Well depending on just how much lore the protagonist dumps on Death and how good he fuels the Reapers addiction to the plastic crack, he might end up immortal. Playing Death forever while sitting on a golden throne...

So while death paints his units to assemble a most fearsome army, what do they talk about?

The rules? The lore? Something else?

Also did this person die or were they just present when death came to play someone else? Or did death watch them and think "hmm, this looks like a nice game. Let me just ask this mortal if they would explain it to me so I can suggest it to the next soul"?

So many questions and just one answer: Is there, perhaps, more of this to be found in a timeline soon to us? Because it reads great!

Bael was exhausted and irritated as he busied himself with preparing his contraptions for climbing. Misty refused to leave his side and although this was very sweet Bael was in quite a mood and she was just getting in the way. After the third time she blocked him from reaching the tower in time to connect his contraptions properly Bael sighed and patted her affectionately, “Okay,” he said softly, “I suppose I should take a break and try to have something to eat.”

The birds sung sweetly as Bael prepared himself a quick breakfast of bread, cheese, and the last of his grapes. He checked his pack and realized that he only had four apples left so he tossed Misty one and put the others away. She needed them more than he did.

With his belly only feeling a little satiated Bael began to place the first contraption on the tower wall. He worked on soothing his breathing and containing his fears as Misty watched him anxiously.

“Don’t look so worried,” Bael said, side-eying Misty. “You’re making me worried. I’ll be back before you know it. It’s easy,” Bael looked up and tried to push down the lump in his throat. “Piece of cake really….”

The annoying thing about being a hero is the fears never go away, you just get better at pretending you don’t feel them. Bael imagined it was a lot like stage fright. Even the best theatre performers say they feel anxious and afraid before a big performance. In his ripe age he was beginning to realize that he would always feel like that worried young man before a battle or a big challenge. Bael took in a deep breath, closed his eyes, held it for a second, and then released it loudly.

It’s now or never, he thought.

Bael carried the rest of the contraptions in a bag that hung off his shoulder and also had with him some basic supplies. He was pretty sure the Princess was alive and well kept up there in the tower, but he couldn’t be certain that her father didn’t leave her up there with nothing to eat.

Bael tested the wire of the first he had placed on the wall, as far as his arm could reach, and it held, so he pulled his crossbow off his back and found the right bolt in his pack. He fastened the contraption to the end of the bolt with the back of it facing the wall. He connected the contraption in the crossbow to the one close to him on the wall and then took some steps back.

Bael aimed, closed one eye, and released the bolt about 50 feet up. He heard the proper clicking sound as the contraption made contact with the wall and nodded.

Bael fastned another contraption to his crossbow, connected his belt to the wire, rubbed his gloved hands together, and began to climb.

Bael knew that there were no traps in the first five feet, but he kept his eyes open as he made his way from one contraction to the next. His belt dragged along the wire that connected the two contraptions. It was enchanted with a locking spell so that if it got suddenly jerked in one direction it would lock into place and instead of falling to his death Bael would hang against the side of the tower.

This was perfect except if there was a trap close beneath him. Because of this, Bael did not intend to fall and hoped he would simply be able to avoid all the traps. He’d planned his route many times and optimized it, but he knew that the King could’ve added more traps or changed things around between the plans he saw and the finalised ones.

Bael promised himself he would not look down so he kept his eyes firmly up. He was approaching the first trap, he suspected, so he took out his crossbow and aimed above him and to the right. This path would hopefully take him between two traps. As he climbed he noticed a hole in the tower and two serrated blades waiting for something to trigger them. Bael was careful about which bricks he placed his hands on to pull himself up. He knew many of the bricks were what activated the traps.

Bael had placed three more bolts and avoid seven more traps when his foot slipped and he sharply fell. In his panic he reached out for the wall but his finger caught the edge of one of the trigger bricks. Suddenly the wall was full of sharp spikes that jutted out and, if the rope had been made of anything else, it probably would’ve broken.

Bael’s breathing was heavy as he assessed his situation. He was hanging just beyond the reach of the spikes, but they were close. He couldn’t use them to climb because they were very sharp. He bit his lip and eyed the situation.

He took out another contraption, put it on a bolt and activated the locking spell on his belt by saying the secret word “bak’ell.” He tested the best and it held firm. Bael put his feet against the wall and leaned back, aiming his cross bow up. He kicked off a little and shot the bow about thirty feet up. He came back to the wall and held onto it with the gloves as he unlocked the spell.

