Boney fingertips tapped the edge of the table. The book was consulted, another pause. A tape measure appeared, distances were measured, another pause. Finally a piece was moved along the length of the tape measure.

IS THAT IT?!

The cowled head looked up.

YES, THAT’S ‘IT’

FAIR ENOUGH. Pestilence retrieved the dice from Death YOUR FUNERAL

!?! Death stared at Pestilence.

Shaking the dice in cupped skeletal hands, Pestilence cast them onto the table. The dice were joined by a knuckle. ERRR, SORRY ABOUT THAT, CHAPS. Pestilence removed the errant knuckle and re-inserted it back into its rightful place. The other three ignored the socially embarrassing moment.

HAH! Pestilence placed a template over some of Famines Eldar and rolled again. HIT! SCHWIIINNNGGG!! Pestilence adopted the pose.

FETH YOU! Retorted Famine as the meagre Eldar force was reduced further still. I HOPE YOU FETHING DIE!

Death turned its head, but said nothing.

‘Excuse me gentlemen, but may I remind you that Games Workshop operates a no-swearing policy in its stores’

Death waved a cloaked arm apologetically. SORRY!

The GW employee nodded and went back to serving the young boys queued up, waiting patiently. ‘That will be thirty two pounds, forty three pence, thank-you.’ He hated Wednesday nights. Every Wednesday night they tipped up, regular as clockwork and took over the largest table. At least the smaller fifth one wasn’t here tonight. He hated the little bugger and was positive it was smuggling out products under its cloak. He hadn’t caught it yet, but he was sure he would.

WHERE IS PETULANCE TONIGHT? Asked Famine, as it removed its pieces from the table.

SOME CHARITY POP CONCERT. PETULANCE IS HANDLING THE ACTS PERSONALLY, I BELIEVE. Supplied War.

AHHH

I’M LEAVING THOSE UNITS TO FESTER-SORRY-ON OVERWATCH. Pestilence handed the dice to War. The dice were mottled and growing fungus. War looked pointedly at the dice. One of the die was trying to hide behind one of Wars joints.

OH! MY APOLOGIES-YOU KNOW ME, I GET CARRIED AWAY. The dice became normal again.

War rolled.

RIGHT!. MY LANDSPEEDERS ARE CARRYING OUT A FLANKING MOVE EAST AT 16:30. The land speeders dutifully rose into the air with little puffs of smoke, bursts of flame and dutifully toddled of in the direction indicated. MY ARTILLERY WILL START AN AREA DENIAL BOMBARDMENT AT CO-ORDINATES 9364-5518. The little models adjusted themselves into alignment and raised their barrels in readiness. UNDER THE COVER OF THE BOMBARDMENT, MY IMPERIAL GUARD SHALL ADVANCE TO CONTACT. The small figures stood from where they had been sitting, dusted off their uniforms, picked up their gear and assembled into their squads. MEANWHILE, MY RHINO SUPPORT SHALL...

Death drifted off. War could go on for hours. Yes, bringing all your models to life was all very well, but it meant that Death would have to kill them all later. AS IF I DON’T HAVE ENOUGH WORK AS IT WAS, Death mused. It didn’t feel right standing there without a scythe, it just didn’t feel right. But the Games Workshop manager was adamant. ‘No blades over three inches are allowed in the store’ WHERE IS THE FUN IN THAT?

Wars Imperial Army was readying itself for the full frontal.

Outside, four horses tied to a conveniently placed lamp-post, stood chatting about quantum mechanics and rarefied string field model theory.

A couple out for an evening stroll, dog in tow, passed by. The dog sniffed at one of the horses’ legs and cocked its own leg. The horse was not impressed and bit the dog, teeth passing phantasmly through fur and flesh.

The dog shook its leg and carried on after its masters. The woman with the lead stepped into a crack in the pavements surface, twisted her ankle, snapped the heel and fell to the ground with a piercing scream, dropping the lead. Surprised, the dog skipped to the side and backed away onto the road. Just in time to meet the speeding wheels of a passing BMW.

The horse smugly looked at the spirit rising from the dogs’ corpse. The dogs’ spirit looked at the tethered horses.

BUGGER, it said.