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.
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.