Suddenly Bael kicked away from the wall as hard as he could. While in the air he pulled himself up the wire as quickly as he could so that by the time he swung back he was above the spikes. His boot caught the tip of one of the spikes and he thought he punctured the leather, but otherwise he made it. Bael snuck a look down. He was only about half way up and his arms were getting tired. But he needed to keep going.

Bael made it up the rest of the tower with just a few near misses. He was almost burned into a crisp, almost stabbed through the chest, and nearly lost an arm, but he had reached the clouds and he could see the Princess’ window.

When he finally reached the window the sun was nearly setting and shadows were filling the clearing beneath him. Bael peered through the window but the room was completely dark. He tried to open the window but, unsurprisingly, it was locked. Bael dug in his pack and pulled out another small contraption. He fastened it to the window, pushed the sides, and moved away from it, shielding his face. A small “bang” boomed and the glass shattered. Bael cleared the glass and pulled himself through the window.

He felt an immense sense of relief as his boots touched the ground but that was quickly taken away as he looked around the room he’d entered. This was not the Princess’ chambers, and Bael was afraid he’d have a long way to go before he actually found her.

End Part Three

The rest of the night was uneventful until after the sun had set. Bael found himself dozing in and out of sleep, the crackling fire and night bird songs soothed his exhausted body. He tried to stay awake but the days of travel were weakening his ability to resist the whispers of the sandman. He thought of his beautiful wife, Mel, and his three daughters. He fell asleep to the image of their joyful faces.

A snapping noise startled Bael awake. The fire was embers and it flickered on and off as if the fire was breathing. The hairs on the back of Bael’s arms were rising as he stumbled to his feet and grabbed for his sword.

“You should not have come here,” an amused, high-pitch voice said from the trees. Bael’s eyes looked at every shadow but he couldn’t see who was speaking. He waited and she continued, “No one is to see the Princess. No one is to climb the tower. I must kill you, by order of the King.”

A red whip struck forwards and almost caught Bael’s right leg but he moved just in time and it wrapped itself around air and flickered back. Bael lifted his ornate shield and held a defensive stance. There was a moment of silence and all Bael could hear was the sound of his own uneven breathing. It was hard to see in the dark but the moon was high in the sky and full, so shapes were relatively illuminated. Bael shifted his weight and looked around just as an eerie, thick, grey fog began to billow into the clearing, swept up by the wind like a great wind storm.

“I am here to free the Princess,” Bael shouted in no particular direction, his loud voice echoing around the clearing, “No one should be held prisoner like this. She is innocent.”

“Innocent?” the voice sneered as another attack whipped forwards. This one caught Bael’s sword but he turned with it and managed to pull his weapon away before it could be wrenched from his hand. “She is anything but innocent. I warn you, leave this place, or die.”

Lightening struck the ground in front of Bael and he jumped back before it snapped against his pants. His eyes found a figure in the mist and he ran forwards, dodging the whip and deflecting it away. Finally he saw his attacker, a tall, thin witch with black hair, grey skin, and black eyes. She smiled coldly, her thin mouth full of small, sharp teeth, and blew a gust of freezing air towards Bael. He caught the wind and frost in his shield and, activating his Knight Stone, absorbed the magic and threw it back at her. She was caught off guard for a second and Bael slashed at her with his sword. She vanished and reappeared further away from him. Rising her arms she snapped electricity towards him and he dodged it just in time. Bael groaned in annoyance and took his crossbow off his back. He whispered the secret word to it, “Agathenthia” and it began to glow with red light that flickered in the witches black eyes.

“Where did you get that?” she managed to say before she was blasted back and stuck into a tree with the bolt sticking out of her chest. Her body spasmed chaotically, red magic rippling through her, before her body went limp and she hung there silently. Bael breathed deeply and fastened his weapon on his back. He spat towards the hanging witch and made his way back to the tower. He tried to sleep but was still awake as the sun began to ignite the land.

End Part Two

One:

Through wind and rain Bael rode,

Facing dangers of monsters known and untold.

He rushed to free the abandoned Princess

Who found herself cursed and in deep distress.

Bael the Gentle, kind and good

Knew his journey could be misunderstood

So he carried with him a rose and ring

Representing his family, his life, his everything.

