Rincewind clung back. Cowardice always liked company. It made the act of being cowardly, less of a thing to be frowned on. Terror had power. Not like bravery. Being brave had a nasty tendency of souring. It had a high mortality rate and usually meant being dead.

The surrounding blotches of shadowy figures began to form half pokemon, half human things. They looked like inanimate ideas that thought they'd had a knack for taking shape, but turned out to be about as good at is as a toddler's drawing. Their voices were insubstantial like intrusive thoughts trying to make themselves more than just a thought. They needled away, pricking all the little insecurities Rincewind held about himself. Every failing doted on (his inability to graduate, how he couldn't seem to remember any spells except for the worst spell in all of history, that one time he'd dropped his books everywhere and got ink on everything, etc.). Every fear, real and unreal, traced with the fragile touch of an icepick. The most annoying part was they could be tuned in on by a third party. No secret, it seemed, was safe.

The figure stepped closer. It was entirely skeletal and was shrouded in a cloak of shadows. A pinprick of blue light shone out of each eyes socket. "I think," Rincewind started, fear quavering in his voice, "that's Death".