run out of direct routes home sooner or later!) Another alternative would be that Presto tried to use his magic to get them home, but messed up again and transported them to another world or plane. Wouldn't it be something to see the kids fighting for their lives against Gothic horror-style monsters in the Ravenloft setting? (Or for an even nastier setup, maybe Venger cast a spell that made a gate bring the kids to Gothic Earth, which is another part of the Ravenloft setting, but based on the 1890's on an Earth engulfed by the evil of the Red Death. They would think they were in the wrong country at first, then realize they were in the wrong era, and finally find out they were on the wrong WORLD!) How would they handle the exotic Arabian-type deserts of Zakhara from the Al-Qadim setting or the magical spaceships of the Spelljammer setting? What would they do if they encountered the desert world of Athas from the Dark Sun setting and learned it was destroyed by life-draining magic, or if they found a way to the city of Sigil in the Planescape setting and learned why it was nicknamed the City of Doors? Anyone who knows what I mean can probably write a great story based on these ideas or others. How about it?" Well, whattya say? Fabulous idea, huh? Anyone who's interested can go ahead and E-Mail me their stories for the next issue of the newsletter. And yes, you don't have to write the whole thing at one time! I'm still keeping the continuing story limit to three per section of the newsletter -- so get yours in today! If I happen to get more than three Part 1s for this section of the newsletter, it'll be a first-come, first-served kind of deal (in otherwords, you'll have to wait your turn.) Send your stories to me at IllyanaAM@aol.com with the author's disclosure (see the stories in this issue for examples) with the subject heading: "D&D "You Be The Dungeon Master" Fan Fic Corner". There is no deadline -- I'll print them as I get them in each subsequent issue of the newsletter. Have fun, guys! ************************************************************************************** And now, here's the second story in our Fan Fiction Corner for your reading enjoyment! The Curse of Warduke: Part 2--Eric must risk his soul if he is to save Sheila from being burned at the stake. High action with moderate violence. The Curse of Warduke by Michael D. Bugg MdBugg@aol.com Part Two: Warduke Reborn "We'll never catch them," Presto panted despairingly. The young Magician swayed alarmingly as he half-crouched, hands on knees. It seemed that he might pitch over to the ground below at any moment. "Yes we will! We have to!" Bobby half-snarled, half-cried. Hank tried to pat him comfortingly on the shoulder, but the Barbarian was having none of it, and jerked his shoulder away. Uni whined and nuzzled his fingers with her nose. Bobby knelt down and gently stroked her mane. He refused comforting, but he would still give it. "Are you sure we're still on the trail, Hank?" Diana asked, leaning on her staff. "We are," said Scarlet, staring at the desolate landscape ahead from behind her crimson mask. "This is the way to Palatine, the home of the Bearers. I know it all too well. We will be there in another day, if we keep up this pace." She didn't add that by that time, the Bearers and their prisoners would have been in the city for three days already. "Indeed you will," said another voice. They turned, and saw a little man dressed in red robes, long white hair surrounding a bald pate. His face and his voice were old and gentle-seeming, but even so, something about him radiated authority. "Dungeon Master!" Scarlet hissed, drawing her knife. "Be at ease, Lara," the Dungeon Master told her. "Even if you truly wish to, you have no power to harm me, and it is not I who caused your suffering." "No? Without you, I would never have been targeted by the Bearers!" she answered, her voice a hissed scream. "You guys know each other?" Diana asked. "We do," Dungeon Master said. He looked very old, and very sad as he studied Scarlet. Then he turned to Hank. "But it is to you, Ranger, that I have come today." "We need to know how to defeat the Bearers," Hank said. "How can we get Sheila and Eric back safely?" "Defeat shall indeed come to the Bearers," Dungeon Master told him, "but it shall not be through you, although you will have your part. It is to your friends that you must be minded, Ranger. To you lies the most difficult decision." "What do you mean?" Hank asked, his stomach twisting within him, boiling in its own acid. "If you would save your friends, you must commit to killing one of them." "WHAT?! What are you talking about? I can't kill Sheila or Eric!" Hank exploded. Dungeon Master sighed wearily and began walking alongside them, towards Palatine. "Then at least one of your friends is doomed, Ranger, unless you can and will kill one. Be strong, Ranger, and follow your heart." His footsteps carried him behind a stone, away from their sight. Uni walked over and peeked