"Stop that!" Arthaxiom scolded him for perhaps the hundredth time.
"Sorry," the dwarf responded as usual, and as usual wasn't going to stop. "How much longer do we have to go?"
"You have asked that..." A larger number of times than the paladin could count to. He wasn't going to admit that. "...way too many times. Do not be so impatient. We have only started the journey today."
"Yes, but I am bored already!" Alexander complained.
"Why?"
"Because there isn't anything to do!"
"You are doing something all the time," Arthaxiom pointed out.
"Yes, but it's not doing doing, it's more like doing looking for something to do. But there just isn't anything!"
"What is it that you are looking for?"
"I don't know! Anything! Some animal to play with!"
"There are many animals in the forest."
"Yes, but they run away. In the cave I had bats. Of course there's only so much things to do with a bat... but I could poke them with the trident, shoot at them with my sling, chase them around while waving my hands and screaming, hang from the ceiling by my legs while making squeaking noises and pretending I'm one of them..."
"I get the idea," the paladin interrupted.
"Yes, well, you know, the point is that they were stuck in the cave. Here, I try to play with something and it runs away. Or flies away. Or crawls away. Or..."
"That is enough."
"Ah. Sorry. You don't really need to know about those who jump away. Or dig their way away. Or..."
"Alexander, please!"
"Right. Right. Sorry. Anyway, no animals to amuse me. I was also hoping to find something. I don't know. Like, magical items or something?"
"Magical items? Do not be ridiculous. Magical items do not simply lay around in the forest."
"But you are a Hero, no? Aren't you supposed to find some?"
"I might be. But they will not be hiding in random bushes. I cannot be searching for them all the time. If I was, I would never finish any quest. If there is a magical item I am supposed to find, it will make itself known."
"Like, jump out of the bushes and kick you in the rear?"
"Well, maybe not exactly like that. But somehow."
"So I won't find anything?"
"Probably. But worry not! You are travelling with a Hero! Something interesting will surely happen. Something that will allow me to show my Heroism! That is what being a Hero is all about!"
"Heroism is all about walking around in hope that something will happen?" Alexander was doubtful.
"Not walking around, we are walking in a straight line," Arthaxiom corrected. "Also, there is no hope involved. Something has to happen sooner or later, because I am a Hero."
"Has to?"
"Yes."
"How do you know?"
"I do not know," the paladin admitted. "I... feel it. With my entire Heroic self. I am a Hero. Heroes do not simply walk through forests without something happening to them. Heroes do not need to search for adventures. Adventures happen to them, so that they can test their skills in battle, gain allies, find magical items... In the end, the Hero becomes powerful enough to complete his main mission. Which, in my case, is defeating the Empire of Evil."
"You are saying that something might happen to us at any time, even though this forest seems absolutely normal and..." the dwarf paused. "Attack of the undead squirrels!!!" he screamed.
"What?! Where?!" Arthaxiom shouted as he unsheathed his sword. "You will perish, undead scum, like the abominations you are!" he cried, while waving his sword around aimlessly. "I, Arthaxiom the Great, will cut you into pieces, and crush your unholy skulls with my iron boot! I will destroy you all! You will dissolve in ignominy!" The paladin was spinning around, hacking at the air, screaming threats at the squirrels, until he noticed that Alexander was rolling in the dirt, laughing. "That was not funny," he said reproachfully.
"Oh yes it was," the dwarf replied, still rolling. "What's more, I'm not bored at the moment! Oooh, a butterfly!" he exclaimed with joy, got up and ran after a large yellow butterfly. Arthaxiom sighed, sheathed his sword and continued on his way.
Meanwhile, in the nearby bushes, the Magical Nut of Fertility also sighed with frustration. It knew it should have leapt out and kicked the paladin in the rear, but it was somewhat difficult to do that without legs. And the dwarf got distracted and ran the other way. Great. Just great. The Nut was pretty sure that its day couldn't get worse at that point. It was wrong. A random hare made it even worse by eating it.
