Let us tell you a tale.
≈ III ≈
vi. The Making Of Rodensia
“This…” *flick* “is…” *fling* “too much!” roared Rínor. Êl had traveled to Blademount in Shavehalla at the request of Rínor, the ruler of Asgard because of an…uprising? Plague? Infestation? The parchment had been unclear, and Êl’s arrival at the mountaintop citadel had not clarified the situation overmuch.
For months tales had reached Êl’s ears of the harrying of snakes and the harassing of the eagles in the southern lands, of the crops of the lower gods being eaten bare and ankles being gnawed upon. With each attack there were also reports of a booming, cackling squeak echoing in the peaks and valleys of the land.
The realm in these days was a peaceful place, and thus such gleeful chaos, even on a small scale, was cause for concern. Now the horde of rodents had reached the highest peak of the kingdom of Shavehalla, and the gods were overrun by cute yet pointy small and furry things. And they were no longer subtle.
Rínor, the king himself, was currently being swarmed by dozens of the creatures, but Êl stood unmolested, marveling at the tenacity of these single-minded, easily squished rodents, eyes swimming with rainbow light.
And then, the cackling began.