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A small black and white relative of the lemming. Natural selection being what it is, it is the descendent of all those lemmings who when they saw a clifftop coming, squeaked the rodent equivalent of "blow this for a game of soldiers!" and ducked off to one side, while their less careful siblings ran straight on. After many hundreds of generations of such selection, the modern vermine will abseil down cliffs and still be alive at the bottom to spread its genes far more effectively than the splattered pile of ex-rodent that made a far more uncontrollable landing some seconds before it.

Lives in cold Hublandish regions. Much favoured for the linings of wizarding robes. For this reason it has become very nervous for survival purposes.

If Death distrusts magically inclined people for being too clever by half, then what must the Death of Rats think of the vermine?