Drafn and the Angel of Death

by Jarl Gregory of York

IT WAS A good day to die. And it was a good thing too, because a lot of dying was about to occur. The Dread Lemming War Band was soon to face the Lords of Thunder--those knuckle-dragging, roga-swilling berserkers who had been the hereditary enemies of the Lemmings since Gyrth sold his first roll of duct tape.
Though badly outnumbered, the Lemming Band had faith that their venerable commander, Jarl Perigrynne, would pull another trick out of his, uh, bag. And if not, as Gyrth the Crafty pointed out, they could always duct tape the Jarl to a cholla cactus until they all cheered up. For the Lemming men were a happy band and seldom held grudges.
Thus reassured, the Lemmings drew up their shieldwall and awaited the inevitable suicidal charge of the men from Atenveldt. The wait was not long. And with the unshakable faith of the truly stupid, the Lemming men met and broke the charge, rolling up the Thunder Lords' flank like a cheap tin of herring.
Much to everyone's surprise the Lemmings survived the battle in unhealthfully large numbers and set about contemplating lowering the property values (and moral standards) for miles around.
Unfortunately for the Dread Lemming War Band, the Angel of Death was vacationing in Phoenix that weekend, having descended to earth in the guise of a beautiful lady marshal. Well pleased with the many deaths she had so recently encouraged, she quickly asked the Lemmings if they were ready to kill more of the Thunder Host.
Several of the shieldwall Lemmings waved their swords at her, and the surviving Lords of Thunder, who had been pawing the ground and chewing on their shields for some time, immediately launched themselves at the Lemmings. It should probably be noted here that later on that same day the shieldwall also waved their swords at a procession of bagpipe players, a sheep, and the planet Venus.
The suddenness of the onslaught of the Thunder Lords came as something of a shock to the majority of the Lemming Band who were at that moment playing at dice or scratching various portions of their anatomies. Jarl Perigrynne was at that moment engaged in a heated discussion over the minimal amount of bunny fur that would cover a Bow Babe and was clearly not prepared for either the charge or a close encounter with a cholla cactus.
As a result, the Lemming shieldwall was rent in many places, and great was the lamentation in Lemming camp that night as dozens of the furry little creatures ran pathetically to and fro, barking mournfully through little rolls of duct tape that they carried futilely in their mouths.
Gyrth the Crafty, limping first on one leg, then the other, switched his sling to his left hand and directed the looting of Jarl Perigrynne's camp. The Jarl himself was carried off by a valkyrie, or so the legend goes, but his pavilion, it is said, may still be seen in the night sky, silhouetted against the moon and stars, far above the reach of mortal men.

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