The tallest tower in all of Elderwood cast its long shadow across Bael and his trusty steed, Misty. The summer was slowly fading into autumn and the wind that whipped Baron's dark blue cloak around him carried with it a new chill. Bael shifted his weight in his saddle and tried not to think about how long he’d been away from his family. Misty began to stir beneath him, her dark brown eyes watching the trees suspiciously. Bael patted the side of her white and grey head and cooed, “It’s okay girl, we’ll be on our way home soon.”

With a gentle kick Misty began to walk forwards and into the dark shadow of the tower. Bael looked up as they walked, feeling his stomach turn and twist in knots. The tower was impressive, he’d pay the King that much of a compliment. It loomed above even the tallest trees in this ancient forest. They swayed and moved around it yet it stood firm. The construction of such a building was magnificent to behold, it was such a shame that the King was using it for such a sinister punishment. For his very own daughter too.

Bael’s stomach twisted as his eyes moved slowly up the side of the white tower and his thoughts slipped towards his own daughters. He imagined climbing up the tower and falling down part way up. He imagined his crumpled bones and the agony on his family’s faces when they realized he would never come home.

Bael shook the thoughts out of his head and took in a deep breath. Weeks of travel and the discomforts that accompany it were making him think unreasonably. He was a brave man, but he always prided himself in his ability to think things through and plan. Bravery alone makes people rush into bad situations to prove themselves. Bael was old and successful. He had nothing more to prove to anyone or himself. He was not here to prove anything anyway. He was here on principle, on the moral truth that he felt about right and wrong. It was wrong to imprison a young girl like this for any reason, Bael didn’t care what one’s relation to that girl was. A true father would never disrespect his daughter so, and Bael was here to right that wrong.

So if it took his ageing body longer than a spry young thing to climb up the tower, who cares? He would get there eventually, and he would get there alive. Plus, there were no witnesses, so the songs and stories that spread through the land about his journey would most likely include some fantastic climbing sequence that made him look like a hero of legend. A smile softened Bael’s bearded face as they reached the bottom of the tower.

Bael hopped off Misty and began to take off the saddle and prepare her for the night. She had spent many days travelling and Bael knew he pushed her to her limits. He bumped his nose against hers affectionately as he handed her an apple from the palm of his hand.

“You know how much I love and appreciate you right?” He said, nuzzling her as she happily chewed the apple to bits. Her brown eyes smiled and she nuzzled him right back.

When Misty was taken care of Bael began to set up his own tent and sleeping arrangements. As he did he couldn’t help but look up at the tower. It was so tall that the top of it seemed to be lost in the clouds. Bael’s stomach twisted at the thought of climbing that thing again. From what he had learned in his research about it and its construction, this tower was built so that there was only one way out and that way could only be opened from the top. But this exit was also secret and kept safe with many riddle-locks. Bael didn’t know exactly what riddle-locks this tower contained, the King never wrote that down, but he did know what kind of riddle-locks the King had been looking at during the construction of this tower. Bael had spent many late nights studying every riddle-lock he could get an example of and so he was fairly confident that once he got into the tower he could get out.

But getting into the tower was a completely different and unique challenge. There was a piece of the tower that connected to the top and worked like a lift. The King would’ve used this mechanism to get his daughter up there but he also would have taken that back home with him. As far as Bael could tell, climbing was the only way in.

Climbing something this tall in itself was enough of a feat, but even that was complicated. In the blueprints Bael had stolen from the King’s Guard for the tower, he noticed that the sides of it were full of traps and contraptions designed to make any climber fall. Unfortunately, the blueprints that Beal had were first drafts and so some of the plans could’ve changed, but Bael knew there would still be traps. Ropes could be cut, hands would most likely be wounded, and the climbers would surely fall.

Bael glanced around shyly, half expecting to see some poor dead fools who had attempted to climb the tower scattered around. He didn’t see any, but he also knew that there were wolves and other beasts in these forests who would most likely claim any body that happened to fall down.

So with all the conventional ways of climbing out of the question, Bael had to be creative with his plan on how to climb up the tower.

The fire sparked to life just as the last, lingering sun rays were fading from the sky. Bael began to prepare his dinner as Misty stood close by, her eyes still watching the edges of the forest. Bael felt it too, this strange tension in the air and the smell of a threat he hadn’t quite discovered yet. As his dinner of rabbit and potatoes sizzled on the fire Bael pulled out a wooden box and opened it up gently.

