[sub][b][color=939393](Written with input from Andreyich.)[/color][/b][/sub]

Dirk was not an educated man.

When the fur-clad fop said he was of the Wind of Death, the most death-like thing that came to the old poacher's mind was [i]necromancers.[/i] Nothing was more death-like than necromancers. He saw the strange, cheerful fellow before him, and he imagined himself prostrating upon the ground before that peacock only to have his throat slit and his body raised as a minion for the foul necromancer. The warriors behind him... How many were zombies? And it'd be typical of foreigners to align themselves with the raisers of the dead.

It didn't help that the man was dressed in dark clothes. Dark clothes [i]clearly[/i] meant he was a necromancer.

Now, Dirk was not a very patriotic man, and the idea of taking flight did occur to him. But he thought of his daughter back home, of his wife and his son, and he wondered, passingly, if they might be one of the necromancer's prey eventually.

And so, Dirk did what any good fellow would do when faced by a pompous necromancer: he raised his bow quick as a snake and loosed two arrows in rapid succession, shouting, "Get the bloody bastards!" as loud as he could. "They've got a [i]necromancer!"[/i]

And so the ill-conceived battle began, a battle born of bluffs, counter-bluffs, and misconstrued information. Dirk's arrows flew true toward their target. The first met its mark, smacking the dark wizard in his chest, right where his lung would be. The either was due to find its way into the shocked man's skull-

And then a block of ice burst forth from the ground and blocked the arrow.

"[i]Two[/i] wizards?!" cursed the poacher to himself. "That's not even fair!"