The clerk was old. Extremely old. Wizened might have been a good word to describe him ten years ago, but he had long since left just regular wizenedness behind and moved to a new plateau of super-wizened, no doubt complaining about his lumbago during the entire process. He peered up at our heroine through glasses that incorporated more glass than all the windows in the room combined. It was a good thing that the city of Commodore's Crossing, home of the Hightower adventurer’s guild was blanketed in a perpetual, thick cloud of fog, as the consequences of sunlight coming in direct contact with lenses of that type would more than likely be immediate and disastrous to the man’s already failing visual faculties. He probably needed to have clear vision as his hearing was obviously not up to snuff in the slightest. “Name?” he asked her in a quavering, nervous pigeon kind of voice for the fifth time, “and speak up dearie. I cain’t hear ye if ye keep up wit’ th’ mumblin’ .”
Our Heroine took a deep breath, and stood in a solid stance, feet firmly planted at shoulder length apart and her hands balled into fists. There would not be a sixth time, “MILLRAVEN FINN IZZLE” she bellowed, putting all of her strength into her voice. This caused the clerk to look shocked for a moment and then to adjust his glasses and take a breath to calm himself. “Now, now dearie there’s no need t’ shout!” the clerk chided her, “ T’ain’t Deef y’know.” Millraven shook head, her pretty elven face clouded with anger, and her curly long, black hair feeling as if it were standing on edge. Long, clever fingers clenched and unclenched as she forced herself in her mind to count to ten. She was wearing a mithral shirt and carried a mithral shield with black breeches and thigh high doe-brown boots. She had a rapier and a dagger belted around her waist and a bow and quiver hung on her back. Silently she reminded herself that a civilized person would not be itching to grab one of those weapons and eviscerate the insufferable octogenarian in front of her. There were times; however that she wished she were a barbarian.
She had herself under a decent amount of control by the time the codger asked the next question. The question she was really dreading. She braced herself and took a deep breath, holding it until the old man asked, “Occupation?” She put on her best stained glass smile, “Elf” she replied. She hoped that maybe he was old enough to have heard of it, that maybe he’d caught a legend or was a researcher, or anything other than an ignorant old man that the city guard gave a desk job to so that they wouldn’t have to pay a pension.
She hoped in vain. “I dinnit ask you yer race dearie. Wassamatta? Maybe y’ is deef.” She took a shuddering breath and then continued, “No, my hearing is perfectly fine. The big ears help. In my hometown the first person they ever saw successfully combine swordsmanship and mage craft was an elf. When they asked him what he was he replied simply that he was an elf, and so until the races began to freely mix they thought elves were anyone who had a talent for both the warrior and the magical arts. The name stuck and so, according to my travel papers I am both an Elf and an elf. Look it up in the town occupation register, it’s there if you go back a century or so. “The old clerk gave a long-suffering sigh and shuffled with the extreme speed of a tortoise in a blizzard to a large book labeled, “Occupational Registry” and struggling to even turn the map scale pages eventually found the entries under, “E”. He scanned the page for a moment and raised a withered eyebrow, “Well, iffen that don’t beat all.” He whispered. He returned to his seat and coughed stamping her travelling papers with a wax seal. “Alright Ms. Millraven Finn Izzle. Welcome to Commodore’s Crossin’ Hope y’ have yerself a hoot and a holler.” He waved her through the gate and prepared to interview the next hapless victim.
She hoped in vain. “I dinnit ask you yer race dearie. Wassamatta? Maybe y’ is deef.” She took a shuddering breath and then continued, “No, my hearing is perfectly fine. The big ears help. In my hometown the first person they ever saw successfully combine swordsmanship and mage craft was an elf. When they asked him what he was he replied simply that he was an elf, and so until the races began to freely mix they thought elves were anyone who had a talent for both the warrior and the magical arts. The name stuck and so, according to my travel papers I am both an Elf and an elf. Look it up in the town occupation register, it’s there if you go back a century or so. “The old clerk gave a long-suffering sigh and shuffled with the extreme speed of a tortoise in a blizzard to a large book labeled, “Occupational Registry” and struggling to even turn the map scale pages eventually found the entries under, “E”. He scanned the page for a moment and raised a withered eyebrow, “Well, iffen that don’t beat all.” He whispered. He returned to his seat and coughed stamping her travelling papers with a wax seal. “Alright Ms. Millraven Finn Izzle. Welcome to Commodore’s Crossin’ Hope y’ have yerself a hoot and a holler.” He waved her through the gate and prepared to interview the next hapless victim.
Millraven gave a deep sigh as she finally entered the city of Commodore’s Crossing. She’d travelled a week to get there, but she had been specifically called by the city council and the reward for the job, the retrieval of the world famous Blue Streak of Commodore Cramden, promised to be the richest she’d ever received in the three years she’d been adventuring. Filled with relief and eager to start her work she did not think anything of when someone bumped into her. That is, until the magical alarms she placed on her possessions went off in her head. Her coin purse was currently leaving her vicinity at a good clip, they informed her.
Her coin purse, besides being the repository of all her current worldly wealth was also where she kept the papers required to legally travel through the kingdom as well as her adventurer’s guild credentials. “STOP!” she bellowed, “THIEF!” and people turned their heads but did not interfere in the progress of the small boy that was moving through the crowd like a shark through water. Millraven took after the boy herself. If she didn’t get that purse back her adventure would be over before it even began…
Her coin purse, besides being the repository of all her current worldly wealth was also where she kept the papers required to legally travel through the kingdom as well as her adventurer’s guild credentials. “STOP!” she bellowed, “THIEF!” and people turned their heads but did not interfere in the progress of the small boy that was moving through the crowd like a shark through water. Millraven took after the boy herself. If she didn’t get that purse back her adventure would be over before it even began…
Will Millraven get her coin purse back? Are her adventuring days over? What is the secret of the young thief that took on the heavily armed and armored elf? Find out next week in the next exciting installment of Millraven Finn Izzle, Elf for Hire!
Enter our Heroine, the Elf that's an elf. Inspired by an old 1st Edition Dungeons and Dragons rule that put elf as a character class, rather than a race. This has since been done away with, of course, much to the consternation of our Heroine.
ReplyDeleteVery entertaining! I enjoyed this a lot!
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