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The dangers of the Planes
The worst things that can happen to one in the planes are never physical... a short story by Malkali

It had taken him ten days to get this far, and it was all for nothing. The rabid dwarven fighter braced himself, waiting for the inevitable. He waited for a horrendous creature that only nightmares could create, waited to die. Standing there, staring into the darkness trying to catch any glimmer of heat, extending his senses into the darkness as much as he could. Trying to hear his opponent, hoping to catch a chance, anything that could provide him with a way to die more honorably maybe even mortally wounding his enemy before falling to its claws. And then he heard it, a terrible crunching of bone. 'But where is this crunching coming from, surely I would have seen bones lying about on the ground'. The crunch lasted only a moment, and then there was silence. The silence, however, did not last quite long enough. A loud mad cackle erupted from the silence, and shattered the dwarf's senses. He clawed at his ears to make it stop, scratched and gnawed at his flesh to try to make it stop. In the end, all that was left of the poor berk was a insane gibbering pile of flesh lying on the ground, trying to bite its own face off.

Today was such a splendid day, nothing could ever go wrong. Already he had managed to shrink a horrendous looking monstrosity, and squish it like a bug. Cackling madly always seemed to accentuate the experience, so he broke out with laughter. 'Could anything be better?' he thought to himself, 'only yesterday the voices in my head said I'd never pull that spell off.' Humming merrily to himself, he proceeded to walk through his newfound tower of dread. Raising a skeleton here, blasting an undead there.

"You poor berk, you certainly are in a retched state", he mumbled to himself when he came upon the rabid dwarven fighter turned gibbering pile of flesh. "I wonder what brought you to that state of insanity. Oh well, might as well put you to good use. I think I'll call you Harold. Can you understand what I'm saying Harold? If you do, sit there and don't respond in a comprehensible manner."

Being able to do no more than that, the dwarven fighter just sat there mumbling to himself and biting at his own nose. "There, thats a good boy. You'll be my first minion of doom. I think I'll keep your job simple though. How about.... gibbering pile of flesh? Yes, that sounds good." After babbling to himself and the dwarf for a while longer, the mage happily danced down the halls of the cursed place of death singing childrens songs the whole time.

[Author's note: If you didn't like this story, then I didn't write it. It is all just a figment of your imagination. In fact, so is this editors note, so you must be quite insane yourself.]

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