The sun sets low over the kingdom of Alfareowyn. A gorgeous city lost deep in the primeval forests of the northern interior of the northern continent. Castles that seemed to be gigantic natural-growing gems, intertwined with coiling wood and vines, rose to heights just under the tops of the tallest trees.
Natural, glistening streams trickled through the city, filling it with the song of water and the calls of birds. Rabbits, deer, and natural prey animals roam between the buildings, feeling safe from killers such as foxes, wolves, and bear. And mankind.
The roads are not roads. But merely worn down paths of forest under foot. Deer trails amidst weeds and green growth. Yet, only the most avid woodsman could see what is blaring obvious to the deer and the elf.
Dressed in clothing made from still-living vines, or meticulous armor that glistens like the finest steel, the elfs prepare for combat. Wielding blades shaped like leaf edges, or spears adorned like deer antlers, they arm themselves with long wooden shields decored in the Celtic styles of their native home.
The queen of the elfs, Drielywndir, or just 'Lady Driel', trots down through the halls of her home. She is completely nude, minus the 10 feet of long blonde-white hair that trails behind her like a cape. Her skin is pale and pinkish-white, her ears are short and pointed. And her eyebrows look to be made from shavings of diamond formed into the shape of hair follicles. Her lips are thin, behind pearly but rabbit-like teeth. Her incisors, while the rest of her teeth are perfectly human. Well, minus the small fangs in her lower jaw. Like a boar sow's. Only when she yawns or fully opens her small, dainty mouth do those tiny tusks reveal themselves. Hideous to humans, but to elfs a thing of glory. A natural "crown" of the leaders, naturally grown. Her eyes are like the dark, brown eyes of a deer, except in human form.
Her thick, black fingernails, more similar to tiny hooves than fingernails, brush a lock of hair from her face as she tip taps down the grand hall. She is worried. Fearful. The misty, foggy mountains have begun to march onto the forests. Her home. And not only will the elfs fight, but so will the beasts. Deer, geese, turkey, elf, even some of the shy apemen, have sent their strongest bulls and leaders in the defense of their home. The filthy wolves and foxes wait in the shadows, to feed on the fallen.
Lady Driel enters a grand hall that has more in common with the base of a giant oak. It is beautifully light, with vine shaped windows, marble floors, and bathed in mushroom light that has more similarity to watt bulbs than fungus. A bevy of elfs bow to her. All the females have mini-tusks in their mouths, signs they are the matriarchs of the region. The males have bigger ears, and some have literally black lips.
They all sit at a table. She is the only fully nude one, symbolizing her status as most dominant leader. She taps her black fingernail on the marble stone table...
"What news have you?"
"My lady..." ahems a male elf with small antlers sticking out of his helmet; "...they are coming. We can't tell just how many, because...uh..."
"Don't you dare tell me... Tell me, Gorwyn."
"They sent word back that they ate our scouts."
"These barbarians and their appetite for rabbit..."
"I didn't MEAN the rabbit scouts, my lady."
"Ssscheit! Fine. We will meet them in the fringes. We won't be held up in our tree tops or in the thickets of our homes. We'll meet them in the fringes. Send the word!"
As she yells, a flock of sparrows dive out the window. Each one, deviating in a particular direction with urgency.
"Lil' J.T.!" she screams, and a sparrow with a backwards hat, and a gold-tipped beak hops out from the corner to flutter down to her shoulder.
The elf lords cough, and glare at her.
"What?"
"Uh, my lady. No offense, but... Lil' J.T. may...sort of...breaks the, uh..."
"Damn..." sighs an elf in the back, as he walks out embarrassed.
"Oh, right! Riiiiight..."
She shuffles the little bird under the table where he no longer exists in this universe. You over-sensitive, educated, literate bitch.
Rivendell, motherfucker.
"AHEM!" coughs the elf lords.
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In one of the spiral shaped epicenters, a sparrow flies down to an elf guardsman. He listens to the bird's song, and intently watches it's eyes and movement. His eyes flicker down, as he sighs and nods in agreement. The bird flies off back to whence it came, taking the word back to the lords.
The guard rushes to tell another, who them promptly takes off down the spiral staircase leading to the castle's bottom floor. Inside the great green hall is a mass of elf soldiers, armed to the teeth and stalwart. In the midst of them is a great elfish lord, the prince of the region. His hair is long, thick and white. It runs down to his butt, like a glistening cape of silk. His bangs cover his forehead, and long locks in braids run down the sides of his cheeks. He is hairless. His fingernails are long and white. He is thin and svelte, yet moderately built. His eyes glisten like the pearlescent insides of an oyster's shell. A great massive two-handed claymore is strapped to the back of his armor, which looks like a tree used vines to try to make a man out of glittery fishscale. His eye makeup is in a green stripe across his nosebridge and eyes, warpaint.
His long, pointed ears twitch when he hears the guardsman rushing from the top of the wall.
"Sir Vryntorix, we're to head to the northeast! We're to meet those dumb brute animals in the fringe lands."
He sighs a smile, showing his white teeth. His eyes glisten with the ferocity of a war king.
"So be it, then!"
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The elfen armies have entrenched themselves deep into the fringes of their territory. They sit silently, waiting. Watching. Listening. Smelling. Feeling.
The bull elks and bucks snort and drool with testosterone, impatient for the violence to commence. Sparrows, doves and mockingbirds stealthily hop along forest tops, not making a sound. Sending word to one another. And bats careen through the blackness of the forests, reaching their elf military superiors. They gnash their little sharp teeth and twitch, detailing what's going on, before being sent back into the dim tree branches.
The forests sing. Another normal day.
A massive boulder crashes through the tree tops, sending soil and plant debris to fly into the air like ocean spray.
The elks roar the call to arms, and the birds scream through the treetops, signaling the "sniper". At the top of the hill is a massive troll, hoisting up another stone boulder. His body has more in line with a gorilla than a man. He is covered in brownish-grey fur. A tail like an ox's switches behind his muscular buttocks. His face is like a man's, except the nose is incredibly long and thin. His beady eyes glimmer red. His pale lips are thin. His mouth is wide. Inside his mouth are sharp, pig-like yellow teeth. And massive tusks rise from his bottom jaw, like a boar's. His ears are like an elf's, only taller and bigger. Using hands like a pale man's, and on feet like a Nordic lumberjack's, he angles himself for another toss. Runic blue paint is across his face and down his tusks.
He sneers an insult, as if he is looking at vicious genociders. He hoists the boulder through the air, sending it crashing among the elfs, now scattering in panic. A hail of straight-shot arrows thump into his chest, giving him a look like a porcupine. He coughs, dropping to one furry knee. A fox rushes up to him, baring her teeth at those who shot her best friend. The troll laughs, as if his doggy could make a difference. He tosses the dog into the air, knowing she will land on all four feet. But mainly to save him from the next hail of arrows. He knows the fox won't run if he tells her to.
A roar echoes through the forests, and waves of the troll army rush forth. Wolves and owls rush down with them, fang and talons at the ready.
