OOM: As luck would have it
There was an increased sense of paranoia among the humans he encountered on his trips into Gielinor. It was a paranoia unrelated to him, obviously. Or perhaps it was because he had not terrorized any of them in such a long time.
There were still a few that were prepared to face him, a few that even managed to kill him. But almost universally, the surprise and shock of seeing a chicken attacking with magic lasted far longer than it used to.
Ah! To taste human flesh again, especially after a hard battle!
Some of the spoils of battle managed to find their way back to Milliways. Evil Chicken had finally found a safe place to horde his treasure and the security was guaranteed for a pitiful amount of gold.
Security, security, how was he to reward security? He had promised to deliver something that would help security with their vampire problem. Well, something, at least, to eliminate the possibility that the vampire came from his world.
He had only once had the good fortune of teleporting somewhere that might have been useful. Unfortunately, the altar to Zaros in Jaldraocht pyramid was occupied by a Zarosian mage. A mage who remembered who Evil Chicken was, but more importantly, how to kill him.
What queer luck then, that the next place Evil Chicken would pop up was in Morytania. What queer luck. A few feet away way a body was lying, and from the smell of it, it was something still alive, something that was bleeding, something that was human.
As Evil Chicken approached the body, he saw the silvery sickle stuck in its back. What queer luck indeed.
"Tell me, slayer, have you at least managed to injure a vampire with that thing before injuring yourself?"
"Who... help me!" The slayer obviously could not turn and face the voice that was speaking. Evil Chicken took flight and landed where the slayer could see him. A frightened, weak, "no" escaped the slayers lips as the dreaded fowl turned toward him. He involuntarily tightened his grip on his Ivandis flail, which caused the sickle in his back to tremble. The slayer howled in pain.
"Tell me! How many vampires have you slain? Or are you such a poor slayer that you managed to hurt yourself swinging that silly thing at bats?" Evil Chicken turned away from the slayer's face and toward the sickle. It was inserted into the slayer's trembling body all the way to where the enchanted emerald was embedded in the blade. The sickle's handle was attached by a heavy silvthril chain to an elaborate long rod of the same metal topped with an enchanted emerald. This absurd weapon was the only effective way of killing those vampires which were skilled enough psychically to be able to anticipate and avoid their opponent's attacks, and thus the Ivandis flail was the weapon of choice among the vampire slayers of this world.
It was quite ironic that to kill Chaos's most valuable allies, a weapon that moved so chaotically through the air that it put the attacker in just as much danger as an attack target had to be used. Perhaps it was justice, though, that brought the vampires down. Sweet justice for turning the majority of the lands that Chaos had conquered into a dictatorship. Perhaps most ironic was that most of the vampire slayers were servants of Order. Order, Chaos, it was all such bullshit.
An answer finally came from the slayer. Or a question. Something. "What do you want?" Frustrated, Evil Chicken sent a spell at the sickle. The sickle, chain, and rod all vibrated violently, causing the slayer to howl in pain once more.
"I want you to answer my question! How many vampires have you slain with this thing?" Evil Chicken made an effort to show he was ready to fire off another spell at the blade of the flail. The effects of magic on metal were well known but the most stupid inhabitants of Gielinor.
"What do you care?"
"I want to know," Evil Chicken fired a weak spell at the rod this time, "whether or not I should waste my time helping you." The sickle shivered slightly from the spell.
Through gritted teeth, "Help me? How?"
"Well, I can remove that flail head from your back and let you die in peace, or I can keep on agitating it." Another spell to the sickle, and another pained moan from the slayer. "How did you end up like this?" Was it clumsiness? Oh please don't let it be clumsiness.
The slayer's breaths were becoming quick and shallow. "Vyrewatch Elites... escorting someone... surprised one of them... dead... felt drunk. Hurt another one bad... swung the flail wrong. Said blood was contaminated and left."
Drunk... Now that was interesting. There was no smell of alcohol about the slayer. Did one of the vyrewatch use mind magic on him? "Are you lying?" Evil Chicken cast another spell on the sickle.
This time the cry from the slayer was weaker. "No, I am telling the truth! Please, stop! Kill me if that's what you are here for..."
"Let go of the flail."
"What?"
"Let go of the flail."
"Why do you want th-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRGH!"
Evil Chicken was firing wind spells in rapid succession at the flail in an attempt to dislodge it from the slayer's back. The slayer's cry was soon joined by a howling wind, and after a while, the wind lost its accompaniment.
The flail head finally dislodged itself. Now came the hard task of dragging the heavy awkward weapon away from the body before rigor mortis set in. It was a difficult task, even for a chicken of his size. Evil Chicken did not want to risk teleporting a dead body along with the flail.