Inside were about fifty small metal objects that shimmered in the firelight. Bael was quite proud of this invention. He knew that the King did not plan on the climber’s using magic to climb, it was expensive and hard to come by. He also knew that the King didn’t plan for materials stronger than basic rope and wood.

He pulled out one of the contraptions and turned it in his hands. It was perfectly circular on the front but completely flat on the back. It was, cold to the touch and heavy, but not too much of a burden. They had to be heavy enough to be effective but light enough to carry many up the side of a mountain or, in this specific case, tower. At the bottom there was a metal wire, made from one of the strongest metals known to humanity and a hook. Bael would be able to fasten the back of these contraptions to the walls and they would bind to the stone. No matter what happened that binding could not be severed. Bael also had a pair of metal gloves that were made for this purpose. They clung to stone walls and allowed him to hold on if anything else failed.

Bael looked up at the tower nervously. He was sure this would work. It had to.

End Part One

AND YOU SAID THIS 'WARCLUB' IS PLAYED MOSTLY WITH DICE? Death said, his words not spoken but heard, each syllable weighing my mind down.

"Warhammer," I corrected him politely. "And yes. But to play, you must first choose an army."

I USUALLY PLAY BLACK TO GIVE MY OPPONENT THE FIRST TURN.

"Oh, uh," I chuckled lightly, "Warhammer goes beyond that. There are many factions, each with a set of advantages and unique mechanics. It's more... varied, let's say."

I SEE, Death nodded along.

"Sir... uh, Death, if I may - why the interest?" I questioned carefully.

IT IS CUSTOMARY FOR ME TO PLAY A DEAD SOUL. SHOULD THEY WIN, THEY GET AN... EXTENSION. EVERYONE PICKS CHESS AND, IN THE END, I ALWAYS WIN. IT GETS BORING, YOU SEE? Death explained, the small, blue lights in his empty eye sockets flickering lightly.

"Can't argue with that," I shrugged.

WHAT... 'ARMY' WOULD YOU RECOMMEND FOR ME?

I looked over my collection. I was an avid fan and had at least a solid composition for every faction. My eyes finally settled on a familiar sight.

"I believe Necrons would suit you."

WHY IS THAT?

I blinked slowly and looked at the cold, skeletal faces of my Necron warriors before shifting my gaze to the cold, skeletal face of Death.

"...no reason," I lied.

WHAT ABOUT THESE? Death asked and pointed a skeletal finger towards a group of hardened warriors.

"A great choice," I commended. "You'll need these," I said and slammed a large box on the desk.

ARE ALL THESE DICE? Death asked.

"Yep."

THAT IS AN OBSCENE AMOUNT OF DICE.^(1)

"That's Orks for you. They shoot a lot. They miss a lot. But you're bound to hit with some of the bullets."

Death paused for a moment. YES, he finally said. THIS AMUSES ME.

"Good," I smiled. "Now, if you want to just get into a game quickly, we can do that."

I WOULD LIKE TO EXPERIENCE THIS GAME FULLY IF THAT IS QUITE ALRIGHT.

"Well..." I said and scratched the back of my neck, "to really get into Warhammer, I personally think that you have to start by painting your own army. Really immerse yourself. I got some blank models, but no paints at the moment, I'm afraid."

WILL THESE SUFFICE? Death said and pulled a cluster of glass bottles from his robe, each containing different paint. I picked one up; it was a colour that didn't actually exist. Just looking at it hurt my eyes. I hastily put it back down.

"Yes, these are perfect. Now. Allow me to tell you the first cardinal rule of Warhammer," I said with a stern expression.

YES?

"Always thin your paints," I laughed.^(2)

​

​

​

​

^(1) To give Death credit, it truly was an obscene amount of dice. Each was blessed by Gork - or perhaps Mork - to guarantee that the rolls would be wildly inconsistent to even the most skilled hand.

^(2) Seriously. Always.

Jiminy Cricket, thumb wresting Thanos, for the Holy Grail.

"By jingo, that was a riot." said the Princess.

"Hold still; you've got brains in your hair." Said the knight as he pulled lumps of sticky pink matter from her blonde locks.

"Ewww, that's gross." She said, leaning back. She felt the hard steel of his codpiece nestled against the small of her back.

" I say, is that a codpiece, or are you pleased to see me?" said the Princess with a giggle.

"Ok, missy, let's get one thing straight. I'm here to rescue you, and that's it. No funny business, ok?"

"Boooooring." The Princess replied as she spun around and fell against his breastplate.

