Tired Of Death

Dreth paused to pull the farmer's hood down further over his face and watched the large man mount his horse and ride off. The black cloaked figure was not a local, that was for sure, and the timing couldn't be a co-incidence.

As the beast disappeared into the ever lightening sky, he looked back at the door the man had walked out of. If he'd spoken to the person inside, it followed information could be found there.

Straightening his new farmer's clothes once more, and trying to hide some of the blood stains, he walked into the main street, which was thankfully almost deserted. Keeping to the shadows as much as possible, he trudged along the dusty road. A glance down made him pause for a moment. A hoof print, recent, was burned into the ground. A Nightmare steed then. He was right; the rider had been some kind of serious evil. Dreth shrugged. Ah well, so was he.

Climbing the steps slowly, he looked left and right. No one was near. Placing his hand on the hilt of Darkblood, he pushed at the door. It swung open slowly, to reveal a neat and tidy room beyond.

Slightly to one side was a desk, behind which sat an ageing half elf woman, hair greying, though her sparkling blue eyes were bright and alert, matching her fine silken dress.

"Well, come on then. You're letting a draught in," she said, apparently not in the least surprised to see a dark minion in bloodied farmers' clothes enter her office.

Dreth did as he was bid, closing the door behind him.

"You took your time," the half elf said, gesturing at one of the seats in front of her desk.

Dreth raised a long thin finger. "I'm Dreth, guardian of the undead way. I am the doom of thousands…" he started.

"Oh please, don't go all dramatic on me, I get enough from that damned Anti-Paladin." The woman frowned and pointed at the seat again. "Sit, sit. We don't have much time."

Glowering slightly, Dreth sat, delayed only when Darkblood's scabbard became tangled in the chair. "You have the advantage of me I'm afraid," he said, when finally settled. "You would be…?"

"My name's Adel, I'm the Head Woman of this village."

"Charmed I'm sure," Dreth replied, pulling some manners out of the depths of his memory.

"I have your friend, Emerald," said Adel.

"Ah, then perhaps I'm not so charmed as all that. I would ask for her back if you would, or I'll be forced to pull your intestines out through your nostrils." He paused as one of her eyebrows moved upwards slightly. "I can you know, I've been practising. It's pretty messy though, and painful, judging from the screams."

"Doing such would not help you," the Head woman said. "By now the woman is well hidden."

Dreth scowled. This wasn't going according to plan. "Fine," he said, crossing his arms. "What do you want?"

The Half Elf leaned forward, resting on her desk. "We need your help," she stated.

"My help?" Dreth would have raised his own eyebrows, except they hadn't grown back yet. "What can I do for you?"

"Many centuries ago my predecessor signed an agreement with the ruler of the nearby dungeon. In exchange for protection against the creatures therein, and anything else that threatened the village, we would help lure adventurers here, to the dungeon that is. The village gets a cut of the profits, as well as the revenue from selling equipment and services to those passing through."

"Interesting business agreement," Dreth said. "So what's changed?"

Adel paled and glanced about, as if she feared someone was listening. Finally she opened her mouth. "Well, it's like this…"

~ * ~

Smudge sat on a large brown toadstool and bit into the meal she'd caught, chewing on the juicy meat with some relish. She had always liked worms.

Swallowing, she was about to take another bite out of her squirming dinner when a shadow fell over her.

"Smudge the Fearie?" A smooth, rich and dark voice asked.

"Who wants to know?" she asked, looking up.

The large man bent down, to bring his face closer to hers. "I do," he said.

"Oh yeah? Well, I'm busy." She waved the worm about.

"I want to ask you a few questions about Dreth, then you shall be free to consume your repast at leisure," said the man.

"I already told the imps, I don't know nothing!"

"Anything," the questioner corrected absently. "And I'm not an imp."

"Figure that out yourself did you?"

"Where did Dreth go? Tell me his plans!" The man's voice was tinged with annoyance now.

Smudge sighed and stood up, putting the worm down as she did so. "Not saying!" she shouted, and launched herself into the air.

A black gloved hand whipped out, faster than the eye could follow, and caught her in a firm grip. Bringing the small form close, the Violator spoke again. "Oh, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist."

"Let me go!" Retorted the Fearie. "Not telling you anything!"

The Anti-Paladin smiled, and brought forth a pair of sturdy looking tweezers. "Oh you'll talk. They always do, in the end. Let's see. I think the wings first, yes?"

A small shrill scream echoed about the Black Garden, to be drowned out a moment later by loud, evil, laughter.