Let’s Be Friends

Clown heard the sound of the drums long before he saw them.  At first, he’d mistaken the noise for the rhythmic clanking of the rusty mechanical lawn mower, purchased years ago from a travelling dwarf engineer, as he pushed it across the deserted blood bowl field. Eventually however, the noise grew so insistent that he was forced to accept that it must be real, and looked up just in time to see them emerge from the trees at the edge of the clearing.

There was three of them. Their tall graceful bodies and striking features clearly marking them as elves, even with their large black and grey robes and hoods pulled over their heads. What most gave them away though was the music, with each of them banging mesmerizingly on a simple drum as they sang with high, haunting voices:

“Why can’t we be friends… why can’t we be friends… why can’t we be friends… why can’t we be friends”.

The chanting repeated like this as they made their way towards him, each elf with a look of pure bliss and happiness on their face; while Clown stood there with a look of complete shock on his. It had been so long since the Halfling had seen anyone else at the old stadium that he thought he must be losing it. Luckily, Clown was able to pull himself together just as group began to drum straight past him and head towards the old clubhouse on the far side of the field.

“Hey, who are holy ‘ell are you? What are you doing ‘ere?” he shouted.

Seemingly noticing the halfling for the first time, the rear elf turned his smiling face towards him and replied without breaking stride. “We are good news friend. For the Sparrow is coming.” At that the procession turned from him and continued their march across the field.

“What in the world?!” Clown muttered to himself, still dumbstruck by this sudden development.

“The world is a big place my friend, and stranger things have happened in it than us’ said a voice behind him, causing Clown to spin around in alarm to see a new elf, dressed similarly but much taller than the others, and with a series of elaborate tattoos spiraling across his face.

“Sweet Sigmar! You gave me a bloomin’ fright,” exclaimed Clown.

“Hmm, this will do nicely, very nicely indeed,” said the elf, seemingly ignoring Clown’s look of disbelief. “You’ve kept the field in very good condition. This will be perfect for our needs.”

“I ain’t no friend of yours elf, but thank you. Ain’t had too many visitors out here since the accident, but I like to keep it in good nick, for old times sake. But what do you mean ‘needs?’”

“All will be revealed in good time my friend,” said the elf, placing one elegant hand on Clown’s shoulder and steering him towards the clubhouse, just as the noise of drumming began to grow louder and louder from the forest around him, “all in good time.”

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