The knight held out his arms and took a step backwards. The Princess stumbled, falling forward, her forehead meeting the spike on his sabaton with a squelch.

The knight looked down. The protruding spike parted her blond locks as it dripped blood and brain.

"Bugger."

The walls of the castle shook and dust fell from the ceiling. The guard captain tried again "Sire, we need to get you out of here be-" but was once again silenced with a "Shhhhhh" from the king. The king was struggling to hear the recording crystal that was playing. He rewound it once again.

None of it made any sense. Nothing he'd seen yet would explain why dragons were sieging his castle. The recording started with the adventuring party skulking their way around some caves high in the Craven Mountains. They were searching ever nook and crevice. He was beginning to wish they hadn't finally found what they were looking for. They found a dragon cave.

It wasn't a very big cave. It wasn't a very big dragon. It was clear what the "quest" they were on: Slay A Dragon. The king groaned. Only idiots took that quest and the dragons got a free meal so nobody complain, especially not him because he had fewer idiots making trouble. And what trouble they had made.

He looked more closely at the dragon they had ambushed. He wasn't just small... he was kinda malformed. His scales were mottled brown and orange. The head seemed a little misshapen? Also what were those things the dragon was... organizing. Were those portraits? Portraits of women? Hey that looks like a portrait of his daughter. How? Why? He shook his head in confusion. And that's when the barbarian rushed in screaming. What an idiot.

The dragon spun around, the barbarian already anticipating this along with the dragons fiery breath and so had leaped into the air. Except the dragon hadn't breathed fire and really wasn't that fast so the barbarian had mistimed it and the tail by shear luck thwacked him into a wall. Blood went everywhere.

That's the point when the rest of the team rushed in but instead of finding a dragon on the offensive they found a sad pitiful dragon in the corner crying and trying to get blood off one of the portraits. A dragon on the offensive isn't that hard to kill oddly enough once on the ground. But a defensive dragon all turtled up? Yeah much harder to kill.

Poor thing was totally distraught too about killing someone and what did they do? They did the only reasonable thing. They stole his hoard. The recording ended.

Guess he'd better get caught up on what's going on outside. "Captain. Report." he commanded.

The captain stood to attention "Sire, the big orange dame set our outer wall is on fire. We are running low on arbalest ammunition. One of the juvenile browns collapse the east tower. I'm not sure how much longer we can hold out."

The king pondered and finally spoke "You've seen the crystal, would you say that dragon is similar in appearance to those outside?"

"Sire, they look very similar sir, except this dragon is a bit... runtier sir? Less majestic? Kinda I don't know. Just overall less?"

The kings eyes opened wide in horror and realization: "You know Edmund, the footman's boy, Down syndrome? You think dragons...? Any ideas for how to placate the parents of a Down syndrome dragon?"

Sir Gladstone, thinking twice, trained the princess how to sword fight so he doesn't need to be called again

"The dragon has been slain! All Hail Sir Barkley!" The man was aloft his white horse, a beautiful princess on his back.

"My knight, I am sorry I thought it was time for you to be put out to pasture for your age. The kingdom is in gratitude to you." Sir Barkley bowed.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. It was all part of my job."

"I know you did not ask for retirement, even after I allowed it...thank the Maker you did not. Now, it is time for your just reward."

"...just reward? Your gratitude is enough reward for me, Your Majesty."

"If we don't give you the reward, it flies in the face of my kingdom. PREPARE THE ROYAL WEDDING!"

Sir Barkley was shocked.

"...royal wedding?"

"Yes. You saved my daughter, the princess, and as such you will be betrothed to her!" Sir Barkley looked confused as the king continued.

"...uh, Your Majesty...I've BEEN married! For years! Th-the royal bishop ordained my marriage! You know my wife, she works in the royal kitchen as one of your chefs!" The King looked, then was confused.

"...w-well, why did you save my daughter if you're already married? You amongst all the knights know the rule- you save the princess, you marry the princess!"

"I am one of your finest knights. The princess is in trouble, you can't trust a serious problem for the kingdom to an untrained knight. You need the best knight in the country on the job to handle this. Wo-would you have rather I sent one of the new guys out there? Most of them haven't even been taught how to handle a dragon!"

"Well, we never expected that a married knight would go to save the princess." Sir Barkley shook his head.

