The result was bloody, and the onslaught unrelenting, but we emerged victorious from the battle for Fort Mach (aka my backyard shed) against a hoard of ravenous vermin, a devastating massacre of mice (a mouse-acre?). Had this been the era of Spartacus and arena gladiator battles, I would be crowned the almighty Verminator for my rodent slaying prowess.
Level up music plays, Valour +2.
Enough with the nerdy dungeons and dragons storytelling. What actually happened: we found evidence of mice (ie: poop!) in our shed, and sought ways to eliminate them. My battle with these pooping mice wasn't actually all that epic. We set a few traps, they walked across them and got their heads, necks, and spines snapped.
The only bit of excitement was the one mouse carcass this weekend that bled out, leaving a puddle behind. When I went to pick it up for disposal, its fur was matted to the floor, and so was a bit like peeling two pieces of Velcro apart, complete with sound effects. I was rather grossed out by this, and MAY have closed my eyes while doing it.
Game over music plays, Valour -5. Dammit!!
And when I told Anita this, she figured that rather than clean up the mess, we needed to burn the shed down.
Avert thine eyes if thy stomach ist weaketh of constitution: