Author's Note: Hey noble gentlemen and beautiful ladies! This is your author speaking. I want to apologize for this repetition of chapter 3. If the words "absent-minded author" ever meant anything they were defined by my being. Anyway, please enjoy and ignore by various errors. My editor isn't perfect you know.

(The Real) Chapter Three: A Horde of Seagulls

Maybe, just maybe, this will improve my life. These were the thoughts of the poor trader who stood in the dirty streets of Carg, waiting to enroll himself in the expedition to the east that was going to begin today. His eyes flitted past one of the flyers on the side of a poorly built brick building and his spirits grew.

HELP WANTED

BRAVE MEN AND SPRITES NEEDED TO GO ON EXPEDITION TO THE EAST. UNCOVER RICHES, GO ON AN ADVENTURE; EARN CASH, CASH, CASH!

He approached the registration desk and began to sign the forms. He didn't really care what they said. Heck, he couldn't read the fancy words they used anyway. He was a trader with a family to feed, and this was how he was going to do it. The lady with the phony smile at the desk told him he had three hours to get the stuff listed on the paper she had given him and that if he wasn't there at noon the party would leave without him. He thanked the lady for his time and walked away. His face bore the grin of a demented gold prospector, and the stares he drew were almost as strange as his decaying smile.

He looked at the list, and set out through town, using the little money that should have been feeding his family to buy the best of every item on the list. He bought a cantine line with Aqua Grunty "Fur" to keep his water extra cold, and he bought the best toiletries on the market. Coupled with a sleeping bag that resembled the Iron species of Grunty, he was completely broke. His wife would hate him forever, but he wouldn't be around to deal with it. This made him grin even wider, and he began to loiter around till noon.

The man's navy blue hair was shaken and coated with dust by a gust of wind. He quickly moved his hand to correct it and than he looked at the sun. Almost noon. Time to do my job. Yeah. He walked into the center of town from his seat near a café and yelled for the explorers to listen. They began to mass towards him, at least the ones that were there. Tardiness is inexcusable. No understanding of punctuality in peasants. May Fianna bless their souls though, I really do pity them. Even so, I used to be like them: poor and absolutely helpless against the inevitability of life's inadequacies. "I suppose you're wondering who I am. You may call me Mycarius. By the order of the government, you are to halt this journey under penalty of law." The looks of utter astonishment on the peasant's faces gave him a satisfied feeling about the bluff. It still could have been better, a nagging thought tugged at him.

"Will you back down?" The peasant's face continued to show dumbfounded looks of shock displaying across their faces. "Umm, kind sirs? Are you among the living?" He waved a hand in front of the nearest one, and a small boy to the left stuck out a frail, trembling hand that pointed behind Mycarius. He turned around to see and reacted immediately, commanding the peasants, "RUN!" He grabbed the little boy, hopped on the nearest Grunty, and rocketed out of the town.

Luashboin smiled. The town lay just ahead, and the screams of terror were like a chorus of angels singing beautiful songs inside his head. He laughed and spurred his Bone-breed Grunty forward. He raised his weapon, a strange looking gadget attached to his arm that shot out darts tipped with poison, and shouted out the traditional battle cries. He yelled at the top of his lungs, even if they didn't work, "Forward Wild Hunt! Charge with the ferocity of demons. Let's slay this town quickly!"

The rest of his horde of undead yelled in response, and the pace quickened towards the town; other than that they made no other sounds. Their Grunties floated above the ground, just as dead as their riders were, and their flaming manes and paws complimented their riders' ferocity quite nicely. They were upon the town in minutes. They spread out among the town. Everything they touched became silent. The spirits of the town were utterly disabled.

"Hey! Mr. Furious Host, Sir! We have about 20 goodies in this here town and the rest need to borrow the coffins." The speakers were to undead brothers, Havok and Payne, his two second-in-command officers and the official deciders of the fate of thousands of people.

Luashboin waved them off as he surveyed the carnage. He breathed in the stench of fear, and out the breath of enjoyment. He responded nonchalantly, "Load the goodies into the cannons, and well, you know what to do with the baddies." A wicked smile from his infected mouth full of rotten teeth I followed. He was so happy one of the more annoying teeth plopped out onto the ground. His Grunty ate it and smiled up at him. The two brothers nodded in agreements, then walked straight into each other as they tried to get to the cannons and coffins respectively. They started to curse at each other, and they ran off to do there owns tasks.

From the cannons he could here the fear of the still living being loaded into the cannon one by one. He enjoyed this process almost as much as he enjoyed the coffin judgment, but more because of their screams than where they ended up. They went on happily to live with Fianna was what the previous leader had told him.

"Hey! Ow! That's my leg! What are you doing putting me in the cannon? No! Don't light the fuse, don't light the fuse! AGGHHHHHHH!" The man in the cannon went flying off into the sky, never to be heard from again. He shifted his attention to the coffins, laid out in a ten by ten formation. One by one, the baddies were placed in the coffins, all 100 of them. They did it completely silently though, because only higher-level soldiers had full mastery over making people silent; he forbid the people on cannon duty to do so. One by one, each coffins closed in. Payne held up a small red button, and with a nod from Luashboin, hit it. Blood squirted out everywhere. The holes in the coffins aloud it to shoot out in vents, and it was a truly magnificent site. Havok approached him and said, "

Mr. Furious Host, Sir! We have reports form scouts who went on ahead that a young child and man in his 20s escaped. Your orders?"

"They have spirit, trying to hide from me. Send the hounds and their owners after them, but bring them back alive. You will be punished for any failures."

"Sir, Mr. Furious Host, Yes, Sir!" He then marched off to organize the tracking party. This was more fun than I thought. Luashboin smile broadened, and he laid back on his Grunty and began to fall asleep-not that the undead really need that type of thing.