"You DO remember Princess Fairmaiden is my Goddaughter, right? I'm not about to let her get captured, I swore an oath to you when you gave me and my wife that honor to protect her with our life! I merely did what you expected of me way back when!" The king nodded.

"I remember that well, Sir Barkley..."

"So, you know why I would go to save her without thinking...and you know why I could never marry her. Even if something happened to my beloved wife...I'm literally old enough to be her father myself. I changed her diapers with the queen, for crying out loud! I cannot possibly think of her as a bride...and I'm sure the princess couldn't think of me as one as well!" Princess Fairmaiden looked sheepishly to the king.

"...yes, Father. I know about the rule of the land, but...he's just too old, I've known him for too long. I can't possibly see him as a husband." The King threw his hands up in exasperation.

"...well, I don't know what happens here. ...oog, this is unprecedented. We've had so many different pairings of knight and royalty, all of which saw the betrothal without a problem, and the law of the land has been used forever...but this is the first time we've had a knight who saved royalty refuse to marry the person they saved. I can't imagine sending Princess Fairmaiden to a convent because she has been rejected."

Both Sir Barkley and Princess Fairmaiden were taken aback.

"A CONVENT?"

"A convent, Your Majesty?" The king looked downwards.

"We cannot go otherwise. If she has been saved by a knight who will not marry her, she must go to a nunnery. It's the rules of the land."

"Oh god..." Sir Barkley shook his head.

"King Lawler, I ask for one request before deciding on this."

"Yes, Sir Barkley."

"...to me, my son, my squire." King Lawler had his pages send to the knights' helm, and finally, a young man headed in.

"Father, what did you need me for?" Sir Barkley looked downwards, then started speaking as if he was badly reading lines.

"Why, I needed my son to be here to find out that I am about to kidnap Princess Fairmaiden! I cannot let her be sent to a nunnery, and so I kidnap her!" Sir Barkley went to his sword, then dropped it. "OH NO! My sword has fallen out of its hilt! I'm sure only someone who has known my style of fighting could defeat me easily!" Sir Barkley winked to his son, who caught on immediately. His son grabbed the sword and swung at Sir Barkley, who fell to his knees.

"I am beaten! The Princess has been saved, and by my own son no less! How could this be..."

King Lawler looked, as Princess Fairmaiden caught on and hugged Sir Barkley.

"Father, the rule is there...I HAVE just been saved by this man..."

King Lawler nodded.

"Let the preparations for the royal wedding begin!" Princess Fairmaiden hugged the squire as they left. King Lawler looked at Sir Barkley.

"...you could have just asked to have your son betrothed to the princess instead..." Sir Barkley looked.

"I am a knight. I serve the land and my King. If the land's laws say that the person who saves the princess must be betrothed to her, then the person who saves the princess will be betrothed to her."

"I understand. You are aware I will have to take you from my knights for this, right?" Sir Barkley nodded.

"You had said it was time for me to retire anyway, right?"

"Aye, my dear friend...or family, is it?" The king and his knight shook hands.

Sir Lawrence third of his name hefted his armour clad form over the towers stone windowsill with a grunt. He rubbed his eyes with gauntlet covered fingers, mouth aghast, as he surveyed the scene before him. This was not how these things were supposed to go. He’d been set up, a rookie mistake. Lawrence sighed. He knew they’d be talking about this at the tavern for weeks, a Knight of Lawrence’s Caliber being caught in such a position, it was disgraceful. Made worse in the context of the previous few days horrors: scorching deserts, beasts from the abyss, loss of his best sword- a tragedy.

Refusing his wifes request had been out of the question ,who with a firm passionate voice had persuaded him to partake on this quest. “She’s 14 Lawrence. Basically a child! That tower is no place for her!”

He’d tried to argue. “But it’s coming up to my Birthd...”

“Lawrence! This isn’t the knight I agreed to marry. You’re going, and I’ll hear no more about it!” The look she’d given him had left him with no room for further manoeuvre.

“Yes dear” he’d groaned.

Five days later and here he found himself, taking in the scene of the highest tower at the tallest peak.

Bangs erupted. Confetti filled the air. Birthday banners draped from every corner.

His wife, family, friends and fellow knights filled the room, helmets up with a grin spread from ear to ear.

“Happy birthday Lawrence!” They cheered.

But at least the cake was Victoria sponge.

You get bonus points from me for 'oh my Bahamut!"

