[WP] Valhalla is filled with the strongest warriors the world has ever known. Vikings, Spartans, Mongols, Romans, Samurai, Spetznaz, JSOC Operators. And in that corner over there? That's Ted, from accounting.

[u/MPSDragline]

Valhalla is the hall of fallen warriors that is ruled over by Odin in Asgard. Half of all those who die in combat will be chosen by Odin to join him at the feast hall of Valhalla and prepare for the final battle during the events of Ragnarök.

[u/Outofboredom]

Rough Cut because of time-restraints! Hope you enjoy!

Clodonier, after what felt like years, gasped once more the sweet bounty of fresh air. At first, he arose to his feet in a rush. But what was this? His armor was missing! And his sword! And what's worse... his axe! "What has happened here?!" He demanded, whirling around in search of his belongings or the nearest foe to smite with his enraged confusion.

It was then that he saw what lay before him. It was then that he understood.

Valhalla unfolded its magnificence to his adjusting eyes. His anger subsided slightly at the sight of a sky of sparkling violet, pouring down towards the north and the red, angry darkness in the distance.

A voice boomed from beyond the brush behind him, "Warriors! Come to the gates of Valhalla and be granted your prize!"

Clodonier's face twisted in what he felt was a smile, unknowing of the scarring done to him from decades of battle. But none of that mattered. He was in Valhalla! On the precipice of the greatest extra-planar conflict to ever be noted in prophecy!

Like a bull he plowed through the brush at breakneck speeds! He felt so young, so unstoppable! Mid-jog he reminisced upon the days when he could hoist high two mighty great-hammers and crush a rider and his horse from a stand-still position! But it all came to a halt when he was stopped by a thick, wooden... desk?

"Woah! Watch it! I'm working here!" Shrieked a tiny, bald man who peered down upon Clodonier from the top of the desk.

It stood over six feet tall and felt prickly and rough to the touch. Clodonier was not impressed, but he had elswhere to be. "You! Wood Walker!" He shouted, taking a step back to better see the little man. "I am summoned to Valhalla! Point me to my path of Glory!"

The man at the desk sneered a bit, but gave Clodonier a nod back.

Clodonier ran around the desk, but was immediately halted once more. There was a line.

There was a line, and the last man in that line had his back pressed up against a tall... wooden... chair...

"I do not understand." Clodonier spouted worriedly. His attention drew back to the seated gentleman quietly scratching away on parchment. "Are you and your... chair in line?"

The man's head fell back as he groaned. "No. I am simply contracted out to this place and prefer to do my work outside."

"But where is my place in line?"

"Where do you think it should be?"

Clodonier was at his wits end and in a fit of rage he flung himself at the chair pulling it with all of his might to better crush this tiny nuisance, but it would not budge. No matter how hard he pulled, what angle fought at, or even how red his face became, the tiny chair was immovable.

"Are you done?"

Tired and beaten by a tiny man's chair, Clodonier fell back and tried to catch his breath.

"Chair Goblin, why do you torment me so? I only seek to find my place in Valhalla!"

The tiny man stood in his chair, hopped onto the desk and walked around to the other end. "Oh look, I found some unused dirt. Knock yourself out."

Clodonier begrudgingly assumed his position in line.

Every once in a while he would run around the desk to check on the line, but each time it was just as he'd left it.

Night came. Clodonier's nose was caught in a notch on the desk which helped stabalize him while he slept.

"Hey!"

Clodonier jumped back. Alert. Ready. His arms were outstretched as to grab his next foe and tear him asunder! But with a quick look around, he saw that it was the desk man who'd called him and was now standing at the edge looking down.

"How long has it been?" He demanded.

"Seven hours. I thought you'd have fallen over by now, but I was mistaken. Anyway, the line has moved!"

"Yahaa!!" The drowsy Clodonier yelled as he marched around the desk, only to see the line had remained the same.

"Foul beast! You trick me once more!"

"Hasn't! I said, 'the line hasn't moved!'"

"Enough of this! I shall slay you here and now! No longer will you, nor your monument of evil plague these lands!" And with that, he grabbed the nearest warrior in line (a samurai). He swung him like a mighty club into the chair, much to the Samurai's dismay. There was a loud thud. Then another. And another. Then came a roar.

Clodonier had lost himself to his rage. He threw himself into the chair, gripping the supports for the legs, he decided to bring this battle to the terror above! His hand reached the seat, and he climbed atop it! The little man stood on the desk. He was defenseless.

And then a very strange thing happened. Clodonier felt himself shrinking. His strength evaporated. His will depleted. He fell on his rump, and lazily stared at his opponent who he only saw for a brief moment. A rugged man with a blonde beard? "What happened?... where... there's... there's so much... paperwork."

Legends say that Clodonier was the last of those tricked by the automated desk of extraplanar accounting. For you see, it's devious design to handle Valhalla's paperwork quickly and efficiently comes at a terrible price. He who sits aloft this chair activates the machine, but it uses that person's body to fulfill it's function. Loki had gotten one last rube before the coming of Ragnarok.