A late homage to Sir Pterry! And about my other stories, I'll get around to them...soon...ish...

Obviously, I don't own anything.

NO, said the skeletal figure, QUITE FRANKLY, I CAN'T SEE IT.

The rodent-like creature on his desk squeaked angrily and tapped the dials on the machine with a paw. The Death of Rats was a beast proud of his inventions.

NOW, NOW. chided Death. IT'S VERY CLEVER OF YOU, BUT I DON'T THINK I'LL BE USING A CLOTHES-WASHER. He – for Death, although a concept more than a being, looked vaguely male – gestured at his tattered robe that seemed to be made of darkness itself. I THINK IT MIGHT SHRINK IN THE WASH.

This idyllic domestic scene, such as could have played out in a billion billion homes galaxywide, was nevertheless interrupted by a polite cough from Death's butler, Albert. "There are some…existences come to see you, sir."

The choice of words left the listeners with no doubt as to what Albert thought of the visitors.

ARE THERE? Death turned around. A blue portal shimmered before his eyes, and beings began to step out. YES, I SUPPOSE THERE ARE.

The first few were known to Death, although he would have been perfectly happy without their company. These were the Auditors of Reality; the powerful forces that were in charge of making sure things happened in an organized manner as they should. Of course, sentient life tended to destroy their calculations, and they had been known to do their best to eradicate it where they could.

We have brought, said one, someone to see you.

OH? NORMALLY I GO TO THEM.

The last figure that stepped out was humanoid as well. Man-shaped, but horrifically scarred and burned, each inch of his flesh mutilated or tattooed, and his eyes seemingly dark pits into the void that glinted with malevolence. Death eyed him with some interest.

GOOD AFTERNOON. WOULD YOU LIKE SOME TEA?

"I," announced the man, "am Angra Mainyu."

ARE YOU? asked Death, politely.

This seemed to discomfort the man. "I am All the World's Evil."

Death considered this. EVIL ISN'T A CONCEPT. IT LIES WITHIN EVERY HUMAN, TROLL, DWARF, VAMPIRE, IGOR, WEREWOLF, NAC MAC FEEGLE, NOBBY NOBBS, OR-

An Auditor interjected, before Death could list every sentient species that existed. He is All the Roundworld's Evil. The Humans there created him.

Death considered making a remark along the lines that they must have been terribly bored to come up with something like this, but passed on it.

"Tell me," asked All The Roundworld's Evil pompously, "have you heard of the Holy Grail?"

GRAIL? YOU SAY HOLY GRAIL?

"Yes, Grail."

NO, SORRY.

"It is-"

I HAVE HEARD OF THE HOLY QUAIL, THOUGH. THEY BELIEVE IN IT IN A CORNER OF BHANG BHANGDUC. DO YOU KNOW, asked Death, warming to his theme, THE BURIAL RITUALS THERE? FEATHERS EVERYWHERE. I KEEP LEAVING A TRAIL OF QUAIL DOWN EACH TIME I RETURN FROM THE PLACE. ALBERT DOESN'T LIKE IT VERY MUCH.

"It is," cut in Angra Mainyu loudly, over Death's monologue, "an artifact that can grant one wish to the victor of a combat known as a Holy Grail War."

JUST ONE? EVEN THE MOST MISERLY GENIES OFFER THREE.

"Nevertheless." continued the personification of the Roundworld's evil, "we bring to you a challenge from the Roundworld." He grinned – and when you are All the World's Evil, there's only a few ways you can grin – evilly, malevolently, cunningly or similar. "Select your seven champions and we will have ours. The winning side will make a wish; and of course," he smirked, "prove which world is better."

Death sighed. This all seemed too complicated to him. LOOK, WOULD IT SAVE TIME IF I ADMITTED YOUR WORLD WAS BETTER? I'VE GOT THINGS TO DO, PLACES TO BE, PEOPLE TO REAP…

This seemed to surprise his listeners, but one Auditor spoke quickly before Death ordered them off his realm. The Gods will have a different opinion. And it is your duty to tell them.

Death sighed, an echoing sound reminiscent of a churchbell ringing over a graveyard at midnight. WAIT HERE.

He winked out of existence.

"Of courthe we mutht take up the challenge! They'd think we were cowardth!" spat Offler, the Crocodile God; not out of vehemence, but simply because when you had a crocodile's head and fangs, pronouncing certain syllables without drenching the immediate area was slightly difficult.

IS THAT SO IMPORTANT?

"To a god, it is." said Blind Io, as his eyes hovered above his head. Death considered this and saw the truth of it. Gods were formed out of the belief of mortals; and if word got around that the gods had backed out of a challenge issued from some backwater world where they didn't even know what octarine was, it would certainly shake some of the theological foundations. Not that it mattered to Death of course. Whether you believed in him or not, he would come for you.

"So, I understand we are to select our champions?" smiled a beautiful woman, her emerald eyes glittering. "I certainly have a few suggestions."

"You would." griped a portly man beside her, his eyes completely black.

Offler stood up and placed his hands on the table, knocking aside some of the pieces on it. "Tho, letht come to a-"

Far away, a hero suddenly fell off a cliff. In another corner of the disc, a troll woke up to find it had suddenly turned a shade of vivid pink.

"Excuse me." coughed Blind Io. "I believe I am the Chief God."

"Of courthe, of courthe, jutht thpeeding up the process-"

"I'm perfectly capable of doing it on my own-"

"No doubt, but thith thituation callth for-"

"Let me decide what it calls for-"

Death sighed again. This would take a while.

"Thut up or I'll poke your eyeth out and then you'll really be blind-"

"I'll make a suitcase out of you-"

Death winked back into existence in a shower of blue sparks, and eyed them speculatively to make sure they didn't make his rug catch fire.

