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He coughed. He laughed. He breathed.

[b]"Sure it ain't chicken?"[/b]

The world continued to unfold its myriad mysteries. The lady he thought was a princess turned to be something far more divine, while the swordsman who he had called out to decided that he neither wanted to use his swords, nor wanted to give others his swords. Greedy fellow, wasn't he? Not that it mattered overmuch when a great striped beast leapt out from who-knows-where and tried to feast upon monstrous prey. He stared at it for a moment, wondering whose pet that was. Better be careful of that guy, for sure.

As for the byproducts of that cursed creature's rampage though?

[i]Fists or timber.[/i]

Corpses sprouted feathers, and he kicked up a hefty branch from nearby, taking a step to the side as if covering the girl's retreat. It had a nice weight. It was an excellent weapon. A few experimental swings, and he got the hang of it pretty quickly, rolling the branch over his wrists and arms as he expelled the last bit of that strange addiction of his with some physical activity. A quick run up, a two-handed swing, and...

The branch smashed against the head of the first feather-being, knocking it over. He almost followed through with a stomp to the head, then decided that he didn't know when he'd get a new pair of shoes, so settled for a downwards swing with the branch a second time, the grisly impact felt deep in both hands. More were lumbering forth, pulling themselves out of the piles of corpses and he glanced around him, wondering if there were any else who would participate in the relatively safe fun.

No?

Oh well.

A wordless tune left his lips as he continued to swing away, forming a new pile of corpses just a few meters away from the previous one. If he picked up the pace further, he could even start whacking their heads right as they worm their way out of the pile! Now [i]that[/i] would be a proper game.