***
Many people had seen the strange, armoured man. Many had heard him spurt some random declarations about glorious quests. One boy had even seen him stealing an old shield that had been used to shovel cow dung onto the now-famous dunghill. Yet it took Vannard quite some time to find someone who knew where did the paladin come from. That someone was an old crone, who looked like a victim of a particularly vicious raccoon attack. She pointed him towards a village of Happylake, and promised him 'dooooom' if he went there. She didn't seem a particularly reliable source, but Vannard lacked any other leads, and thus he was approaching Happylake now. He also promised himself that if she had misled him, he would personally provide her with some 'dooooom' of his own should an opportunity arise.
The lake was not happy. It seemed rather sad instead. Perhaps it was an effect of the nearby ruined and half-burned-down village, but Vannard wasn't quite sure. He had seen enough ruined and half-burned-down villages (and even some three-quarters-burned-down) to be bothered by this. He only hoped that there was someone alive around. Certainly didn't look like there was.
He dismounted and chose a house at random. Well, not entirely at random. He chose a house that had a door. He knocked. The door fell apart. "Most interesting," he said to himself. Suddenly some unidentified noises were heard, and a hunched figure emerged from another barely-standing hut. It wielded a pitchfork.
"Begone, foul ghost!" it moaned and waved the pitchfork in something which probably was supposed to be a threatening manner. It was a rather sad attempt. It reminded Vannard of an old, toothless dog that had attacked him once. Probably. Maybe it was having an epilepsy attack. In either case it was so pitiful that he didn't even bother to kill it, and that meant something. To be more exact, it meant that he decided it would die soon enough on its own and therefore killing it would be an act of mercy. Vannard didn't do mercy. Unless it was funny for some reason.
"Drop that implement or you will become a foul ghost yourself," the assassin suggested amiably. The figure, which upon closer examination proved to be a peasant wearing some rags, was not suicidal enough to argue. "Right. So, is this the place of origin of one 'Arthaxiom the paladin'"?
The peasant cringed. "Don't thee say that name! It brings doom! Dooooom!"
"I'll take it as a 'yes'. Please elaborate a bit. And could you drop the 'cryptic foreshadower of dooooom' act? It is getting tiresome and may cause injury. To you, of course."
"Right, right, I'll be good," the peasant agreed and Vannard braced himself for another long and utterly boring story. "See these ruins? All his fault! We had a village here. Everything was fine. Peasants were drinking, cows were mooing, cats were meowing..."
"No need to elaborate on animal noises. Unless you wish to re-enact peasants who were screaming and bleeding."
"Uh, no, not really, no..."
"So please continue your exciting story."
"Right. Well. It started when old Revy was repairing his roof. His son Arty was helping him of course. For some reason Arty fell from the roof, hitting his head. A wooden beam fell after him and hit him on the head again. We thought he's done for, but no. He seemed fine, which was, well, weird. His body was fine, that is. His mind, not so. He said he was no longer Arty the peasant, but Arthaxiom the paladin, y'see. And a rainbow surgeon, and some other things too. We thought it would pass. Didn't.
Bad things happened next. Arty was a helpful lad, but after he hit his head, 'twas lik
e he got cursed or something. Whatever he did, went very very badly. When he went to chop down a tree he hit a neighbour with his axe, the tree fell on a stray donkey, and a squirrel jumped out of the tree right in the face of a small child. He went to feed a cat, the cat fell into the well. He went to feed the pigs... well, y'know. Good thing they got stuck. We took the well apart to get them out. Then ole Rolfy went down there to get the cat out. He slipped, he fell, he broke his arm. In three places, no less. We got him out, and the cat, and then Benny fell in. All the way down. Cause he stumbled on that same cat. The cat fell in again right behind him and landed on his face. It was ugly.
We tried to do something about this. Our local witch magicked a bit. We think she did at least, cause she turned herself into a large turkey. Fell down the well too, aye. This time Henk went down there and tried to get her out, but she breathed fire on him. Nobody else wanted to try, so we left her there.
We wanted to hit Arty in the head again, to make him better. We tried a stick. The stick bounced right off and killed a cow. So Chegg threw a brick at him. It circled around Arty and took out Chegg's eye. We stopped hitting him with things after that.
