[ WP ] A person in a fantasy universe does something that would seem out of place in said universe .

The Necromancer lay dead on the cold stone floor of his lair. Scarlet creeps from an enormous cleft between his naval and shoulder, staining his pristine grey robes. Stiff white fingers lock themselves around a short ivory sceptre, about the length of the forearm that held it. The staff stops abruptly at its tip, where shards of glass jut out like canines. The ornament's shattered remains lie in the slowly congealing pool of blood. So thoroughly was it destroyed that none present could begin to guess its former shape, save for *her*, the one who ground it to dust beneath her heel. 
 
 She stands halfway between five and six feet tall, on slender, toned legs hidden behind thick, loose fitting breeches. A hauberk falls to midway down her powerful thighs and extends just beyond her elbows. About her waist is an intricately embossed leather belt, fastened with a silver fox-head. She brushes an auburn lock behind her ear with a callused index finger, her other hand rests on the hilt of a preposterously large sword, at least as tall as the warrior herself. 
 
 The others present, all men of the town guard, watch her anxiously. She glares at each of them in turn. Wishing to terminate the oppressive silence, the sergeant clears his throat. 
 
 `` Ahem. So... eh, Miss Winifred, would you kindly explain what you've- erm... That is to say... what exactly it is that happened here?'' 
 
 Her eyes lock with his, causing him to shift uncomfortably, his boots making an unpleasant smacking sound as they leave boot-shaped prints of half-dried blood. 
 
 `` Sergeant. I'm sure you remember the incident two winters gone?'' 
 
 `` The time with the wyrms? Aye, that was a close one.'' 
 
 `` And you remember the Succubi incursion, not a year later?'' 
 
 `` More intimately than I would have liked.'' 
 
 `` You see sergeant, every time our kingdom has stood on the brink of destruction, subjugation or some other misfortune, the gods have sent us a hero. Golden hair flowing in the breeze, holding aloft some enchanted artifact found deep in some forgotten dungeon on the other side of the world.'' 
 
 `` Aye, we'd be naught but a smoking crater if it were n't for our Prince Sigmund and his trusted companions'' The sergeant smiles, showing more gums than teeth. 
 
 `` But does it not seem strange that whenever some cruel mastermind threatens us, they manage to accomplish so much of their dastardly plans before a hero finally turns up to stop them?'' 
 
 The guardsman's smile fades. Instead replaced with a perplexed frown. 
 
 `` Ma'am, I really do n't see what any of this has to do with the dead priest.'' 
 
 The warrior smirks, `` This is no priest, sergeant. He is a necromancer, and an ambitious one at that.'' 
 The other guards begin to shuffle away from the bloodied corpse. 
 
 `` Not a fortnight ago I was hired to clear out a cultists' den some miles out of town. After running through the cult's high priest I found evidence on his person of a nefarious plot to raise an army of ghouls beneath the city. The chief instigator was the man who lies before you.'' She reaches into her tunic and produces a small, leather-bound journal. 
 Leafing through it, the sergeant sees letters, dates for planned meetings, lists of names, all pointing towards some sinister conspiracy. He lets out a curse. 
 
 “ After studying the contents of the journal, I discovered that the key to the necromancer ’ s plan was an ancient sceptre, carved from the knucklebones of the Lord of Undeath, Belial. Rather than waste my time journeying across the seas to Ayodhya, to find the Burning Cat whose tears are the only substance that can return the undead to their rest; as was all intricately detailed in the same prophecy these heathens were adhering to. I found out where the necromancer lived, took my biggest, sharpest sword, and clove the bastard in two, months before the ritual was even due to begin. ” 
 
 The sergeant looked from the journal to the corpse, then back to the warrior. 
 
 “ Oh. ” 
 The sergeant was taken aback. On all prior occasions, the destruction wrought by the forces of chaos had taken months to recover from entirely. While the aftermath of Winifred ’ s brief crusade could be cleaned up in an afternoon. 
 
 Satisfied that her business was concluded, the warrior turned and left, the flat of her enormous blade resting on her shoulder. 

