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Corpse: Small Worlds Chapter Thirty Seven
Meanwhile the Prophetess was rambling once again as Zeke was holed up questioning Joe. Zeke was determined to get his answer from the indignant Joe and kept questioning him. The Prophetesses' eyes soon rolled back in her head, the hollowed sockets exposed as the blonde lady shivered at the expression of woe betides and there was chanting as the humming sound increased in decorum. "What in the blazes?" the witness spoke at the whole incidence which was downplayed for suspense by the SPF soldiers who waved it off as a coincidence or an illusion of the Blaghemol monsters.

"When once shone the guy with the Pistol gun called Z," spoke the drunk Prophetess in an undulating wavering voice "goes into the small edge of the world of WC, of the one called Joe, shall fate bestow," she pointed edgedly at an unseen snickering figure skittering at the edge of the oaken table, "Someone by the name of Brynn Dechagne!"

"What the Fuck-" exclaimed the blonde lady, Brynn, aghast at those happenings: "This sounds like one of those weird quests," she unrolled the parchment placed before her, before the whole scroll started smoking and a little imp came out of the table.

"Greetings, mortal. I am Zephyron, here to look for my long lost master Zeke." the imp scuttled, it was cute, if you discount the crab-like structure of his whole body, spanning to three inches and his globule like irises which made his gaze magnified. Zephyron took a swig of rum, his satisfied belly rubbing was implemented by a sighing Brynn, who was dying to know who this Zeke was. "I do not know of this Zeke," said Brynn, uncertain as to the fate. The imp glared, spluttering at the comment and pointing at the prophetess, "But de lady told me of the Zeke of the WC, and that I must find this Joe. What is this a ghetto of some sort?"
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