Challenge #01922-E098: The Big Guns — Steemit
In the times of Dragons, a very young Elf only has one defense. And after the Orcs raided her village, and Tila woke up in a cage, it was a matter of urgency to find a time to use it on creatures who certainly planned to eat her. Once she realised her situation, she certainly couldn’t return to anything approaching rest. Every Orc was carrying a young Elf in a cage on their back. There was no sign of the adults, anywhere.
The Orcs ran all night and finally took shelter in a network of caves at dawn. The Orc that had been carrying Tila put their pack and Tila’s cage down. She could hear many other Elf children crying. Tila unleashed the most powerful, devastating, army-halting and tyrant toppling weapon that every Elf child had. Puppy eyes.
“Please don’t eat me?” she asked in Common. Every being in the realm spoke Common. So she was told. So she hoped. So she fervently prayed.
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Challenge #01855-E031: Hello, Goodbye — Steemit
They say that Elves don’t age. That’s not true. They do age, just incredibly slowly. You can see it, if you journey down a particular hallway in a particular house where the city grew up around it.
They say that Elves steal children. This is a lie. They only take those who have clearly been abandoned. This Elf, once upon a sleeting autumn day, picked up an abandoned infant that had been left to die. He could tell by the way that the baby wasn’t even cleaned or swaddled. Just born, and left to perish in the woods.
He was already one hundred and fifty, by then. And to human eyes, resembled a fresh-faced twenty. He strapped the baby to his chest, and traded furs for milk, clothes, and knowledge. The humans of the village that finally accepted him came to know him. Offered to help. Built him a house. Helped it become a home.
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Challenge #01741-D280: When Next You Stop
High Magics: Fuck you and fuck the piece of reality you were standing on – @recklessprudence
Ever after, even in the depths of his self-exile, he would remember the first time that the elf used his name. He’d been travelling with the show for months, and knew everyone. And everyone knew him. Except the elf. It was difficult to tell whether they were male or female and they deliberately exploited that to unnerve people.
They were between towns, camping temporarily along the side of the road, and he was passing along meals for anyone who cared to have them. Beans and cabbage. Food that lasted, true, but food that also had unfortunate gassy side-effects. Tirellari, the elf, recommended eating charcoal to remove said effects. They were the only one who did it. Because it was unseemly for an elf to fart.
Kreg approached the dancer’s caravan, intending on nothing more than a little chitchat and hearing the usual stream of casual endearments and no mention of his name. He had decided to get his revenge, that night, by referring to Tirellari as ‘elf’ and ‘dancer’ until they relented and used his name. He remembered reaching up to knock, and the next thing he knew, he was staring at the cabbage and bean stew spilling out onto the dirt and people were hitting him and asking where the money was.