behind it. "Let me guess: He's gone again," said Presto. Uni neighed affirmatively. "Let's get moving then," said Hank, his face betraying none of the torment within. Eric wondered how long he had remained in this utterly dark, stone cell. Days at least. Maybe a week? No, surely not that long, but it was hard to tell. He had long given up shouting for his captors. No one ever came, except the guy who brought him his moldy bread and cheese every so often, and that person never said a word to him for all his pleading and cajoling. So now he waited in silence. They had taken his shield, but not his armor. He wondered if that might given him an edge in trying to escape. Not likely, except to save him from being killed by a single sword thrust, or two. Or none, for that matter--these guys seemed to know how to use their weapons. Eric wondered what they had done with Sheila--he hadn't seen her since they threw him in this horrid cell. They had seemed a lot more interested in her, calling her "witch" and such. Eric thought of what the Spanish Inquisition had done with witches, and clutched a hand to his stomach. He had to escape, had to find her. I must be nuts, he thought bitterly. He was no warrior, no brave knight to save the beautiful maiden. He was just a stupid kid from the suburbs who happened to be stuck in this insane world. Heck, he wasn't even as good as the others in this situation: No doubt Hank or Diana would have found a way to escape, rescue Sheila, and make all the Bearers surrender by now. But Hank and Diana weren't here. He was. He had to find a way out. It's not like I have anything better to do, he thought bitterly. First things first. He had to find a way to get free of this collar that kept him chained to the wall. He thought he had an idea . . . The man that brought the prisoners their food was huge and unimaginative, just the qualities most sought by the Bearers in a jailor. It would never occur to him to take a bribe or listen to the pleas of his charges. After all, they were only worthless witches. He opened the door to one of his prisoners, a particularly loudmouthed youth, holding a bowl of gruel. The youth--hardly more than a child, he was; how did such a young one come to sell his soul to the dark ones?--lay sprawled out on his back, pulling the chain and collar so that there was no slack in them. The jailor frowned and set the bowl down before walking over, fingering his club. If this was a trick . . . Frowning, he examined the youth. The collar didn't seem to be tight enough to choke him, but he didn't seem to be breathing either. Indeed, his face seemed to be turning a very distinct shade of purple. Mystified, wondering what could have happened, the jailer took the ring of keys from his belt and unlocked the collar, searching for telltale bruises around the neck. He never saw the steel-shod boot that caught him right under the chin, in just the right place to drop him. "I can't . . . believe . . . that worked," Eric panted to himself. Man, it was hard work holding your breath that long. Eric quickly snapped the collar around the man's neck and took the keys with him, locking the door on his way out. The young Cavalier was free, but he was also completely lost in a maze of cells. He moved quickly and as quietly as a person could in armor down the passageway. He was doing just fine until three men in armor and white came around the corner unexpectedly. They stared at him in surprise for a moment during which he could hardly blink, and then drew their swords. "How did you get out of your cell, witches' whelp?" the one in the lead demanded, brandishing his blade threateningly. "Well, I, uh . . ." Eric stammered, taking an involuntary step backwards. Then he saw the torch, lit and resting in a wall mounting not three feet from his right hand. "Aha!" he shouted, jumping towards it, snatching it from the bracket, and jumping back, waving it in the air. "Come on, try it!" he shouted at the men. The one in the lead tried it. With a single blow of his sword, he struck the flaming end from the torch, leaving Eric with a mere stick half as long as it had been. Eric looked down at it, then back up at the men, fingering their swords, then back down at his would-be weapon, before hurling it at them and running away screaming. Surprise, more than anything else, cut off his cry as something grabbed his arm and pulled him into a darkened side corridor, out of the sight of his pursuers, who ran past the corridor without looking. "Hey! Who do you think you--ahhhh!" Eyes like cold flames flickered out of a face of shadow. Wings as insubstantial as smoke grew from a body formed of the very darkness. "Quiet, Cavalier," it hissed in a voice like oily sludge. "Unless you wish to go back to your captors." "Uh, no thanks," Eric answered in a weak voice. He forced some strength back into it. "What are you doing here, Shadow Demon?" "Why, saving you, of course," Venger's minion told him in its most reasonable voice. Eric knew he wasn't the