Tired Of Death

Frumble covered his eyes with his hands. "I'm going to die, I just know it. If that half dead being doesn't do it, Riot and her friends probably will. Do you know who her father is?"

"Er… no?"

"He's Havoc the Warlord, the evil and nasty warlord it goes without saying, of Real. You don't want to be messing with him, and he thinks the world of his daughter."

"I see," said Tybalt. "Well, in that case perhaps we should be getting back to Dreth then. As quickly as possible."

"I don't think that I'm going to allow that," came a new voice from behind them.

The two whirled around, to come face to face, or face to knee in Frumble's case, with a large human dressed in rich black robes.

"And who might you be?" asked Tybalt, putting a hand on a sword.

The figure smiled. "I love it when people ask me that," he said. He leaned forward. "My name is…"

"Veronica," interrupted Frumble. "Veronica the Violator."

"Oh, you know me. Damn, I always enjoy my little introduction speech." The Anti-Paladin pulled a rueful face, and then shrugged. "Anyway, the little one is right." He looked at Tybalt meaningfully. "If you're thinking of pulling out your sword and having a go, you're welcome to try, but only if you fancy going through the rest of your life without legs."

Tybalt hesitated, but then lifted his hand off the pommel of his weapon. Maybe he could take the man, but fighting in the street would attract attention he didn't want right now.

The Violator nodded. "Good choice. Now, if you would just follow me, I would like to ask you some questions. And if you're cooperative, they won't be too piercing, if you see what I mean."

"Wonderful, we're going to be killed by shining wit," said Tybalt. He allowed himself to be led away anyway.

It wasn't like he had a lot of choice.

~ * ~

Dreth stalked through the streets like Death looking for a client. His robe flapped behind him as he walked, leaving a trail of curling tendrils in the fog.

The source of his annoyance, the red lump on his shoulder, chattered away inanely, in direct contrast to his moody silence.

"…probably have been taken by the guard already," it was saying. "Harold the Hedonistic will no doubt be interrogating them even as we speak. He's pretty good at torturer I hear. We should move on before he sends his troops for you. This place is boring anyway. I mean, zombies and skeletons? Not exactly riveting company now are they?" The devil paused, and then sighed dramatically when Dreth made no response. "You may be a cruel, morally devoid murderer Dreth, but you have your faults too, you know that? You're too quiet. How will people know who's killing them if you don't tell them?"

"What would be the point of telling them," asked Dreth, finally roused from his silence, "if I kill them a second later?"

The devil raised a small finger. "You have a point. Still, maybe they'll tell people in the afterlife, or perhaps they'll be raised as zombies or something. People are raised sometimes you know. Badness knows, there's proof enough of that around this place. Hello, what's that?"

Dreth looked up, hearing it too. Groans, gasps and noises that sounded like it could be fighting reached his ears.

"It's coming from over there," the devil pointed to a low fence surrounding a dilapidated garden. "Maybe we're being attacked!" It rubbed its hands together. "Finally, some action."

Dreth hesitated, he didn't really wish to satisfy the devils' curiosity, but if they were under attack he would have to do something about it. The devils' prattling had put him in the mood to kill something anyway. Hand on sword, he crept over towards the noises and peered over the fence.

"Unholy demons!" exclaimed the devil. "That's the most disgusting thing I've ever seen!" He turned to Dreth. "And I've seen some pretty disgusting things, let me tell you."

"Percy!" said Dreth. "What are you doing with that undead?!"

The zombie, who had been otherwise occupied, looked up. "What? Oh, it's you. What do you think we're doing?"

"Oh Percy, don't stop!" gasped the rotten figure that Percy was lying on top of. Dreth recognized it as the female zombie from earlier.

"I think your leg's fallen off," said Percy.

"Who cares? I've got another one," panted the other undead, grasping at him. "Keep it going big boy! You're such a stud!"

"Oh baby!" replied Percy, and fell to it again.

Dreth made a face and turned away, as renewed screams emanated from the garden. "There are some things that even immortally cursed evil guardians shouldn't have to see," he said.

"For the first time since I was summoned I agree with you," the devil replied. "Not that I blame them, this place is so dull. How about you find some female flesh?" he said. "Whilst Tybalt is away that Emerald woman might be lonely…"

"I don't think so." Dreth looked about. "I'm worried about Tybalt and Frumble actually, they should be back already."

