He laughed, sonorously and richly, like dark chocolate slowly pouring the air. His eyes crinkled with delight as he looked upon the scene before him. Little had moved him for so long, the release was almost orgasmic in intensity and sheer elation.

They had tried everything so far, from moon-smithed steel to incantations derived from the scribblings of half-mad prophets. Every slash, every stab, every hell-borne arrow sped with the fury of a demon had simply trickled off him, no mark left beyond the growing acrid cloud that only he could smell.

Their bitter cries of frustration sang to his ears as he stood and laughed. Ocasionally, overcome with hilarity, he would bend to clutch his knees, and their attempts would pause. The uncertainty only made the subsequent resuscitation of their effort all the more funny.

"Why... won't... you... die!" Yelled a particularly irate knight, his armour slowing his movements as he swung for the umpteenth time, only for his mace to yet again find nothing to embed itself in. "You're worse than a troll!"

"At least they feel the pain." Snarled a companion cleric, his comment oddly juxtaposed with his once white robes of the Calm God. The robes had since become overwhelmed with sweat, proof of his continuous channeling of divine power.

Briefly, the man paused his chortles, considering the chances of them finding any weakness to exploit before the cleric literally exploded with those forces. A tingle caused him to begin giggling again, the lightning summoned crackling through the burnt finery he had wornt.

Each attempt of the wizard had varied. He had summoned blades of wind, vines of grass to bind and enervate, lashes of fire to scourge, and eruptions of earth to smother. All had increased the hilarity - the desperation on each face as previously ultimate attacks had served to only muffle briefly the peals of laughter.

"Drown it again, Xeforh," grumbled another knight, this one standing back from the fight, leaning on his shield as he tried to recover from the hours-long endeavour they had started, "at least that shut it up."

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"I can't." Grunted the wizard. His grey eyes were bloodshot, the formerly clear whites now a crazed maze of red interspersed with islands of pinkish white. His hands trembled as he drew on the last dregs of his power. "I need time to -"

"We should retreat," came a voice from the man's left, "while we have strength to get back to the fortress. Then we can come back with a full battalion at our command."

He looked over, through eyes crammed with tears of laughter to observe the grizzled leather-clad woman. Thus far he had ignored her - fewer attacks had come from that entertainer, and he had assumed she was merely a guide, or inexperienced. Closer inspection revealed insignia, hidden behind the tightly tucked cloak. So an officer. One who had thus far been content to assess and judge her subordinates success.

"We can take it, Captain," the third knight began, his sword steadily swinging, "we just need -"

"I think not."

The words shook the air. The trees around the clearing bowed out from the figure, before swinging back with elastic force. The six figures surronding him froze in the shock of the speech, held still by the sheer reality-breaking madness contained. A flury of pine needles cascaded over their frozen forms, the trees denuded of their covering for a good distance around the clearing.

He sighed, frustrated at his lack of control. They had been good entertainment, varied and inspired in their avenues of attack. Had he been more restrained, perhaps they could have been broken to his service. For not the first time he regretted the path before him.

True power would always hound him - rendering even the strongest gale a mere whisper, the harshest blow a slight tickle. Shaking his head, he attempted to straighten his clothing, brushing ineffectually at the burnt and charred fabric.

The sight might have been comical, but for the still and silent forms around him, a silent statuary that could only have been created by the most talented of sculptors. Each was cast in the last instance of life - fear, and dawning horror etched on every last face. It was so lifelike, you could swear the eyes followed you.

He strode out of the glade, casually walking around the destruction as though on a mere pleasure walk. He had a fortress to visit, after all. Unfortunately, they wouldn't be expecting him, just yet.