smartest of his friends, but he was no dummy either. "Oh yeah? What's in it for you?" Though Shadow Demon had no discernable mouth, Eric thought that it smiled at him. He had to fight the urge to shiver. "Follow me," it said, and turned and floated down the corridor without looking back. Eric followed. After several twisting turns, they came to a heavy-looking door, oak banded with iron. Two guards lay sprawled bonelessly on the floor to either side of it. "What did you do to them?" Eric asked, glancing down nervously. Neither had any visible wound. His skin felt as if it might crawl off his bones. "Concerned for your enemies, Cavalier?" Shadow Demon sounded amused. "You needn't be. And in any case, they only sleep." Eric let out a sharp breath. Shadow Demon didn't seem to notice as it touched the door lightly with one ghostly hand, causing it to swing wide open. With a courtly bow, it motioned him to enter. Eric did so. They sat there together on a table: helm, sword, cloak, and shield. Eric almost threw himself at them, but stopped. Slowly, he turned and faced the being behind him, every instinct shouting alarm. Shadow Demon. Venger's minion. His enemy. "Take them, Cavalier. They are yours." "Why?" Eric demanded. "You work for Venger. Why are you helping me?" "I serve Venger, 'tis true, Cavalier. Sometimes I serve him in ways that he wouldn't choose me to." "What are you talking about? The weapons are here, why don't you just take them?" Eric grimaced as he said the words. What was he thinking, telling Shadow Demon that. As if it wouldn't have occurred to Shadow Demon already, he scoffed at himself. "Oh, I would have if I could have, Cavalier. But there is a spell laid on this room that prevents such as myself from entering. But not you. You can enter and take the weapons." "So why don't you fly back to Venger and tell him where to find them so he can tear this place apart stone-by-stone to get these?" asked Eric, grimacing again. "I have my reasons, Cavalier. Now do you want to save your pretty young friend, or not?" Sheila! Eric could have punched himself. "Where is she?" he said, his voice hardly more than a growl. Again, it seemed that Shadow Demon smiled at him. "Look through that window." Eric walked to the single narrow window that provided light for the whole room, and his eyes widened. He drew in a rapid, hissing breath. "Your choice, Cavalier, but you had best make it soon." Eric went to the table and picked up the winged helm. He stared at it for a long moment, too long. He could feel the magic in it, feel the malevolence. "No other choice . . ." he muttered to himself. The cloak and shield by themselves wouldn't get him to Sheila in time, if at all. He needed more. "No. There isn't." Shadow Demon sounded far too pleased with himself. Eric placed the helm upon his head. For Sheila, he told himself as darkness fell upon his mind like a shroud. Rough hands flung her against the pole at the top of the wood stack, and bound her to it with heavy chains pulled tight enough to twist into her flesh. It took all of her strength not to cry out, and even so, a small, strangled noise escaped her throat. She didn't know if it was pain or fear, or both. Below her, standing at the base of the woodpile, stood a man in blood-red robes. He never smiled, or frowned, or showed any emotion at all. Sheila had heard him called "Lord Bishop" by his men. "A pity, witch, that we haven't the time to properly save your soul, but we cannot risk you being saved by your allies," he said, his voice anything but regretful. "Therefore, on evidence given by the Bearers of the Pure Flame, we have found you guilty of witchcraft, the penalty for which is death by the Flame. I pity your soul, witch, but the luxury of obtaining a full confession is not ours. We will carry out the sentence immediately. Executioner . . ." He motioned to a man in black, a deep cowl shadowing his face, carrying a burning torch. "Please!" Sheila cried out. "Don't do this! I'm not evil! My friends and I have been fighting evil ever since we came to this world!" She looked out at a sea of uncaring or hate-filled faces, not one of which looked moved by her appeal. "The wicked," said one man in armor, one of the men who had brought her and Eric to this terrible place, "often try to hide their foul deeds behind tales of valor. We are not so easily fooled, witch." Sheila gritted her teeth and held her tongue. Words would make no difference to these people, and she wouldn't beg any further. She had some pride, forged in too many battles to easily count. She wouldn't willingly give it to these people; it was all she had left. What have they done with Eric? Time slowed. In exquisite slow motion, she watched the executioner stride theatrically to the base of the mound of firewood--her funeral pyre. She watched the executioner's hand release the torch. She watched it fall to the oil-soaked, split logs. She watched the fire take hold and begin a slow climb to the peak. She watched it grow, and