A Jimbo's chance in Hell

Jimbo was tired of being pulled apart by wolves.  Just sick and tired of it.  Rog was pretty good at using his pickaxe to ward them off but the night had been a long one.  Despite Rog's cool nature, it did bother him somewhat to see his friend consistently ripped to shredded remains by a pack of Hellhounds.

Once, he even tried to toss his own armbone into the fray as a distraction, but quickly got tired of having to tear off an appendage every time Jim was accosted so chose instead to just wait it out until Jim was sufficiently chewed up that he'd appear again whole beside him.

"Rog?"

"Yeah, Jim"

"Told ya we should have just went to work"

"Jim, stop being such a Cassandra, oh, look out, here come's more wolves",

Rog noticed that despite his apparent prowess with the pickaxe, the wolves just seemed to like Jimbo more and he didn't need to find a reason to change that. 

"Rog?"

"Yeah, Jim"

"Can we go somewhere else?"

 "Yeah, well, lemme formulate us up a plan while the wolves have another stab at you"

"OK, Rog, thank you"

So, while Jimbo was torn limb from limb, piece by piece by at least a dozen howling netherwolves, Rog thought about a plan.   He had already somehow managed to ward the wolves off, but he wasn't sure how, but to get inside and pull them off Jimbo?  Seemed suicidal, at best.  That's if suicide meant spending the rest of eternity being torn apart by blood frenzied canines.

Yet, he felt guilty just standing there.

"Rog?  Got a plan yet?"

"Yeah, yeah, Jimbo, by another round of limb tearing, I'll have it figured out"

 "Great, Rog!  Great!  Aaaeeeerrrghhhh........"

Rog did feel guilty just standing there.  And guilt wasn't a feeling he was accustomed to.  He had to do something!

Moments later, Jimbo materialized again.

"Rog?  Rog?  Where ya goin'?  Aaaarrgurghle"

"Sorry, Jimbo, i just couldn't live with myself standing there watching.  Figured best thing to do was go."

 

The End

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