"I told you, they're likely just so much diced meat by now. Just accept it, we're going to be pals for a looong time." He did a little jig on Dreth's shoulder.

"Arg! That does it!" Dreth stopped and turned about, trying to locate the house the others had been given to stay in. "We're going to Real. I'm going to see what's going on for myself. And if anyone gets in my way…" he rubbed Darkblood meaningfully.

"I'd better get my boots on," said the devil. "There's going to be blood spilled, or my name's not Buuuuu… Ahh, I mean, or I'll eat my hat."

"Nearly slipped up there," said Dreth. "Bu…? Bub? Bubba? Bumpkin?"

The devil frowned. "No, no and no. You'll not guess. It's pointless trying."

"I don't have much else to do," replied Dreth, grinning like a skull who's just found some bone polish. "Bunion?"

"No," answered the devil, crossing its arms

"Burp?"

"No!"

"Buns?"

"Buns? What sort of name is that? No!"

"Give us a clue?"

"Get stuffed!"

Dreth laughed to himself, pleased to have the upper hand for once. He wandered off into the mist, guessing all the while. Maybe there was hope yet.

~ * ~

Frumble strode along beside the Anti-Paladin, trying to keep up. He had complained about the pace several times, but the last time Veronica had suggested an alternative to walking, and since then the wizard had decided silence was the better part of valour Or the better part of having some important parts not cut off anyway.

The small group walked past a shop, and the Violator stopped suddenly. "Wait here," he said, and went into the store, leaving Frumble and Tybalt outside.

"We have to get away!" hissed the wizard as soon as the door closed.

"You think?" replied Tybalt. "What do you suggest then? He doesn't look like the type to just let someone go for the joy of it."

Frumble looked about nervously. "We could run, he's inside the store now. Surely he wouldn't be able to catch us…?"

"I'm not going to lay good gold on that, let alone my precious flesh," Tybalt said. "Listen though, I have an idea. You distract him when he comes out."

"Distract him? How?"

"Cast a spell or something, that's what you do isn't it?"

"Oh yes, that's going to work. I can count my life expectancy on the fingers of one foot if I start casting magic near him." Frumble jerked his head to indicate the Anti-Paladin.

"Well, get him talking then. He seems to like that."

"What am I supposed to talk about?"

Tybalt heaved a sigh of frustration. "How should I know? Talk about his boots or something, he seems to be pretty vain."

"I don't know…" Frumble started to say, but then shut up as Veronica joined them once again, closing the door to the shop with a thud.

"Come on," said the Violator, and they were off again, through the streets of Real in the evening.

"Er, Mr. Anti-Paladin," Frumble piped up, responding to a not so subtle nudge from Tybalt.

"What?"

"I just wanted to ask something."

"What is it Halfling?"

"Well, I was ah… I was wondering, well…" Frumble said nervously.

"Spit it out wizard," Veronica said.

"I wanted to know… how do you keep your hair so smooth? I mean, it's so shiny and silky." Frumble cringed.

"It's a secret recipe, if you really want to know," replied The Violator, shaking his head unconsciously as they turned into a small cobbled side street. "A witch gave it to me. Eventually anyway. It's a mixture of honey, milk, the blood of a v.i.r.g.i.n and a dash of lemon for that, you know, zesty tang." The man paused a second, and Frumble thought he saw the Anti-Paladin nod and move his lips, as if talking to someone. They stopped, and Veronica turned towards him. "Of course, now I've told you I'll have to kill you."

"Hehe," said Frumble, chuckling nervously.

"No, really," said Veronica. He pulled free his sword, which seemed to be m.o.a.ning, and raised it, a strange gleam in his eye.

"Put the weapon down."

A voice interrupted Frumble's hair-secret related death, and the three swivelled around as one.

"Who are you to gainsay me?" hissed the Violator, his blade swinging left and right.

A figure stepped out of the shadows. "The sword is trying to take control, don't let it," he said.

Frumble watched as the Anti-Paladin fought with some inner demon, finally taking a deep breath and sheathing the sword. "Thank-you," Veronica said. "Now, who are you?"

The stranger smiled.