the smoke rise, and soon began to cough uncontrollably. She prayed that the smoke would kill her, or at least render her unconscious, before the flame did. She prayed for a quick death. Death, shouting an alien battle-cry, appeared in the midst of the crowd, and began hewing a path to her with a gleaming sword. It moved with such ferocity that the crowd gave way in utter shock, men screaming as the sword drew frost-rimmed wounds. Through the smoke, through eyes nearly blinded by tears, Sheila recognized the shield Death bore and the design on it. "ERIC!" The Warduke laughed mockingly as he fought, his blade humming with power. He had no fear for their weapons: arrows turned aside before they reached him, swords and spears broke upon his shield or shattered with cold as he parried with his sword. He moved like a shark through water, hardly slowing before the assault of his enemies. Before him, through the crowd, he saw the red-robed Bishop staring at him as if at a demon. Hot rage and hatred burned like the pyre behind the Bishop, driving away the darkness and cold. He wanted blood. He needed blood. Nothing else would sate his thirst, and he would have it, would bathe in it. Though he couldn't say why, he inflicted only disabling wounds on those who fought him, rather than killing them outright. It was because he wanted the Bishop's blood first, he told himself, and because those left alive would form the core of his new army. That was the only reason. His sword continued to clear a path. "ERIC!" The voice came from somewhere above, piercing through the blood-red haze. At first, he couldn't understand. Who was Eric? It's me. I am Eric! Sheila! He hesitated for an instant, and a heavy sword struck him across the side, sending him staggering. Reflex born of magic took over, and he swung his sword blindly to the right, to be rewarded by a cry of pain that mirrored his own. Eric, the Warduke, blocked out the pain. It was an enemy on the other side of a castle wall, besieging him, but it couldn't get in. It was irrelevant. Only getting to Sheila mattered. NO! I want the Bishop! I'll bathe in his blood! Oh, Lord, Sheila! I have to save her! The two voices in his head screamed at him, and for a moment, he thought that he would surely be driven insane. Half-blinded by the agony, Eric, the Warduke, plunged into the fire. It didn't touch him. He wasted no time wondering at that--surely it was the power of his shield--No, it's my Frost Blade--but instead climbed through the burning wood, until at last he could see Sheila's limp body, hanging from the chains that crisscrossed her body, holding her to a pole. Iron chains proved no obstacle to his sword. They shattered at a blow, like ice. She fell bonelessly into his arms, and he quickly tore off her cloak from his shoulders and wrapped her in it even as he lifted her to one shoulder. She seemed so light, more like a little wisp of a spirit than a living girl. He plunged back into the flames, this time descending down the other side of the pyre, praying that whatever shielded him from the heat would also protect her. He emerged from the fire, howling like a demon. He gave the men in front of him no mind as he hacked and slashed and parried and thrust. He thought only of the stables in front of him. He plunged into the stable. A thin boy, not even his own age--How old am I?--stared at him with saucer eyes, seeming to forget the horse whose reins he held. "Give me the horse if you want to live," the Warduke snarled, wondering why he bothered to ask. The boy blanched and complied, dropping the reins and fleeing back into the darkened stalls. Eric gently draped Sheila over the saddle--God, please let her be alive--before climbing into the saddle. He gently drew her into the crook of his shield arm--Fool! There's no time!--before guiding the roan out of the stable with his knees, brandishing the sword. He galloped to the gate, halfway around the courtyard wall, hearing the Bishop scream, "Stop them, you fools! Close the gates! Stop them on your souls!" Too little, too late, he thought, and he didn't know whose thought that was. The men working the crank to bring up the drawbridge screamed and darted away as the Warduke approached. The heavy chain to the drawbridge gave way just as the one's binding Sheila had, sending the steel-banded planks crashing back to the ground. As he rode through the gatehouse, men above tried to slay him with spears and arrows through the murder holes, but his shield magic saw him through unharmed. He stopped and turned on the bridge, looking back through the Y-shaped slit in his helm. "Bishop Narius," he said in a cold, clear voice that easily cut through the noise though he never raised it. It was a voice that passed sentence as surely as the Bishop's had when he had condemned Sheila. That thought burned through him hotter than the fires of the pyre. "I will return for you." A few half-hearted arrows landed around him, but he paid them no mind. They couldn't hurt him. He looked