Lindsay
Schopfer

By Lindsay Schopfer

The sound of bones snapping came clearly from the room next door. Sounds like the skeletons are getting a workout today. Lucky sods. Vin sulked as he hung on a wall in one of the dungeon’s many rooms. He glared at the stone fiend in the center of the small cell and wondered if the skeleton clobbering adventurer would live long enough for Chester to kill him.

Vin had hated Chester for years. It was the devil gargoyle’s fault that he had a centimeter of dust all along his once gleaming blade. In fact, the only part of Vin that wasn’t choked with dust was his ornately carved hilt. That at least received a rough polishing every other year when some fool managed to get past the skeletons, try to take Vin off the wall, and trigger the spell that woke up Chester. Things always went badly after that.

At last, the violent noises next door died away. Vin watched the door with little interest before mentally shrugging to himself. Well, back to story problems. If ten goblins each have five warts, and each wart grows three white hairs, then how many…

Suddenly the skeleton room door shuddered from a tremendous blow. A second, splintering impact tore the door completely off its hinges, launching it into the room to land with a concussive thud on the floor. Well, Vin thought, that’s different. A humongous figure loomed in the doorway. The man was massive and muscle-bound, with a great mace in one hand and a guttering torch in the other. A barbarian. A big, stupid, smelly barbarian. Wonderful.

The barbarian strode into the room and promptly banged his head on a low beam. He cursed and dropped his torch into a puddle of scum, killing its dim light. The man dropped to his knees and began to rummage around the cell floor for it. Vin mentally sighed and rolled his nonexistent eyes. Chester wouldn’t even get a workout from this one.

The barbarian continued to fumble in the darkness, drawing slowly closer to the stone demon at the room’s center. Crawling forward, his shaggy head slammed into Chester’s granite face. Instantly the burly man rose up and lashed out with his mace. There was a sharp crack, followed by a violent crash, as Chester’s head snapped from his shoulders, hit the floor, and rolled into a dusty corner.