Eh, a bit of a brain-fart this one...get the world's most homophobic man, get him to meet a slashy Raistlin and Dalamar...I smell roast clergyman...

Warning, a LOT of swearing, Fred Phelps is a very foul mouthed man.

If these were mine, then I would have enough money to hire an assassin to kill Fred Phelps. He is alive, ergo I don't own Raistlin or Dalamar.

Westboro church probably really belongs to the American county it's in, seeing as Phelps' a tax dodger, but hey. Fred Phelps belongs to himself and whatever insane god he worships.

To those who are thankfully ignorant of who Fred Phelps is, he is a bible-bashing American homophobe who believes that almost everyone is going to hell and is determined to make this public knowlege, particularly to the gay community.
He is well known for disrupting funerals of gays and lesbians, erecting monuments celebrating their deaths and beating his family, ergo not a nice man.

Fred Phelps meets Raistlin Majere

It was the average sort of Sunday at Westboro Baptist church. Fred Phelps has ascended the pulpit with the air of a soon-to-be-proclaimed prophet, and began his usual speech to his congregation: Heaven to them for they were the chosen of God (reasons unknown but if true then God has very bad taste), and everyone else was going to hell, particularly those pesky sodomites that everyone seemed to be supporting nowadays!

Everyone was so wrapped up in the words their pastor was bellowing from his pulpit (accompanied by enough spittle to fill a large bath) and the preacher's attention was focused so much on his words, that none of them noticed two figures entering the church.

At first glance, they appeared to be monks from the middle ages, robed in black with hoods pulled low over their faces.

A slightly closer examination would reveal that one of the figures (the shorter) was carrying a long staff mounted with a crystal clutched in a dragon's claw.

Persistent observers would see that the robes the figures wore was embroided with rather ungodly symbols and heathen runes.

However, the congregation was so brainwashed and absorbed, and Phelps was preaching so loudly, that nobody noticed them or did anything (some brighter members didsurruptiously open umbrellas, but that was to save their Sunday best from a soaking so that's neither here nor there).

The two figures took seats at the back of the church, and watched the ongoing sermon.

The dim in the church increased as Phelps reached the climax of his speech, spouting insults so virulent against 'those God-forsaken faggots' that they cannot be written here due to age limits.

If anyone had been watching the two at the back, they would have seen that the taller was sitting very straight, and the one with the staff was fingering it longingly.

"What, in the name of Nuitari is a sodomite?"
"That's what these people
(the word was strained to make it perfectly clear that the speaker thought calling these individuals 'people was insulting people everywhere) would call our...personal relationship"
The silence that followed could have frozen hydrogen.

The pastor ended his sermon with a rip-roar of rage, loathing, fury and applause that can only be compared with "1984's" 'two minutes hate', announcing that the deepest layer of hell and it's most horrific tortures were reserved for sodomites and lesbians, accompanied with a very graphic description of the aforementioned tortures.

The speech had continued a few minutes longer than usual, which was probably why most of the audience had started clapping before he'd finished (old habits are hard to break).

The two robed figures turned to each other.
"Shall we, Dalamar? I dislike being insulted"
"Yes, so do I Shalafi."

Calmly, both mages stood and strolled over to the pulpit. Phelps, having finished his ranting, finally saw them. Ashe clearly had no idea who or what these people were, so he fell back on his fail-safe, never-failed, always-useful response.

"So you don't like what I'm doing you fucking sons of bitches? Well let me give you a few facts; you're going to hell! Both of you motherfuckers are going to burn in the everlasting fires!"

Fortunately, as dear old Freddy believed 99.9 of the world was going to hell anyway, this was a pretty safe bet.

Unfortunately, he was talking to two people who came from a world where the afterlife was common knowledge, not to mention that one of them had to power to bring down a fair-sized god (or goddess in this case), so the point fell rather flat.

"And I daresay you are not?" Raistlin's voice was smooth and subtly threatening.

"I am a man of the godfucking cloth, I know where I'm going you filthy ass-hole bastard, just as I know you and you god-damn unnatural cross-dressing freak are going!"

"So you think you're going to heaven?" Raistlin was using the time he kept the idiot talking to riffle through his component pouches for what he needed.

"Damn right you little shitass!"

"Care to test that theory?"


Fred Phelps stared at the mage (although he didn't know that's who Raistlin was. Yet).

"What?" For once, no insults could be thought of.

"You heard, human." Dalamar pulled the hood of his robe back, and grinned horribly, watching people shrink back at the sight of his elven features.

Raistlin too pushed his cowl back, giving the stunned pastor full view of his metallic skin, white hair, and hourglass eyes.

Phelps' eyes darted from one terrifying apparition to the other. He knew, as did every other member of the congregation, that these could only be demons from hell.

"Help me Goddam it!" He shrieked at his flock.

But, loyal as they were to Phelps, there was one thing that had been hammered into them more than obedience, the fear of hell.

None approached the two mages, for fear of being dragged into hell when these creatures chose to leave.

"Shall I Shalafi?" Dalamar indicated the pastor.

"Please do." It was Raistlin's turn to smile at the look of abject terror in Phelps' gaze as he saw Dalamar beginning to weave a spell. He couldn't believe what his eyes were telling him. Magic just didn't exist in Phelpsland.

"You see," Raistlin said softly, "We didn't mean to come here, we were going somewhere else, but our magic went wrong and we ended up here. I was tired so we came in here to rest and heard your sermon.
"Now, Dalamar and I, we like each other's company. Yes, in that way, so we didn't like what you were preaching about at all. We don't like being insulted."

Dalamar had almost finished the spell, the crackle and snarl of magic broke the congregation from it's trance, and as one man (Phelps only preached to one sex at a time), they tore towards the door.

"Dalamar and I might be going to hell, we might not. For you, however, there's no doubt whatsoever."

The Dark elf's spell finished and with a deafening scream like that of tearing metal, and a sudden stench of sulphur, a portal to the lower planes was opened.

Just under Phelps.

The pastor just had time for a small scream before he was dropped into the lowest layer of the dankest plane, the portal closing behind him.

The members of the flock that had not gone screaming into the bright autumn sunlight and who has witnessed this, redoubled their efforts to escape, howling and clawing at each other in a panic.

Raistlin and Dalamar stood watching as the last of the people ran, shrieking from the church.

Raistlin leant over and pressed a kiss against Dalamar's cheek.

"Well apprentice, this has proved to be an interesting diversion, but I now feel sufficiently recovered to continue our journey."

"Very well Shalafi."

Evil, but less so than letting that fearful bible-bashing homophobe walk free and disrupt other funerals.

Skull Bearer.