We tried to talk him out of being helpful, but he insisted he has to work to earn money. He said he needs to buy a sword, a shield, a horse, and armour. So ole Gerold dug up his great-grandpa's rusty armour from his attic and gave it to that dolt, on condition that he leaves and never comes back again. And so it happened. He left and never came back."
"A beautiful story," Vannard said. "I almost cried. While it explains a lot of devastation around, it certainly doesn't account for all the damage around."
"Ah, yes, y'see, when he left, we threw a party. We were all excited that 'tis all is over and drank a leetle too much. Some singin', some dancin' and stuff. And someone barfed just a leetle bit into the well-hole. As you might remember, the fire-breathing turkey-witch was still inside, and she was a lee..."
"Say 'leetle' one more time," Vannard warned, "and you'll have a 'leetle' bit more holes in your body than you have right now."
"Ah. Um. Er." The peasant got somewhat distressed. "She was... a bit unhappy. She breathed fire. The poor barfing wretch was burning nicely, and he started running around screaming and putting everything on fire. And we were a lee... a lot drunk," he corrected himself in a hurry, "we didn't help, just laughed and cheered. He was a human torch, haha! But in the morning, we wake up, all hung over, and nothing is left standing. I thought I was still drunk. Then I broke an egg on my forehead, and another one, but it didn't get any better."
"Why did you break eggs on your forehead?" Vannard was rather surprised by this action.
"'tis our traditional hangover cure."
"Does it work?"
"Well, dunno, really. My pa said it does, my grandpa said it does, an all the boys said it does, so it does, I guess."
"Ah. Yes. That makes sense. Please continue."
"Nothing to continue. We buried the ones who burned to death. Everyone else just left. I stayed. Nowhere to go, too old to start again. And too lazy. Now I just wait here to die... GACK!" he stuttered, as Vannard's dagger struck him in the chest, right in the heart, even before he finished saying 'die'. "I... I... didn't... mean... now!"
"Oh. My apologies in this case," Vannard replied and removed his dagger from the peasant, who promptly fell to the ground. Then they both started their journeys: Vannard back to the capital, and the peasant to a hopefully paladinless afterlife.
***
"Undead squirrel attack!" Alexander the dwarf shouted.
"It is not funny anymore," Arthaxiom replied calmly. "It was not funny the previous twelve times. Neither was the invisible bear-shaman, nor the fire-breathing turkey-witch, and most certainly not-"
"Chiiiirp! Chiiiirp!" something chirped and landed on the paladin's helmet with a clang. A second later a small skeletal head peeked into his visor. He instinctively stepped back, but that didn't amount to much. The skeletal squirrel chirped again and tried to reach his eyes with its little skeletal paw. The paladin tried to swat it away with his hand, but he was way too slow. He only managed to hit himself in the helmet. That stunned and disoriented him quite a bit.
The squirrel changed its approach. It sat on the top of the helmet and tried to dig in. Arthaxiom tried to hit it again, but to no avail. The undead animal was fast and agile, and the paladin couldn't see what he was doing.
"Alexander, help!" he called, but Alexander was having trouble of his own. A small zombified weasel was trying to bite his ankles. He was jumping around to prevent that and did a good job so far. He also tried to impale the creature with his trident, but was unsuccessful. In view of this Arthaxiom decided that the right strategy would be to change opponents.
"Ow! You carp-brain!" Alexander cried as the tip of the paladin's iron boot hit his leg instead of the weasel. "Use your sword, you dolt!"
Arthaxiom indeed felt like a dolt. He was a paladin, a Hero! He was not supposed to forget about his sword! What was he thinking, trying to kick that zombie?! He unsheathed the Shining Sword, but the weasel didn't wait for him to use it. It hissed and disappeared in the bushes. Meanwhile the unmolested squirrel decided to try the visor again.
"Augh! Get it off me!" the paladin shouted when the revived rodent remains appeared in front of his face and clawed him right in the nose. The dwarf dropped his trident, pulled out his sling, and fired a rock at the squirrel. The shot was true, the squirrel was hit and fell to the ground. It gave an annoyed chirp and followed the weasel before Alexander managed to grab another rock.
"We have triumphed!" Arthaxiom declared and waved his sword around.
"No we didn't," Alexander disagreed.
"Yes we did! We dispatched the sinister forces of evil!"
"We barely chased them away."
"And it was a glorious victory!"
"There wasn't anything glorious about that. They ran away unharmed, your nose is bleeding and my leg hurts quite a lot."
"I apologise for that kick."
"You know, if I was a human I'd probably have my leg broken now."
"I apologise again."
"No need, no harm done. We dwarves are tough," he declared proudly, but his nice green clothes somewhat spoiled the effect. "I just wanted to point out that an inconclusive skirmish against small ex-furry undead creatures does not warrant a triumphant speech."
"You always try to deny me my triumphant speeches!" Arthaxiom complained.
"Because you always try to make them! You wanted one after you killed that old and scrawny wolf yesterday, not to mention that hedgehog two days ago... Why did you even kill it?"
"It attacked us!"
"It simply stood in our way."
"It was looking at us menacingly! And it was huge. A giant hedgehog. Anything giant is a thing for a Hero to fight!"
"If you say so. But a slightly-larger-than-usual hedgehog isn't a thing for a Hero to make a triumphant speech about."
"And I did not make one, as you might recall."
"Only because I sang a jolly song about crushed tomatoes very loud until you gave up!"
"Yes, you were quite... persuasive," Arthaxiom admitted. "Perhaps you were right and that battle wasn't worthy of a triumphant speech. But today we did not encounter a random animal. This was a skirmish with the evil forces of undead! It surely deserves a speech!"
"I disagree."
"Just a little one. Please?"
"Oh very well. But make it quick."
"We have triumphed!" Arthaxiom started again. "A bit! We defeated the sinister forces of evil, even though they were rather small! The glory of our deed will resound for some time but not really long, and maybe a peasant or two will sing a short song of mediocre quality..."
***
Arthaxiom indeed had cut his speech short. Mainly because Alexander threatened to sing about funky ferrets. Now the paladin was sitting on the ground and tending to his nose, which got scratched by the squirrel's paw. He didn't mind. Being wound
ed was Heroic. The wound was very minor, but it would do for a start. "That had to be doing of a vile necromancer," he said.
"How do you know?" Alexander inquired, while jumping around him on one leg, allowing the hurt one to rest a bit.
"What do you mean?!" The paladin was shocked and surprised that it isn't obvious. "Those were undead! They had to be creations of a vile necromancer!"
"Yes, yes, I know that. But how do you know he is vile?" Alexander inquired. "Or she," he added. "Or it, even. The point is, we don't really know anything about this necromancer."
"Of course he is vile!" the paladin exclaimed and got up, agitated. He also tried to give the dwarf a disapproving look, but it was rather difficult to use against a moving target. "Necromancers are vile! Known fact!"
"And dwarves are...?" Alexander asked, calmly.
The Hero hesitated. "Well, short. Have beards, wear armour. Fight with axes, or hammers maybe. Good miners. Live underground. Why do you ask?"
"Am I any of these things?"
"Short. Not much else."
"Right. And yet, I'm a dwarf."
"To be honest, I am not entirely sure about that," he said, as the dwarf yet again jumped past him.
"What else would I be?"
"I do not know. Some sort of gnome, maybe?"
"Some sort of gnome, maybe?" the dwarf sneered. "So, what sort of gnome would I be?"
The paladin considered this. "A dwarf-impersonating gnome, obviously."
"A dwarf-impersonating gnome?!" This time Alexander got agitated. It even got him to stop jumping. He faced the paladin and waved a finger at him menacingly. "Now that is your most retarded idea so far, and that tells a lot! I am a dwarf, but I have neither a beard, nor an axe! The same way this necromancer doesn't have to be vile! You are stereotyping and discriminating! It's like if I said that all paladins are self-righteous and dumb!"
"Ah. Now I understand," Arthaxiom said.
"You do?" That caught the dwarf off-guard.
"Of course I do! I am a paladin but I am not dumb!"
Alexander didn't bother to point out the obvious flaw in that statement. Instead, he considered it a success that the paladin managed to more or less understand what he was being told. Now, it was time to make him use it.