Young Writers Society

A smaller cloud materialized out of nowhere and a hooded cloak fell out of it, landing with a barely-audible Thmp! next to the Grim.

"Master Grim! You shouldn't--" the slightly squeaky-sounding hood straightened up and picked up the polearm that had landed next to it. "--you keep telling me to come first, but I'm so much slower than you are at wrinkling! Oh-- sorry--" A misty arm waved the odd-looking spear and a glass of water materialized on top of the Grim's shaking head. "Oh, no!"

"It's...(cough!) all right, Liore!" the Grim managed, taking the glass of water and downing it. It sloshed onto the ground.

The odd pair suddenly became aware of the fact that every pair of mortal eyes in the vicinity was locked onto them in disbelief.

Adelaide

"Now I see why he needs our help," the wizard shook his head, a slight smile fleeting across his face.

"And who's the runt?" Rodin asked, still reaching above his head to touch the bright surface of the two orbs that hung there.

"My assistant," the Grim Reaper answered. "Now shall we get down to business?"

"Master Grim, the list!" the smaller creature prompted.

"Oh yes. Thank you, Liore." With that the Grim Reaper pulled a small piece of parchment out of his robes. "Tricky things these death lists. As soon as someone starts messing with time, the lists start changing."

"Changing? How?" Tyrin asked.

"Well this extra name here for a start," the Reaper replied, showing his list to our companion.

"But that's my name," Tyrin said.

"It is? Well that sure makes my job easier." The Grim Reaper pulled out a scythe and beheaded Tyrin.

"Woah, now wasn't that tricky!" Rodin yelled, his mouth open in shock. "Whatdidga go 'n do that for??"
Grim shrugged. "It's my job. I work very hard you know, and do I get any thanks? I think not."
Adelaide was staring blankly at the decapitated body. "You killed her!"
"He is the grim reaper, y'know. But hey, can't we make a deal? Play, chess, or somfink? That's how it's supposed to go!"
"I wouldn't push my luck, halfling. I've had my scythe aimed at you many a time."
"Pssh, with a cough like tha' you'll never catch me!"
The wizard shook his head. "Halfling! this is no time for banter! Tyrin's just died!"
"....oh. Sorry. How 'bout checkers, then? tiddlywinks?"

"In my humble opinion," said Liore, "it would be better to focus on the deeper matters at hand." She produced a scroll from inside her cloak and coughed politely. "This record was taken from the Ever-Writing Book which resides in the Netherworld. The Ever-Writing Book records everything that occurs, and it has done so since the beginning of time. With Master Grim's permission, I will read the account." The Grim smiled, well, grimly, and snatched the scroll from his assistant.

"Thank you, Liore, I would prefer to deliver this news myself." With much ceremonious scroll-shaking and leaning back to peer at the words written in Ancient Mordom. "The following, dear mortals, is a roughly-translated version of what Solomon has managed to accomplish. Ahem."