Stuart stared at the tower looming over him, and felt a strange sense of regret burst through him. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now, as the two stood in the middle of some hell-forsaken swamp, Stuart began to wonder if he was doing the right thing.
“Hmm?” replied Stuart, as if he’d missed the question, desperately trying to hide his doubts from his co-hort.
“Erm... Do we knock?” continued Barry.
Stuart’s nose curled up as he turned to his friend, momentarily dumbstruck by his stupidity.
“No,” he seethed, “We’re here to slay the Dark Mage of Witchden, we’re not going to bloody knock!”
“All right!” came Barry, slightly offended, “I don’t know do I? You haven’t spoken for the past day and a half!”
“It’s called ‘dramatic effect’, Barry!” sneered Stuart.
“Well it’s bloody stupid,” replied Barry, “I just want to know how we’re getting in!”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” argued Stuart, “We storm the keep, like every adventurer who existed before us has!”
“Emphasis on the word ‘existed’,” said Barry, the rolling of his eyes practicably audible in his voice.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Stuart, as his nose tried it’s very best to pull itself as high on the face as it could possibly go.
“It means,” began Barry, “That if we go with your plan, that’s exactly what we’ll be, people who ‘existed’.”
Stuart stared at his friend for a moment, bemused.
“It means we’ll be dead,” confirmed Barry, after a long sigh.
“Oh yeah,” cried Stuart, sarcastically, “Tell me how your ‘knocking’ plan would prevent that.”
“That wasn’t exactly a pl-,” Barry stopped, when he noticed Stuart doing ‘that face’, the face that said ‘oh yeah, stuck now aren’t we.’ He thought for a second, before continuing.
“If you were at home, you think you’d be more likely to kill someone knocking at your door, or someone storming through your kitchen.”
Stuart paused.
He had him there.
“Okay,” Stuart tutted, “I’ll admit, that makes some sense.”
“Thank you,” replied Barry, somewhat justified.
“Look, it’s been a long, stressful trip,” he sighed.
“I know, Pumpkin,” soothed Barry, “I forgive you.”
Barry leaned over to Stuart, and gave him a little cuddle.
“Thanks... Sex-pot....” he replied.
In the commotion, the argument, and subsequent make-up kiss, both Stuart and Barry had failed to notice the door of the tower swinging open, to reveal a tall man, with grey hair, dressed in a light-blue nighty.
“What the hell do you lot want?” boomed the man.
The pair sprang into action. Stuart spun around, and drew his short sword, while Barry pulled back the loading mechanism on his crossbow, and trained the sight onto the mage.
“Dark Mage Talafraxis of Witchden,” announced Stuart, with an ounce of heroic vigour, “We’re here to put an end to your reign of terror.”
The mage looked at the pair, before realising.
“Oh,” he went, “You’re here to kill me?”
Stuart glanced over to Barry, who shrugged, before looking back to the mage.
“Yes,” he announced, plainly.
“Oh,” chirped the mage, “Well you’d better come in.”
With that, the wizard retreated back into his tower, pushing the door invitingly open as he did.
Barry and Stuart exchanged nervous glances, before Stuart nodded, and walked towards the door.
“What if it’s a trap?” hushed Barry.
“It’s obviously a trap,” replied Stuart, quietly, “Let’s go.”
They followed the mage, into a rather run-down looking room. The room took up the majority of the first floor, apart from a small annex on the north side, presumably some kind of staircase. There was a large, round table, in the middle of the room, surrounded by six brand new looking chairs, and one old and worn. To the west of the room was a small kitchenette area, complete with worktops and large boiling pot. The wizard stood next to the fire, and hung a small pot over it.
“Tea?” asked the wizard.
Stuart leant over to Barry.
“Probably poisoned,” he muttered.
Barry nodded in reply.
“No not poisoned,” replied the wizard, “Camomile, I grew it myself. Please sit.”
Stuart eyed the table, making a quick check for any traps, before giving Barry a nod to go ahead and sit down. Barry obliged, and before they knew it, there was a steaming cup of camomile tea in front of each of them.
“Probably grown using some un-natural magics,” said Stuart, as he inspected the yellow liquid.
“Oh no,” went the wizard, as he joined them, “That’d be cheating, I grow all my plants without the use of the arcane.”
Barry brought the tea up to his nose, and gave it a sniff. The wizard sighed and took a sip.
“Arggh!” cried the wizard.
Barry and Stuart shot up, almost simultaneously, and trained their weapons on the mage.
The mage looked at them, the expression on his face more embarrassed than anything else.
“It’s a bit hot,” said the wizard.
The pair cautiously relaxed back into their chairs, and the three sat in silence for a few moments.
“So, how are you planning to do it?” asked the mage, finally.
