Luther won’t be happy.
Best get it over with. “Remember that armor you fashioned for me?”
“Aye,” says he. “Served you well on your foray into the Weird Vale, did it?”
“Better than my sword. But… I was attacked.”
“Took a few nicks, I’ll bet. But we’ll soon have the dents out.”
“Worse than that, I’m afraid.” I dump what’s left on his bench.
He examines the chestplate, obscenely corroded and pitted. “My lights! What fell beast caused this? Dragon? Hydra? Minotaur?”
“Worse. I was ambushed by regurgitant revenants.”
“How’s that?” he asks.
“The bilious undead.”
“Vombies,” I explain.
Author’s Note: I like blending things that don’t really go together, but sound like they should. If you think this example is bad, I once wrote a 40-worder combining Snow White and lycanthropy. The word ‘dwolves’ may have made an appearance.