Of course, due to the nature of time, it being an abstract manmade invention that the gods or Death had no need of, the entire discussion took but a second in the eyes of the waiting Auditors-plus-one. That is, a metaphorical second since as mentioned previously time has no meaning – well, you get the point.

Angra Mainyu smiled maliciously, and gestured with his hand. A chessboard fizzed into existence between the two figures. Death glared balefully at it.

WHY IS IT ALWAYS ONE OF THESE?

"The symbolism, I expect, sir." suggested Albert, who was quietly observing the guests to make sure they didn't steal any of the cutlery.

I HOPE YOU DON'T EXPECT ME TO PLAY. I CAN NEVER REMEMBER HOW THE HORSEY IS SUPPOSED TO MOVE.

Angra Mainyu ignored him. "Let us reveal our champions, then." He gestured theatrically. "Assassin, the Servant skilled in subterfuge, espionage and…"

ASSASSINATION?

"Yes, that." glared All the World's Evil. "Behold, Hassan-i-Sabbah, the man whose name lives on as the title for all practitioners of the art!" A piece was laid on the board, a black-cloaked man with a bone-white mask.

IS IT MY TURN NOW? OH VERY WELL. HERE.

A piece was laid on the board – but all it had was a pedestal.

"What? I can't even see your Assassin!"

ISN'T THAT SORT OF THE POINT? asked Death politely.

( "Athathin…well…I mean…" Offler looked around at the assembled gods. They looked shiftily back at him.

"He is the best Assassin they've ever trained." offered one.

"But…he's…him, you know?"

This seemed to sum up the sentiment in the room. If he didn't know better, an unbiased observer might even have suggested that the gods looked nervous. But that, of course, would be blasphemous.

"He would make a good leader for our side." insisted yet another.

Blind Io nodded, setting all his hundreds of floating eyes bobbing up and down simultaneously. )

"Cheap tricks." Angra Mainyu was dismissive. "Here is my Caster, the Servant of Magic." This time, the piece was a tall man, flamboyantly dressed and with wide, bulging eyes. Angra Mainyu grinned. There might have been more powerful choices, but this one – this one was a man after his own black heart.

With an ominous clack, Death placed his piece down, and Angra Mainyu nodded; this one, at least, looked like a witch. Although she did seem a bit old…

("My dear Lady," said Fate. "You are outvoted on this one."

She turned her nose up, and crossed her arms in a huff. But she would wait, and she would make sure her preferred choice got in somehow…)

"Berserker." A huge man, impossibly muscled by anyone's standards. If he had been on Discworld, trolls would have unthinkingly accepted him as one of their own.

Clack. Angra Mainyu considered it. A man in dented armour. Not particularly well built. Slightly greying. He dismissed him. Who would prove a challenge to Heracles after all?

("Him." said Fate.

"But there are tho many other good bertherkers….he'th not even a hero!"

"Him." repeated Fate, and his black eyes glittered.

"Hah!" said the Lady. "He just wants him because he's one of Fate's tools."

"Nothing of the sort."

"Hah! He makes sure no one avoids the consequences for their actions, and you deny supporting him?")

"Lancer." A slim man dressed in blue. He held a red spear that pulsed evilly.

Clack. Angra Mainyu stared at the selected champion carefully. The first thing that drew his attention was how old the man seemed to be. The second thing…

"Is that a broom?!"

("Well, there's La'ortez the Light-Footed Lancer." suggested one god.

"Wasn't he the one who charged into a horde of trolls on his own?"

"Well…yes, but it was very heroic."

"Altho very thtupid. It'th not the thort of thing we want."

They pondered this for a while.

"Excuse me," coughed a particularly bright god, "but does it have to be a lance?")

"Rider." Another well-built man, broad-shouldered and red-haired, with a fierce grin.

Clack. Angra Mainyu sputtered, "No, I said Rider."

THIS ONE IS RIDER.

"He has a hat that says he's a wizard!"

ACTUALLY, IT SAYS HE IS A WIZZARD.

"What?"

("Oh, so that's how it is?" Emerald eyes shone. "Fate gets his picks, you get yours, but I don't? Is it because I'm a woman?"

"My dear Lady-" began Blind Io.

"Don't you Lady me! Why not him, may I ask?"

"It thays Rider, hath he ridden anything?"

"Of course! Dragons, flying rocks, a spaceship…")

"Saber." Angra Mainyu grinned as he began revealing his trump cards. A petite blonde woman dressed in blue armour.

Clack. Another old man. This one apparently didn't have teeth either. Angra Mainyu sighed. The victory seemed so easy now. So boring.

("Clearly we pick our best hero, correct?"

"He did try to blow us up."

"He's still the best though.")

"And finally…Archer." Angra Mainyu couldn't help but gloat at this one; after the cheap trick with Assassin, he had decided to conceal identities, but this one…was special. "Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes." A golden man with red eyes and an arrogant sneer was placed on the board. "What is your ace, Death?" he asked mockingly.

Clack. Angra Mainyu stared. And then stared some more. And then asked, flatly. "Really."

YES.

("Hrun the Barbarian!" shouted one god.

"Antioch the Antipodean Archer with Arthritis!" yelled another, punching the first one in the eye.

"The Ancient Ding'Ba the Eighty Fourth!" screamed a third, kicking the second in the groin.

"Bob!" bellowed a fourth, biting the third on the nose.

Death sighed for the third time and grabbed the dice on the board with a skeletal hand. WHERE IT FALLS, he boomed, THERE'S THE PICK.)

"A monkey?!"

APE, I THINK YOU'LL FIND.

Reviews are what I subsist on!

So, what do you think? Oh, and don't worry about the exact details of the mechanics of the Grail and things...this is a Discworld mix, so, you know, rules bend a bit, details are blurred and so on and so forth.