“Okay, here’s how we get out of this,” Quietfire said, plotting and planning in the cellar. He had a giant scroll laid out over top of a couple of barrels of gun powder and was speaking to Paladin and Feonix. “We detonate the gun powder here, and here.” He pointed to the map. “Then the other charges will go off here and here. By the time they get it out, everything will be burnt to a crisp. They’ll think we died, and we won’t have to actually die after all.”
“How do they think it’s us if our bodies aren’t here?” asked Feonix.
“We’ll use cadavers that a buddy of mine let me have from the Acropolis morgue.”
“Nice buddy you got there,” Paladin commented.
PtheticLosr appeared in the door. “So this is your clandestine meeting.”
“Nice of you to finally show up,” Quietfire said.
“Wait, how do we know it’s really you and not one of your clones?” asked Feonix suspiciously.
“You guys suck.”
“Yup, it’s him.”
“Right. Back to the plan.”
“I still don’t know about this,” Paladin interrupted. “Don’t y’all enjoy going to the party out there?”
“Some of us wish to avoid an unpleasant death, that’s all.” Quietfire tried to restrain a shudder thinking of the previous year.
“I don’t know, I think he’s right,” Feonix mused. “There’s lots of free food and drinks, and it’s a nonstop party without any homework or rules or anything.”
“You should avoid being recognized and caught at all costs, no matter what pleasantries await you,” PL intoned from the shadows, biting his nails, his glance darting from face to face.
“Yes, my point exactly, so we really need to—”
Quietfire was again interrupted, this time by the police banging the door down. “Hands up!” said the men. “We’ve got you now, Guy Fawkes! You evil buggering assassin, you’ll never get away with killing the king!”
“I’m sorry, who?” QF was confused.
“You and all your co-conspirators are going to hang,” one of the bobbies declared, taking all four into custody. As the hunters were lined up on a platform with nooses being tied around their necks, Quietfire continued to proclaim his innocence.
“We weren’t trying to assassinate anyone!” he protested.
“Shaddap,” PL said. “You suck even more than these other guys suck.”
“It’s not my fault,” QF snapped. “It’s clearly a case of mistaken identity.”
They looked out to see a crowd of dirty peasants shouting for their blood, holding up cloth dummies hanging from sticks by their necks. Someone set one of the dummies on fire, and the crowd cheered.
“I figured meeting in a cellar was bad business,” Feonix sighed.
“Shoot,” was Paladin’s philosophical rejoinder. The drums beat loudly, and when they rolled and hit again, the executioner pulled the lever. The doors in the floorboards dropped open, and the hunters’ legs jerked only momentarily before they gave way to death.