Archive for March 27th, 2014

March 27, 2014

Entry # 8 “Tell Us Your Elven Story”

by Len

female elf


Crimson Legacy by Len Weatherly

Lady Swarmstrike heard the shuffle of her daughter’s feet as she returned from her classes at the Crimson Academy. The lady of the house was pouring over some old tomes, and spoke over her left shoulder toward the hallway.

“How was your training today?”

There was only silence. It was not the first time Swarmstrike had been ignored by her daughter; so, she simply tucked her dark curls behind her pointed ear and continued her reading. Lady Swarmstrike’s face was flawlessly smooth, which belied her nearly three hundred years of life. She had seen many battles, but her visage still seemed that of a young girl. It had taken Swarmstrike much longer to settle down and have children due to her travelling across Delphia. She had not been prepared to have sole responsibility of her daughter, but the death of her husband left her unprepared for a lot of things.

Then Swarmstrike heard a sound she was not expecting, the light and hopeless sigh of her daughter. The lady slowly turned to see the young elf leaning in the doorframe, one arm across her torso and the other dangling down with parchment clutched in her slender fingers.

Her daughter, Greyhaven raised her hand and extended the letter but kept her silver eyes lowered. “They are wrong,” she muttered as her mother pulled the note away. As Lady Swarmstrike read the words, Greyhaven put her back on the doorframe and crossed both arms in a defensive posture.

Lady Swarmstrike,

Your daughter, Greyhaven, disrupted my class discussion today when she decided to argue the role humans and dwarves played in the War of Horded Magic. It is our duty to instill the correct teachings of that part of history. Apparently, Greyhaven’s grandfather has filled her mind with stories that simply are not true. However, your daughter refused to relent and was thus sent from my class. Any further instance such as this will result in her immediate expulsion from this academy.

Warmest regards,

Professor Vonorola

With warmth that neither Greyhaven nor Swarmstrike expected, the mother uncoiled her daughter’s arms and embraced her. There were several moments of silence as the two women let years of unspoken anger and resentment at the loss of their husband and father die. The realization that they now only had one another settled over them. For too many years, Swarmstrike had buried herself in her books while Greyhaven found solace in her painting.

Finally, Greyhaven exploded into an explanation. “Vonorola said that the dwarves closed themselves up in Dundersnuff to save themselves while the rest of the world burned, but Pops told me the dwarves closed their gates only after the majority of refugees from the surrounding areas were inside; AND that most of the dwarven soldiers were dispatched out to fight evil. Pops said that we were the ones that ‘tried to hide under the supposed safety of neutrality’. Mom, they are not teaching us what really happened. Vonorola told us that most of the humans fought alongside Rainor, but I know that is isn’t right. Pops said that the humans made some of the greatest sacrifices of all time during that war.”

“I had no idea that this is what the academy is teaching now,” Swarmstrike said, shocked.

Immediately, mother and daughter made their way to the Crimson Academy. Swarmstrike, because of her father’s legacy, was not questioned in any manner as she quickly paced through the halls looking for Professor Vonorola.

She found the teacher and cornered her in the hallway. “You claim to be telling our children the truth about the past, but you vomit lies and then blame the stench on my child. You will no longer be teaching at this Academy, if I have anything to do with it. I promise you that.”

“I teach the curriculum assigned to me, nothing more,” Vonorola stated in a stoic tone. “If you have a problem, take it to Marcev.”

“I plan to,” Lady Swarmstrike answered.

“I heard my name?” Marcev, the highest ranking official in the Crimson Academy had obviously been told of Swarmstrike’s presence on the school grounds and had made his way to see her.

Swarmstrike explained about the fallacies in Vonorola’s teaching, and was surprised at the regal elf’s response.

“Your words are far more venomous than the hordes of vermin you summon forth. Be away, and know that none of your blood line will ever be Crimson Elite.”

“My family will always hold true to the core values of what it means to Crimson, long after your spires collapse and your books burned. When the races you sneer and gawk at march upon the bodies of your deceased, we will remain Crimson. When the very soil of Alhaven drinks your blood and the carrion birds blot the sun, we will remain Crimson.”

They were banished from Alhaven that very day, escorted out by two armored guards. Swarmstrike left her tome open on the table. Greyhaven did not bring her expensive paints. They had the truth, and now they had each other.