But eventually, it was done. The chicken was gone, the flail was gone. All that was left was a bloodied and wind beaten corpse lying face down in the swamps of Morytania.
There were still a few that were prepared to face him, a few that even managed to kill him. But almost universally, the surprise and shock of seeing a chicken attacking with magic lasted far longer than it used to.
Ah! To taste human flesh again, especially after a hard battle!
Some of the spoils of battle managed to find their way back to Milliways. Evil Chicken had finally found a safe place to horde his treasure and the security was guaranteed for a pitiful amount of gold.
Security, security, how was he to reward security? He had promised to deliver something that would help security with their vampire problem. Well, something, at least, to eliminate the possibility that the vampire came from his world.
He had only once had the good fortune of teleporting somewhere that might have been useful. Unfortunately, the altar to Zaros in Jaldraocht pyramid was occupied by a Zarosian mage. A mage who remembered who Evil Chicken was, but more importantly, how to kill him.
What queer luck then, that the next place Evil Chicken would pop up was in Morytania. What queer luck. A few feet away way a body was lying, and from the smell of it, it was something still alive, something that was bleeding, something that was human.
As Evil Chicken approached the body, he saw the silvery sickle stuck in its back. What queer luck indeed.
"Tell me, slayer, have you at least managed to injure a vampire with that thing before injuring yourself?"
"Who... help me!" The slayer obviously could not turn and face the voice that was speaking. Evil Chicken took flight and landed where the slayer could see him. A frightened, weak, "no" escaped the slayers lips as the dreaded fowl turned toward him. He involuntarily tightened his grip on his Ivandis flail, which caused the sickle in his back to tremble. The slayer howled in pain.
"Tell me! How many vampires have you slain? Or are you such a poor slayer that you managed to hurt yourself swinging that silly thing at bats?" Evil Chicken turned away from the slayer's face and toward the sickle. It was inserted into the slayer's trembling body all the way to where the enchanted emerald was embedded in the blade. The sickle's handle was attached by a heavy silvthril chain to an elaborate long rod of the same metal topped with an enchanted emerald. This absurd weapon was the only effective way of killing those vampires which were skilled enough psychically to be able to anticipate and avoid their opponent's attacks, and thus the Ivandis flail was the weapon of choice among the vampire slayers of this world.
It was quite ironic that to kill Chaos's most valuable allies, a weapon that moved so chaotically through the air that it put the attacker in just as much danger as an attack target had to be used. Perhaps it was justice, though, that brought the vampires down. Sweet justice for turning the majority of the lands that Chaos had conquered into a dictatorship. Perhaps most ironic was that most of the vampire slayers were servants of Order. Order, Chaos, it was all such bullshit.
An answer finally came from the slayer. Or a question. Something. "What do you want?" Frustrated, Evil Chicken sent a spell at the sickle. The sickle, chain, and rod all vibrated violently, causing the slayer to howl in pain once more.
"I want you to answer my question! How many vampires have you slain with this thing?" Evil Chicken made an effort to show he was ready to fire off another spell at the blade of the flail. The effects of magic on metal were well known but the most stupid inhabitants of Gielinor.
"What do you care?"
"I want to know," Evil Chicken fired a weak spell at the rod this time, "whether or not I should waste my time helping you." The sickle shivered slightly from the spell.
Through gritted teeth, "Help me? How?"
"Well, I can remove that flail head from your back and let you die in peace, or I can keep on agitating it." Another spell to the sickle, and another pained moan from the slayer. "How did you end up like this?" Was it clumsiness? Oh please don't let it be clumsiness.
The slayer's breaths were becoming quick and shallow. "Vyrewatch Elites... escorting someone... surprised one of them... dead... felt drunk. Hurt another one bad... swung the flail wrong. Said blood was contaminated and left."
Drunk... Now that was interesting. There was no smell of alcohol about the slayer. Did one of the vyrewatch use mind magic on him? "Are you lying?" Evil Chicken cast another spell on the sickle.
This time the cry from the slayer was weaker. "No, I am telling the truth! Please, stop! Kill me if that's what you are here for..."
"Let go of the flail."
"What?"
"Let go of the flail."
"Why do you want th-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRGH!"
Evil Chicken was firing wind spells in rapid succession at the flail in an attempt to dislodge it from the slayer's back. The slayer's cry was soon joined by a howling wind, and after a while, the wind lost its accompaniment.
The flail head finally dislodged itself. Now came the hard task of dragging the heavy awkward weapon away from the body before rigor mortis set in. It was a difficult task, even for a chicken of his size. Evil Chicken did not want to risk teleporting a dead body along with the flail.
But eventually, it was done. The chicken was gone, the flail was gone. All that was left was a bloodied and wind beaten corpse lying face down in the swamps of Morytania.