Barry was carefully sipping his tea, so Stuart replied.
“Umm...,” he began, “We were just going to attack you, really.”
The wizard laughed.
“Won’t be necessary, I won’t put up a fight,” he smiled, “We’ll finish our tea, while I weigh up my options.”
Stuart’s brow curled up, as he once again, started to get suspicious.
“What options?” he asked.
“Well, the sword seems quite alluring,” replied the mage, “I’ve read theories that the head can survive for a few seconds after de-capitation, and I think I’d quite like to test that.”
“I’ve always wondered that,” said Barry.
“On the other hand,” sighed the mage, “The crossbow would be instantaneous, if you got me in the head. If not, I’d have a few last moments to contemplate my life.”
The wizard took a long, thoughtful sip of tea.
“Yes,” he announced, “We’ll go with the crossbow.”
He leant back in his chair, and tried to relax.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he said.
Barry looked at Stuart, who nodded, before raising his crossbow over the table. He stared at the mage through the iron sight.
“Head or body?” asked Barry, apprehensively
The mage thought about it for a second.
“Head,” he said, “Let’s do head.”
Barry’s finger clutched the trigger, but as he stared at the wizard in front of him, he began to have doubts of his own. Talafraxis wasn’t much of a dark wizard, not one he’d ever met, anyway. He’d never had a cup of tea with the other wizards, only spectacular battles and heroic victories.
He lowered the crossbow.
“I can’t do it,” he admitted.
The mage rolled his eyes. Stuart grabbed Barry by the shoulder and brought him to whisper range.
“What’s up?” hushed Stuart, a glimmer of anger in his voice.
“I can’t do it,” replied Barry, in matching volume, “He’s just some old bloke.”
“We’ve killed plenty of old blokes,” argued Stuart.
“Yes,” said Barry, “But they were all trying to turn us into slugs, or blow us up or something.”
“Fine,” said Stuart, “I’ll do it.”
He got to his feet, and pulled out his short sword.
“Sorry, Grandad,” he said, as he made his way around the table to the mage, “Looks like it’s the sword for you.”
Talafraxis smiled, as Stuart put the blade to his neck.
“I’m no-body's Grandad,” he chirped, “Sword’ll be fine. Swing away.”
With the sword held in his two hands, Stuart reeled back for a swing. The only thing he had to do was swing, and the contract would be complete.
“Go on then!” cried the Wizard, angrily.
He swung.
The sword stopped a mere inch from Tallafraxis’ neck.
“Want to give that another go?” asked the wizard.
Stuart reeled back and swung once more, but couldn’t manage to make contact with the man’s neck. He pushed the blade right against his windpipe, and tried to pull back, slitting his throat, but found that something was preventing him from doing so.
“What dark magic is this?” asked Stuart.
“There is no magic!” replied the wizard, the anger in his voice becoming more and more noticeable, “Just swing, chop, and leave.. Please!”
Stuart tried to slit his throat one final time, but found that staring into the old man’s eyes made him feel disgusted at what he was doing.
“C’mon!” demanded the mage.
Talafraxis grabbed the blade with two hands, and tried his best to force it against his throat.
“Make. With. The. Murder!” he strained, as he fought Stuart for control of the sword.
“No!” cried Stuart, as he ripped the sword away, leaving a shallow cut on the mage’s neck, and some deeper ones on the palms of his hands, “No, it’s no good.”
Stuart turned to Barry.
“Some kind of enchantment,” he said, “We gotta go.”
Barry got out of his chair, and the two made for the door.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” said Barry.
“There is no enchantment!” argued the mage.
He scrambled over the table to catch up with the pair of adventurers.
“You don’t have to look at me!” he cried, “I’ll even fight back!”
By now, Barry and Stuart were rightfully freaked out and rushed towards the door as fast as their legs could carry them.
“C’mon, run!” insisted Stuart.
They broke out of the tower, the mage watched from the top of his stairs.
“Please!” he yelled desperately, as they scuttled across the swamp, “I can put a bag on my head if it helps!”
The pair vanished into the woods, and Talafraxis let out a long sigh.
“No luck then, sir?” came a rather gravelly voice.
Talafraxis looked down at his feet, to find his goblin staring up at him, clutching two tote bags filled with groceries.
“Not this time,” replied Talafraxis, as he stared into the dark, “Did you get this week's shop?”
“I did indeed,” sang the Goblin, as he held the two bags up.
Talafraxis looked down and picked up the two bags, each just as big as the goblin.
“Thank you,” said Talafraxis.
Noblov smiled at the unprecedented display of affection Talafraxis was showing.
“Now piss off, you ugly little monkey,” he said, before kicking the goblin down the stairs, going inside, and slamming the door behind him.