only at the Bishop, his eyes burning with unquenchable hatred. Eric, the Warduke, turned his horse and spurred it away, riding it towards where he knew he could find his allies. In the darkness of the stable, Shadow Demon smiled. ************************************************************************************** The Making of a New Series (or "Why I love the Dungeons and Dragons cartoon") by Michael D. Bugg MdBugg@aol.com This being one of my all-time favorite shows, I would love to see another like it, a sequel or just another excellent show along the same lines (and with the same name). I really don't think a sequel would work, since everyone involved in the show has been off doing their own thing for almost fifteen years now, although those of us who read and write fanfic can and are continuing the adventures of the "Young Ones." Having seen the excellent storywriting and character development combined with good solid animation in such shows as "Gargoyles" and "Batman," I think the time is right for a new "Dungeons & Dragons" show, with new characters and storylines, if such would be done properly. There was a certain something about this show that made us love it so much. Several things, actually. Any new show would have to have these things in order to even approach the original. The first thing, and the most important, is good characters. We all love and identify with the kids of the show. Hank and Diana are like older siblings (this is true no matter how old you are); Bobby our kid brother; Sheila the girl next door that we all like; Presto our nerdy, braniac friend (or in my case, my alter-ego); and Eric the spoiled brat that we nonetheless come to see the good in. They act like kids, full of public bravado and private fears, sometimes turning their barbed words on each other, but at the same time, we can see the adults beneath that emerge as they face the dangers of the Realm. We see them laugh and weep, cheerful and enraged, wise and foolish. We see them as they try to live from day to day, often trying just to find enough to eat as they search for a way to get home, but we still see them taking the time to rest and have fun when they can. They sometimes tease each other, but at the core, you know they are closer than family, and that any of them would die to save the others if necessary, even (eventually) Eric. They are the friends that I didn't find until some time after the show was taken off the air. Secondly, the world is beautifully crafted. It is alien, with four suns and three moons, deadly monsters and cute creatures unknown to our world. It is a world all but succumbed to Venger's evil, where only a few bastions of Light (Tardos Keep, Rahmud's kingdom of Khadish) remain in a sea of Darkness, which only serves to make the Young Ones and their allies the more heroic. It is a world under threat of many alien powers (Queen Siris, the Nameless One), but it still has many places of beauty that we wish we could go see ourselves (the Valley of the Unicorns). It is a world that we would like to adventure in. The great talent of the voice actors, animators, and whoever put together the soundtrack (I wish I could find a copy of that somewhere) has to be given credit too. For those of you who doubt the importance of good voice actors, try watching a few episodes of the Thundercats with their stilted, too-heroic voices and see if you can enjoy it nearly as much as this show. As much as I still love this show, though, it does have it's weaknesses. The biggest can be summed up in one word: Continuity. One of the few things about the series overall was the way the kids' adventures never seemed to have anything to do with each other. I've joked about this several times before, how they could save a kingdom and have its ruler indebted to them forever, but the following episode they would be just as penniless as when they began. What would have happened if they had gone off to live with Rahmud at the end of "City at the Edge of Midnight," if only for a short rest? Or if they had used Tardos, from "The Treasure of Tardos" as a base of operations for a time? In their situation, I know I would have done both, and taken the time to learn about the Realm, its history, and its lands before moving on to the next quest. Why go in blind when you don't have to? For that matter, what ever happened to villains like Warduke? How many good stories would have been written had the writers used the hanging threads of those stories that came before? I would have loved allies like Greatheart, Dekion, and Ramuhd to have made other appearances, for that matter. Along with a lack of continuity goes a lack of logical story endings. You know, where the kids by all rights should have made it home, but they find some excuse not to, simply so that the next episode could start back at base one? Or when they let Venger go in "Dragon's Graveyard?" All stories should follow through to their natural conclusion, whether that means the end of the show or the death