1: First Blood
"It's been three days, Jacobsen."
"To be fair, sir, the water elemental was a very tough opponent; it's well beyond the expected deviation on the danger analysis."
"Three days." The old man repeated, with a dismissive snort, "Three days, and they've searched all of three rooms. At this rate, it'll be up to their kids to finish the job. That damn Mormon's spent more time on his back than the girls in Paris."
"They're on the move again now, sir." Jacobsen tried to keep both his nervousness and his irritation out of his voice. Either would set off the old man, like blood for a shark. "I'm sure things will pick up from here."
* * *
Joseph Isaiah Smith felt he was generally a patient soul. The good book said to turn the other cheek, after all. Naturally such advice didn't apply in the case of Communists and other atheists, but he was a tolerant man, always willing to give the other fellow the benefit of the doubt.
He sighed. Three days in this God-forsaken place was enough to try even the patience of a Latter Day Saint.
"Now, don't be so down-hearted." Floyd slicked back his thick mane of black hair, "You look as mournful as a hound dog. Cheeseburger?"
Smith took the greasy, polystyrene-packaged patty with reluctance. His third wife had packed him a wholesome lunch for the mission, but that had run out over 24 hours earlier.
"Do you have any of that beverage?"
"Cherry Coke? Well, uh huh, yeah." Floyd gestured, and a garish red and black paper cup appeared in his hand.
Smith choked down the cheesebuger, doing his best to ignore the 'Fabulous' Fabio as the other man oiled down his hairless chest. God, Smith felt, had not intended a man's body to be 'smooth as a baby's bottom', however much Fabio might like it that way.
"Are you ready to continue?" he turned his attention back to Floyd. The man's over-stretched silver rhinestone outfit was barely less disturbing than Fabio's chest, but barely was something.
"Uh huh. Me and mah baby are ready to go." Floyd slapped his golden guitar beside him, leaving a smear of jam upon it.
"Then let us go forth." Smith straightened his tie, checked the creases of his white, short-sleeved shirt, and shouldered his shotgun. "It's time to do the Lord's work."
* * *
It had not been a good week for Meepo, Keeper of Calcyrx, the Dragon.
Ex-Keeper of Calcryx.
The kobold snuffled, then banged his head a few times on the thin pillow in his bed. Ex-Keeper. Failure. Scorned by the clan.
"Meepo was Keeper." He whined to himself in Draconic, "Meepo Big Man in Dungeon. Second only to Yusdrayl. But no, not any more." he banged his head a few more times. "Now Meepo low as dung, and hated by all in clan. Meepo fertilise no eggs, now." He wrapped himself in a ball, rocking slowly back and forth, "If only there some way to get back Calcryx, then Meepo be important again."
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The heavy foot-steps - booted feet, almost slammed down on the stone floor - broke into the kobold's reverie. A dark, menacing shape loomed over him, many times his own size.
"Waaaaah! Intruders!" Meepio leapt to his feet and raced for the exit. "Brave Meepo warn tribe! Intruders! Clever Meepo too fast for big slow people!"
BOOM.
"Waaaaah!" Meepo screamed again, pumping his legs even faster. The intruders had magic, like Yusdrayl.
But he was too fast for them, he -
Confusion registered in Meepo's tiny brain. Why was he about to run into a wall? He tried to stop, but he kept on racing straight toward it, faster and faster.
No, not a wall. The floor. Why was the floor there? Why wouldn't his legs work? Meepo was fastest there was ...
* * *
"I said to stop it, not kill it." Smith sighed.
"Ah tried." Floyd pointed at the dying reptilian creature as it spasmed on the stone floor. "Ah hit it right in the knee cap. Ah didn't know its whole leg would come off."
"You shot it with a Magnum 44."
"This little thing?" Floyd waved the gun experimentally, "This'd barely put a dint in a road sign, back home."
"Talkative little fellow, wasn't he?" Smith remarked, as the creature finally stilled, "Any idea what he was talking about?"
"Couldn't have been anythin' important."
* * *
"Now that's more like it."
"They did handle it well, didn't they, General?"
"Hell, no. Sloppy shooting, that." the old man turned flat, black eyes on Jacobsen, "I'm talkin' about the creepy little critter. Did you see the way it squealed? That's ratings gold."
* * *
Smith jerked up his head.
"We got company."
A door burst inward, and another of the small, reptile-like creatures charged into the room. Unlike the last, it actually carried a small, crudely fashioned weapon.
"The Lord loves all his creations." Smith assured it, right before twin barrels of buckshot spattered most of the creature's torso across the wall. "Fragile, aren't they?"
"Like ah said." Floyd reminded him.
Five more of the creatures raced toward the three men, hurling rocks and spears as they charged.
"This camera keeps shooting me from my bad side." Fabio complained, as a slug from his pistol shattered the skull of the leading creature.
"Is that the side that's covered in blood?" Floyd swore as one of the spears glanced off his thigh, "Now that was right un-neighbourly." Lifting his golden guitar, he twisted the neck, and a curved metal blade sprang out of the side.
"You must be very careful when you play that."
"Ah assure you, son, that Little Floyd is always on mah mind."
The fight devolved into a tight and vicious melee, with the smaller reptilians trying to get under the longer reach of their enemies, stabbing at thighs and stomachs and groins.
"Onward Christian Soldiers ..." Smith slammed his pick into the eye of one of the creatures, "... marching as to war ..."
"You have a fine voice, Mr Smith!" Floyd cut a swathe through the enemy with his musical axe, "Do y'all know GI Blues?"
Fabio said nothing; he simply hogged all the best lighting.