When Baxter woke up, he had expected three things. One was not to have woken up at all. The second was to see his body in a mangled heap a few metres away. And the third - following the universal law of having gone unconscious involuntarily - a hangover.
What he hadn't expected was to open his eyes to a worm's eye view of four naked men wielding swords.
He screamed, thrust his sandalled right foot up into the groin of the man nearest his legs, and with his weasel instinct, threw himself over the ground's newest addition and padded off into the distance at speed; arms flapping like poultry.
The three men left standing watched Baxter moving in some sort of running hop as if trying to shake his right foot clean, and overheard the occassional cry of 'Ewuegh! Ewuegh! Ewuegh!'. One looked down at his wheezing companion and shrugged.
*At least he's sober.*
Well, that was a new one Baxter thought to himself. He didn't look back in general, but the word "jiggling" re-enforced his philosophy.
Baxter hadn't had time to take in his surroundings.
What was this place? It was all fluffy and white, containing hints of grey, with no mountains or hills or any noticable landscape. It was just a plain of- of- clouds?!
'Oh fantashtic,' he lisped to himself. 'I've been transhferred. Shtrange, the waking shight was more painful than the axesh's Shpliting Headache [Everyone has to put bad puns somewhere. Some put them in office. Some inflict through stories... But ogres put them in their lethal axe swings in the form of one-liners - straight through a vital organ].'
Baxter had a very open view about death. He knew he had to die someday, he just didn't except it whenever 'now' happened to be.
Besides, you're still in the game of life but playing for the away team...
*Excuse me, but what are you doing?*
It was at this time that Baxter noticed that one of the men was keeping up with him. He ignored the fact that the guy appeared to be floating just above the ground. No way was he looking down. The voice was strange too. The man's lips were moving and he could hear the sound but it seemed like the words were going straight to his brain, bypassing his ears.
*You're not supposed to be running away! The Book says that when you died, you wanted to be greeted by four naked war men. That is right isn't it?* Baxter skidded to a halt [Therefore not quite sober yet...].
'What?!' The man looked at his expression.
*Ah...* A robe appeared on the man. he cupped his hands and shouted back to the three in the background. *Holder, I think You made a mistake!*
The one he seemed to be addressing as Holder appeared next to him.
*What are You talking about, One? It says right here-* Holder's sword was replaced by a thick book, *-that during a conversation between a brownie known as K'trl and one Baxter TMHPITCEFTO, said K'trl spake unto Baxter uttering the query: "So what will you do after those ogres give you a better hair-cut?" To which Baxter replied: "I don't mind [He'd had a few drinks.], jusht ash long ash I wake up to four naked war men."*
'Women!' yelled Baxter. 'Wake up to four naked women!'
*Don't blame Me, I just refer to the Book,* said Holder. *It's Two that writes it...*
*It's not My fault! It's that bloody spell-checker...* muttered Two making himself known.
*Does this mean We can put some clothes on then?* asked the last of the males with a voice that appeared unusually high-pitched.
'Great idea, Three.' said Baxter.
*How'd you know I was Three?*
'Jusht a guessh.'