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March 4, 2008

Tuesday

There's an elf at your front door.

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Dave: Round and Round They Go

I opened the front door to the polite knock.  The creature there was fair of visage, softly glowing in the afternoon light, luminescent of skin and shimmering of hair. Also, frowning of face.

"Yes?" I asked of the elf.

He nodded. "I am Elenthel, son of Almithrien of Gildarion. My comrades and I --"

I looked past him. Along the sidewalk was a small party on foot and ahorse, similarly with the glowy and shimmer. I waved. They looked gravely back.

"-- well, we were wondering. We've been walking, sailing, processing into the West, for ages untold."

"Yes?"

"Well -- are we there yet?"

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Jim: Below A Hollow Tree

The dark pit reeked of blood, urine and fear; all mine, I’m afraid.

I was strapped hand and foot onto a massive iron chair, glaring straight ahead at the main inquisitoner’s tiny leer. “Look,” I repeated. “When somebody short and wearing a green outfit shouts “cookies for sale” outside my door, I just assume they’re a Girl Sc…”

A small fist struck my jaw like an iron bar. “We’re getting tired of playing nice with you,” sneered the elf. “So we’re sending in… Ernie.”

Hush fell over the crowd of little men as Ernie entered, wielding his uncommonly razor-sharp spatula.

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Ted: Facing the Enemy

In all the time that Col. Davis had been serving, he had never actually seen one of the Slin alive unless it was shooting at him. So when one appeared at the door to his quarters, unarmed, unarmored, with empty hands in the air, he froze in wonder.

The Slin looked like the elves of Old Earth legend; slender and fair, pointed ears and green tint to the skin. When Free Traders first came in contact with them over a century ago, they made the mistake of thinking that just because Slin were small of stature that they were weak.

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