Posts Tagged ‘Edrahil’

#54: Elf-King Tastes Like Chicken

Nov
11

Date: June 16, 465 F.A. (Years of the Sun)
My Mood Is: amused

So I was sitting in the tower of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, working on my novel. Didn’t I tell you about it? It’s a romance, about a vampire and a teenage girl.

So I had just gotten to the part where the vampire (which is, of course, a kind of giant humanoid bat) rapes, tortures and devours the teenage girl — soon after this, the romance part happens — when I saw a squad of Orcs passing by. They were far down below, crossing one of the bridges, but I have really good eyesight, because I’m a FREAKING GOD.

These Orcs didn’t seem right to me, because they weren’t stooping, or shambling, or hacking up fluids, or cursing, or hitting each other, or singing “Where There’s a Whip, There’s a Way”; and they weren’t covered in shit. Well, when I see well-behaved, hygienic Orcs with good posture, I know something’s up.

I sent Carcharoth downstairs to fetch them, and bring them up to my Conservatory. Well, it’s not so much a “Conservatory” as it’s a turret atop the tallest tower, where I like to sit, think, write, and drop Elf prisoners to watch their heads explode when they hit the pavement. It’s where I’m writing this blog entry right now. Do you know how hard it was to get any writing done in Angband? Or Utumno? Or the Timeless Halls, for that matter? Thank Eru for the Isle of Werewolves. It’s the only place I can get anything done.

Anyway. Carcharoth dragged these “Orcs” into My Terrible Presence, and I figured out right away they were Elves wearing some kind of glamour that made them look like Orcs. They were wearing real Orc gear, which means either they slew a bunch of Orcs, or there’s a troop of naked Orcs out there counting their Elf-money who will shortly be getting a visit from Uncle Gorthaur.

Mostly I knew they were Elves because they smelled like Elves — lembas and lavender. Ick. So I yelled “I disbelieve!” and made my Saving Throw Versus Illusion. I rolled a 20, and their glamour fell away like wet tissue.

Yep, twelve Elves — well, eleven Elves and a Man; I assume it was a Man because it was shorter, hairier and smelled like poo. I did my usual Giant Evil Werewolf routine, to put the Fear of Me into them. But the Elf leader, a blond-haired, blue-eyed, pretty little poofter, stepped forward and challenged me to a magical duel!

This was pretty absurd, but I accepted the challenge, both because it would be amusing, and because I didn’t like the way Carcharoth snickered — it wasn’t necessarily at the Elf’s expense.

The Elf started singing — it was going to be Song Magic, then. Well, it’s not like I sang the Universe into existence or anything. The battle was quite amusing, and I have written a poem about it.

I chanted a song of sorcery
of breaking, trampling, of butchery
distending, engorging, castrating
tearing off limbs and defenestrating.
The Elf-prince there barely standing
sang a song of cowering
trembling, gibbering, urinating
resisting the urge to flee screaming.
A song of surrendering, capitulating,
of regretting the mistake he was making.
I sang then of seasoning, and marinating,
setting to broil at 450º, and baking,
having friends over for the meal I was making.
Elf-flesh and marrow, a soup of his testes,
Of eating and enjoying fillet of his breastes.
Chewing and rending and masticating
gnawing the bones, then defecating.

I broke the little Elf’s magic, and he was spent. I grabbed all 12 of them in my claws and threw them down the garderobe, which can double as a particularly disgusting oubliette.

I won’t let them out until they tell me who they are ever.

Back to work on the novel. I think I’ll add a werewolf, who can fight the vampire. Then they can go out together and rape-eat dozens of teenage girls. That’s the romance part.