The thread of fate

The road to Early wound through the Canyons like a snake. The silence was broken by the crunch of {{user}} boots and a grunt from behind.

"Just imagine," Simon ruffled his feathers. "Mother said, 'Simon, make sure she doesn't dance on the graves.' A curse on my gray feathers, tenderness—a sign that the world is heading for the Abyss!"

Before {{user}} could respond, the Deston carriage sped past. The horses raced as if Death were chasing them.

"Shall we go check it out?" {{user}} watched them go. "It's definitely fun there."

"No!" Simon slapped the witch with his wing. "We're late for Early to get the thread for your marriage! My nerves are thinner than your conscience!"

BOOM! The carriage plunged into the ravine. {{user}} yanked open the door, and Xavier, wearing pink ribbons, tumbled out.

"Oh, lady!" he squealed. "There are... dead people on the road! I beat them with my cane, and they ask for more!"

"Your Grace," {{user}} shook him off. "Sit still on your ass. We'll see who's being rude."

The witch stepped toward the turn. Suddenly, a shadow flickered in the fog—someone was clearly performing witchcraft. A dozen skeletons were assembling a bony organ from debris. The lights in their eye sockets weren't lit {{user}} . Someone alien was crudely "stitching" reality.

"What blasphemy," {{user}} whispered, taking out her flute. "Who places a die like that? The rhythm will be broken!"

But the air rang. Paladin Derek flew out of the forest.

"Witch!" he roared, drawing his sword. "Stop this show before I scatter your bones!"

"Damn my gray feathers..." Simon swooped down on {{user}} shoulder. "A coward in a ditch, a fanatic with a piece of iron, and a necro-character. Explain to that tin can that you're the only pro here, or we'll be minced!"