The darkness before her seems to twist and bend in upon itself and she looks on as a multitude of shadows pulls itself from dark depths, swiftly taking on a familiar form. A wrathful voice precedes the forming of black, empty eyes.
"Who dares put Death to the sword?" the Keeper demands, but then as he truly takes his shape, his eyes fall upon her.
"Of course", he says. "Who else could it have been? None would dare save you, Calamity".
"I hope you can forgive me", she says sweetly. "I did try ever so hard to restrain myself".
The Keeper merely casts a dark sidelong glance in her direction as he turns to the drifting dust that had once take the shape of Death. Death could not be slayed in truth, but only the Keeper could reform his body anew. For that, he would have to recover Death's soul, which upon being violently parted from his body by Calamity's blade would take to roaming the vastness of the dark realm like a wayward shade. It will take the Keeper some time to recover it, this Calamity knows.
He turns back to her and regards her in sullen silence; she simply offers him her charming smile. It has been a while indeed since she last laid her eyes upon him, and unlike Death she did not mind to feast her gaze with his appearance. He was a handsome being, as old if not older than Death – she had never been quite sure.
The task the Elder Gods lay upon him is to watch over the dark lands below Man's realm, here to guide and keep their souls upon their passing. He has confessed to her in the past that it is tedious work, and thus why he frequently sends twisted creatures of the dark up to visit upon the earth. Yes, there are grievous injuries and numerous deaths, towns and villages often trodden underfoot, but do not be mistaken, he would tell her in earnest. He does not hate Man; they simply make for good sport now and then.
"Why have you come and inconvenienced me once again?" he asks her plainly
"I did not mean to", she promises, "I only wished to meet swiftly with you".
"What do you want?" he says, ignoring her words completely. Calamity cannot help herself; she giggles.
"Then begone", the Keeper banishes her. He turns aside and Calamity is at his shoulder in the very next instant, looping an arm through his tightly folded pair.
"Come now", she says with a voice smoother than honey, "I am truly sorry. I seek the last of the nymphs, but I could not hope to know the lay of this land as well as its master".
He says nothing to her, though he does not pull away.
"I am sure you know where she is", she says.
He is taller than her, and when he turns and looks at her, she tilts her face to meet the black pools of his eyes and smiles easily. It is not a moment later when the Keeper breathes a sigh of annoyance and confesses that he does indeed know where the last of the nymphs hides. In fact, he knows of her presence the moment she and her companion – who Calamity confesses to having forgotten about – the moment they set foot within his realm. But of course, there is a price that Calamity must pay for such information. The Keeper demands that which Death before him requested.
Calamity agrees without hesitation; this is not the first time this sequence of events has played itself out. The Keeper is easy upon her eye and one of the very few she will join with in the embrace of passion. They steal away to a secret place and there dance beneath silken sheets, their desire and delight a pleasant song upon the air. And when all is said and very much done, he tells her where the Nymph and the Angel seek to hide themselves.