*coowahsissasissa*

A breeze like the breath of the sun rushes past your cheek as you narrowly avoid the dark-steeled blade. Leaning backwards, you roll away from the two ashen-cloaked men while being careful to keep one hand pressing your cowboy hat to your head. Licks of fire dance over the blades of their scythes despite the falling rain.

“Now good onya boys for your effort, but I’m gettin’ to be downright not amused here,” you shout. The wind kicks a drop of rain around the brim of your hat and into your eye, where it stings mercilessly. “How about you put away your mozzie swatters and I go in after my mate there?”
The figures glide down an incline towards you, either hovering above the ground or stepping smoothly. “You are of the first, but you will not see the last,” the first cloaked figure says.

*siss siss coowahsissasissa*

You scream and stumble backwards as suddenly the figures are immediately before you, scythes whipping through the air. The top of your hat is sliced clean off by an errant blade, and the rest is torn from your head.

The second figure’s hood rustles as he speaks. “The fruit of your tree is eaten from the highest branches.”

“¿Quién es usted?” you shout.

The figures chuckle lightly.

“One of us tells the truth…” the first figure answers.

“And the other always lies,” the second finishes.

The figures drift apart in a flanking maneuver. Soon, you won’t be able to keep your eyes on both, but, as they move to the sides, the path to the church in the distance is no longer blocked.

Your eyes lock on the small door your companion disappeared into a moment ago. If you move quickly, you just might be able to make it inside before you’re cut down. However, behind you lies an open expanse of a ruined town with plenty of places to hide.