The Highs and Lows of LordDeath (A story) LordDeath was not a god of the underworld, a harbinger of doom, or even particularly mean. He was simply a **six-foot-maybe two-tall man** with a head so bald and polished that it functioned as a secondary sun for the village of Dawn. He had inherited the name from his father (LordDeath Sr.), who had been a very intense tax auditor. Unfortunately, the name "LordDeath" didn't quite fit a man whose primary hobby was **extreme top-shelf dusting.** The Incident at the "Short & Stout" Tavern One Tuesday, LordDeath decided he wanted a sandwich. This was his first mistake. * **The Entrance:** To get into the local tavern, LordDeath had to fold himself like a cheap lawn chair. He entered the room essentially in a "downward dog" yoga pose, his massive, gleaming scalp leading the way. * **The Glare:** As his head passed under the chandelier, the reflection of the candlelight hit the bartender directly in the eyes, causing him to accidentally pour an entire pitcher of ale into his own shoe. * **The Voice:** "I WOULD LIKE THE TURKEY CLUB," LordDeath rumbled. Because of his size, his "inside voice" sounded like a tectonic plate shift. A bowl of peanuts on the counter spontaneously turned into peanut butter from the vibrations. A Small Technical Difficulty The tavern fell silent. LordDeath tried to sit, but his knees were higher than the table. He looked like a grasshopper trying to eat at a dollhouse. "Is there a problem, milord?" the waitress squeaked, standing on a chair just to reach his elbow. "MY PINKY IS STUCK IN THE DOOR HINGE," LordDeath whispered (which only cracked one window). "AND I BELIEVE I AM WEARING YOUR CEILING FAN AS A HAT." True to his word, the wooden blades were currently spinning lazily around his shiny dome. He looked like a very large, very confused helicopter. The Great Sneeze The "Death" in his name finally earned its reputation when a stray peppercorn from the kitchen floated upward. LordDeath’s nose twitched. The villagers scrambled for cover. **"AH... AH... CHOOOOOO!"** The force of the sneeze didn't kill anyone, but it did: 1. Launch the tavern’s front door three blocks over. 2. Dry everyone's laundry for a two-mile radius. 3. Completely buff the scuffs off his own head via sheer air friction. The Aftermath LordDeath eventually got his sandwich, though he had to eat it outside like a polite kaiju. As he sat on the roof of the blacksmith’s shop (with permission), he sighed, his breath creating a localized fog bank. "Being a dark lord is hard," he muttered, accidentally knocking a bird out of the sky with a stray finger flick. He didn't mind, though. At least from up here, he could see exactly where the neighbors hid their "Beware of Giant" signs. He usually just used them as toothpicks.