“All right,” said Ærin. “This is the baron’s room. Let’s burst in and slaughter him.”
“Why?” said Abda. “You guys may have grudges against the empire but I don’t.”
You’re going to enter because I say so.
Then, his mind suddenly changed, Abda followed Ærin as she bashed down the door. Inside the room they saw a rug that probably had taken the lives of thousands of small furry creatures and a bed that could probably fit ten people although no-one was really sure why it would need to. Inside the bed there was a skinny man who probably thought of himself as rather dashing, and next to him was a wizened kobold wearing lipstick. Both of them were both in the process of taking their clothes off.
“AAHHHH!” shouted Magus as he attempted to claw his eyes out. “Brain bleach! I need brain bleach!”
“It’s not what it looks like!” shouted the baron. “And—wait, who are you?”
“Your death,” said Ærin.
“Didn’t we already use that line?” said Petrov.
“The death of me?” said the baron as he shrugged on a robe and pulled a rapier out from under the bed. “I’m not just a rather dashing wizard; I’m also a good hand with a blade. I think you’ll find that—“
There was a clatter as Ærin swatted the rapier out of the baron’s hand before he finished his dramatic monologue.
“Curse you Rohirm fiend! A pox on you and your descendants! May your car keys always fall into the deepest crevices of the sofa, and may your socks never match!”
“You call that a curse?” said Ærin once she was done laughing.
“Well I just started this wizarding thing. Just skimmed the introduction packet really. May I try again?”