March 27, 2014

Entry #9 – “Tell Us Your Elven Story” Writing Contest

by darkjade68

Pleasure Palace
By Perry Broxson

“I’m looking for Isabel. Isabel Huldufolk. She’s wee, like me,” said the elf, her voice as darling as a kitten’s mewl.
She was cute, crushingly cute. She stood 19 inches high, wore a tunic made of sunshine and daisies, and exuded an innocence so pure that heavy smoke in the nightclub foyer refused to touch her. The bouncer stood stoic, akimbo, allowing only his eyes to dip and survey the elf. “Isabel the elf – Friday, yes, she should be here. Whom shall I ask is soliciting an audience?”
“My,” the elf said, “you speak quite eloquently for a human. We were told that you all spoke like Orcs with tooth-rot.” She covered her small mouth with her small hand to stifle crystalline laughter.
“Thank you,” the bouncer said, “I’ve been attending Junior College. I want to be an ESPN broadcaster. I played a little ball before I blew out my ACL, but – wait, what’s your name again?”
The elf crossed her ankles, dipped her chin, and batted her huge blue eyes. “Chloe,” she said. Chloe Huldufolk. I’m Isabel’s little sister. I know she’s busy – working – ruling this beautiful palace, but if she could spare just a few minutes, I’d be ever so grateful.”
“Ruling this palace?” the bouncer said, “Isabel?”
Nodding her head, Chloe beamed. Pride made her tiny chest inflate like a songbird taking a deep breath. “She’s my hero. Although I’ve never actually met her. She left the shire before I was born – some fourteen summers bygone. But the crows bring us news of her success. She is a legend in the shire. Bravely, she ventured beyond the elven realms and became a great ambassador for our kind, forging important bonds with the humans. In so doing, she became royalty. The humans recognized her as their Princess – it is said they toss treasures at her feet when she deigns to greet them.”
“You talkin’ about Isabel?” the bouncer asked.
“My sister,” Chloe sang, “my inspiration. The crows tell us she reigns with the shimmering scepter. Please, if I could only glimpse her regal visage.”
The bouncer pressed his cell phone to his ear and mumbled something. “Yeah, Greg,” he barked, “you heard me right. I don’t care; she’s family.”
“Everything all right,” Chloe asked. “Will my sister see me?”
The bouncer rubbed his chin. A line of disheveled men were cueing behind the elf, leering. “Keep your distance,” the bouncer said, flexing. “You’ll go in when I let you in.”
Chloe moved closer to the bouncer. She stepped atop his shiny shoes and reached childlike toward his face. He leaned down and she whispered in his ear: “Are these my sister’s subjects? Are they here to pay tribute?”
The bouncer swooned. The elf’s breath filled his mind with lucid recollections of his grandmother’s sourdough biscuits. “Darlin’,” he said, “they are. Each and every one of these brutes is here for one reason – Miss Isabel.”
“I guess I can tell you,” Chloe started, “why, why I’ve come all this way – some did not believe the crows. I’ve come to confirm my sister’s majesty – to return with the glorious truth.”
The serpentine line of men buckled and bowed, the foyer becoming a choked throat. A man in a trench coat pushed through the red rope, waved a sheaf of cash, and demanded entrance. “Let us in already,” he said, “we’ve got money.”
The bouncer pocketed his phone. “Behind the rope,” he growled.
The trench-coated man refused. “If you won’t let us in, how’s about we get a little show from this pretty pixie?” He chewed a toothpick and leered at Chloe.
The bouncer pounced, his massive black arm engirdling the troublemaker’s unshaven throat. He squeezed and vine of veins rose on the man’s forehead. In seconds, the man collapsed, his purple face shrouded by the trench coat.
“Oh my,” Chloe said. “You must be the palace guard. Thank you for protecting me. Thank you for protecting my sister.”
“Aint no thing,” he said, then correcting: “I mean, it’s my pleasure to serve.”
She beckoned the big man once again. This time he dropped to his knee and arched his massive back. “Yes,” he said.
Chloe sidled into his space, placing her chin on his shoulder, and whispered into his pierced ear. “I’ll ask my sister to make you the Magistrate of this province – what did you call it? Yves-espian?”
“Yes,” he said, fighting a smile. “ESPN. I am truly honored.”
The door opened and music gushed out. A man that looked exactly like the bouncer said, “She’s on stage – it’s the only chance you’ll get before she goes back to the private rooms.”
“My sister?” Chloe squealed. “Please, may I see her, speak to her – before she retires to her private chambers?”
The bouncer struggled with the decision. His eyes closed, envisioning heartbreak. Then an idea blossomed. “Greg,” he shouted to the other bouncer, “it’s Friday, right?”
“Duh,” Greg said.
“Star Wars’ theme . . .” the bouncer said.
Greg said, “Yeah, that’s why it’s so crazy. These freaky geeks love them some SW.”
The bouncer scooped up the elf, cradling her in the crook of his arm, then hoisting her to the beam of his shoulder. “You can see her,” he said, “but only from a distance.”
“Watch the rope, Greg,” the bouncer said, then waded into the inky expanse of the club.
“There she is,” Chloe shouted, bouncing upon the man’s shoulder, pointing at the stage. A spotlight shown upon the stage, and Isabel Huldufolk appeared. She was the spitting image of her adoring sister, albeit dressed in a decidedly different ensemble.
“Princess,” the crowd roared. “We love you!”
Isabel bowed to the boys, twirled, and exhibited her outfit – the metal bikini made famous by Princess Leia. She tipped her tiara, blew kisses, and then dramatically slashed the air with a lightsaber. Cash littered the stage. Isabel then reached to unclasp her top.
“Okay,” the bouncer said, swiftly turning, carrying Chloe back into the foyer.
“They love her,” Chloe said, hugging the man’s head. “It’s true. The shire shall rejoice.”