[deleted]

Ah yes, typical r/writingprompts doing what it does best- beating up dead unicorns

Honestly, I would be tempted to just leave him dead. Sounds like he causes just as many problems as he solves, if not more.

I was thinking the same thing! I'll go get some popcorn to revive him when that happens.

"Now," I began, looking over the notes I had scribbled down, "you have been practicing your exercises on your own?" I looked up in time to see the shifting umbral mass, more a suggestion than an actual form nod one of its many nodes. That particular node retreated into the quivering mass of its body before a slash opened on a different node, one some 110 degrees from the first.

"Yessssss," The Abomination (arch rival to Captain Vigilant) hissed, tongues lolling out.

"Good," I said, my lips pulling back, exposing my teeth, nowhere near as impressive as the fangs stained carnelian. A tuft of dark gray fur was stuck to one serrated edge. Squirrel, I thought to myself. Not long or fine enough for any of the larger pets it (it had been very clear about its preferred pronouns in our first session) sometimes feasted on. "Which one do you think helped you the most?"

"Thiss one," another of its mouths said, "the one I held the 'S' and 'Z' sounds for thirty sseconds."

I jotted that down quickly. "Any exercise you feel was the most challenging to you?"

"Presssing my tonguess to the back of my teeth," it enunciated. I nodded. Considering those teeth routinely ripped through steel, concrete, and yappy Chihuahuas, I couldn't say I was particularly surprised.

"And what about the mirror exercises?" I asked. The Abomination sprouted a new tentacle, which gave a quick sinusoidal wave before it went to investigate the pile of magazines on the refurbished IKEA table between the two of us.

"Not too ussseful, but not too bad. With the way my mouth keepssss sssshifting..." it trailed off. This time, the mouth was somewhere in the center mass, flashes of white blinking briefly in the abyssal body. The stain was turning the distinct shade of rust known only to ancient cars and puddles of dried blood.

"Well," I said, laying my notebook to the side, swatting at one of the tendrils wrapping itself casually around the heel of my Condora Sling heel, "when you're ready, we're going to start with some tongue twisters and some basic oral aerobics."

I was used to the sighs of the chemically altered, spliced humans, mad scientists, and parasitic aliens (like the one before me), but I had lost no fewer than five assistants to that particular sound. Still the Abomination began trying to shape its mouth(s) and tongue(s). It had a 5:00 battle with Captain Vigilant at the bank and I had to help a sentient Venus flytrap with its stutter at 5:15.

We both had other things to do and knew our time was limited with each other.

[removed]

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Please stop attacking me!

Crap another one is dead.

This feels like something I have done before. :/

It isn't the realization that they find me uninteresting that hurts so much. It's how nothing really changed until Becca mentioned: "Wait a minute, is his birthday the 4th or the 5th?" Mom replied that it was the 7th. Dad replied that it was the 2nd. They debated which one it was until finally Mom went back through her phone to settle it. She didn't pull up a note list. Or photos. She pulled up a calendar. Then changed the display year back to 2012. Then she frowned after scanning the page and changed it to 2011. Then 2010. "Ah, here it is." she said, gesturing to one of the events on the calendar. It was labeled: 'Induce'.

"It was the 6th."

Becca commented surprised: "Oh, today is the 6th."

Mom and Dad's eyebrows went up. "Oh." Dad said. "In that case, go find your brother so we can tell him happy birthday."

I sat there. The numbness that I felt spreading down my limbs to my fingers was excruciating. It felt like every shred of my soul was sliding into oblivion, a black pit of soothing terrifying nothingness.

"He isn't in his room" Becca announced, coming back into the living room.

Dad didn't even look up from his computer this time. "Try outside."

I couldn't stay in the house any more and followed Becca outside. She yelled a few times for me from the porch. The only answer was my faint whisper: "I am here," spoken from the remaining shriveled shreds of my voice. She didn't hear it. Just the wind.

Becca shrugged and turned back into the house. I could hear voices talking, but couldn't muster the energy or courage to face what they might be saying.

I started walking. I don't remember climbing the fence into the woods, or even getting wet crossing the creek. I must have tripped a few times, because I was quite dirty and wet. Normally that would be alarming, because this was no season to be out in a t-shirt and jeans, wet, without shelter. But the biting cold was something to hold on to, something that showed me that I actually was alive. I didn't know if I wanted to be, but I clung to that like a jumper holds onto the bridge railing near the end.