of a main character, hero or villain. For that matter, not all stories should be concluded in 22 minutes plus commercials. For many, like "Quest of the Skeleton Warrior," this was plenty of time to tell the story that they wanted to. But for others . . . after all, if six kids and a baby unicorn can banish the demon queen (Child of the Stargazer), destroy the most dangerous creature ever to walk the Realm (Treasure of Tardos), or face down the Evil One himself (Dungeon at the Heart of Dawn) in less than half an hour, how hard could it be? By turning out multi-part, linked storylines, you are far less likely to get burned-out than if you follow the episodic format. Okay, so how would I incorporate these into a new series? Okay, start with six or seven kids and toss them into another world. I would love it if they were actually playing Dungeons & Dragons, the game, but any gateway will do. Sound familiar so far? Okay, this time, the Realm (I love that name, so let's keep it--Ed Greenwood shouldn't complain too much) is ruled by a dark and villainous Dungeon Master who looks like the guy on the cover of the first edition Dungeon Master's Guide. He brought the kids over to play a game with their lives. The kids, of course, are given character class-like roles, since this would no doubt be used to help market the game. However, as much as the Weapons of Power were an excellent plot device for the original show, I wouldn't use them in this new show. Instead, the kids are forced to learn how to wield real weapons. How do we get around cartoon-violence censorship, you ask? Simple. Most cannon-fodder creatures (orcs, ogres, and so on) are carved by the Dungeon Master from the stone of a certain magical quarry. When they are killed, they don't bleed or leave messy corpses behind, they revert back to stone and crumble to dust. Those of you who remember Starscream's death in Transformers: the Movie will know how I would make it look. Other creatures, like dragons and such, would usually not be made of this stone, but the kids actually killing creatures like this could be done in the usual corny ways (using spectacular magic, knocking them off a cliff, or whatever it takes to drop the body out of sight) since it would be rare enough not to stretch coincidence too much. Handled carefully, you can utilize just enough cartoon (not cartoonish) violence to tell the story without having a bloodfest. The kids would be seeking "The Gate," as opposed to "a gate," a singular artifact as opposed to a myriad of ways home (which always seemed to bring the original kids right back to their point of origin, didn't it?). They would constantly be finding clues, magic, and so on that would lead them closer and closer to finding the Gate as the story continued. Meanwhile, they continuously make themselves a thorn in the Dungeon Master's hide, disrupting his plans and defeating his minions, until he finally decides that the game has gone far enough, and seeks to grind them under, which would raise the stakes and the tension. The kids, like the original kids, would have to decide whether to fight a war on a world not their own, or whether to simply strive to find a way home. Lastly, the story would come to its natural conclusion. Will it be with the kids making it home, or will they remain trapped in the Realm in order to defeat the evil Dungeon Master once and for all? You'll have to watch the show to find out. ************************************************************************************** CASTING CALL RESPONSES! Well, since posting this idea in the last newsletter, I've found two more potential Hanks -- howsabout Leonardo DiCaprio (of What's Eating Gilbert Grape? and Romeo and Juliet fame), and if we make it an international cast, what about Heath Ledger, who plays Conor on the new Fox series Roar? Making the group international -- now, there's a story waiting to be told... You can still send in your ideas for casting a D&D movie based on our favorite characters if you want -- I can post them in upcoming issues. Also, if anyone's got a script that they're working on and would like to start posting it here, let me know! Here's a great response I got from Karl Monson (Ryonavin). Enjoy! "Well I would have to say a better idea would be a continuation of the cartoon, like the return to the realm. All the kids grow up have lives of their own and for some reason or another are "called" back to the realm In this situation I would see Hank played either by Mel Gibson or Kevin Costner, probably Mel since he looks closer to the part. Presto, definitely Rick Moranis, Eric I agree is a toughie, though I'm tempted to say Jim Carrey cuz he has played ego-maniacs in the past and I think he could act out Eric's personality quite well, Diana I think would be done by Whitney Houston because they share similar physical features, Bobby is the only one I really can't think of -- any suggestions?" **************************************************************************************