I don't know how long I walked either. Or when I laid down. I was laying there staring up at the tree leaves and the pattern of the cold sun coming through them. Thinking about what the witch said. If my parents reported me missing, then I should be visible to anyone searching for me. If. But then if they found me, I'd have to go back to that. Pretend that this was all an accident. Pretend I didn't know how little they cared about me. I had always known. I had just fought against it refusing to believe it was true. All my angry raging. All my bleak depression. There was a cause for it after all. And it wasn't my fault. My mind kept working to try to figure out if there was a way it WAS my fault. Because if it was my fault, I could do something to fix it. I kept coming up empty as my blood slowed and my temperature dropped.

But then everything changed.

A warmth enveloped my hand briefly, then my chest. I looked down to see Hondo, my cat, sprawling out on my chest, staring at me with his large unblinking eyes. His grumpy face told me that he was most displeased with my choice to be out in the cold. But his purr, firing on only 2 of the 8 cylinders, told me that he would make that choice to be with me even in the cold. He kept staring at me. He could see me.

The relief, and the grief, washed over me like an avalanche. I couldn't deny the pain. I wasn't actually numb. But I wasn't gone. I wasn't missing. Not to this creature who cared.

The house was mostly dark when I got back. It took me a long time to figure out where I was and how to get home. Hondo followed me faithfully, watching me carefully whenever I stopped. I no longer felt cold by the time I got home, so I probably had hypothermia. No one noticed that I entered the house though. Only 3 places had been set for dinner, and no food was stored as leftovers. I got some crackers and some cheese and quietly went to my room. I ate them slowly sitting on the floor against my bed. Hondo got his share of the cheese as he lay in my lap.

When I got in bed, I wedged myself in the gap between the mattress and the wall, shaking the covers out to look like the bed was empty, Hondo tucking himself across my neck and rumbled in his quiet staccato. I felt asleep quickly, slowly warming up.

Becca found me in the morning, laughing at how she had missed seeing me there yesterday. It was a comfortable way to dodge the truth.

At least I had Hondo.

[removed]

"So..." The horrible visage of the concept of dead itself began. "Kyle..." it bagan to tap its figers against its desk to better enunciate his name. "Kyle, kyle, kyle... kyle." The mass of swirling indescribable horror turned its approximation of eyes on the human before him. "What are we to do with you?"

"Uhm..." Kyle, the accountant began. "I have no idea."

The creature, formally known as death, hemmed a long drawn out hmm of annoyance. "That's the thing, kyle. We dont know either." The being gestued with what could marginally be described as a hand at the couch in the corner of the room. "Do you see that woman sitting there looking like she's could spontaneously combust at any moment?"

Kyle turned, and indeed, there was a woman practically vibrating on the couch in the corner. She was massive, at least 7ft tall, blond braids, and this is the most important bit, had a massive fuck off axe resting between her thighs as she waved excitedly at him. "Yes?" Kyle, answered hesitantly.

"That's your valkyrie..."

"My what?"

"Your valkyrie..." death grunted again. "It seems she has a claim to your death."

"Uhm... okay?"

"Yes." Death hmmed again, "it seems, because of the fact that you have a tattoo of thor on your left testicle and the fact you technically died in battle with an axe in your hand. She has a claim."

"Oh, well that sounds-"

"But wait, there's more."

"Oh..."

"September, 2008, 1:12 am. And i quote, 'man, I'd sell my soul and tattoo my left testicle for some chicken and waffles right about now.'" And when death finished a man, with red skin, hornes, and a pitchfork appeared in a pathetic puff of yellow smoke... he also smiled and waved at kyle.

"Oh... shit."

"We're not done."

"oh."

Death slapped a glass with words, 'swear jar' on his desk before shaking it at kyle... who grumbled before depositing a dollar. "It seems, durring your youth, you were also baptized by the Catholic church." At this, a man in a dress with the nametag,"Peter" appeared in another gasping poof of white smoke.

"Oh!"

"That concludes page 1. Onto page 2 of 12."

"Oh..."

"Now, while you were in your 30s, you married a mormon woman..." With a reverberating poof, a man in khakis and white shirt and teeth that were slightly to white appeared.

"Oh god!"

"Who you then fleeced for all her money and divorced." The man poofed away.

"Oh, thank god..."

Only to be replaced by a man with red skin, khakis, a white shirt, and FAR to white of teeth to appear.

"OH GOD, WHY?!"

"But wait, there's more."

Hostess of Fertility moment?