The Young Elf

“-Yes, sir, your taxes are quite mandatory. The chief financial officer has been very clear to you about that.” says a young elf to an older, graying man.

They sit on opposite sides of an ornate mahogany desk, in a grand marble office. Around the office sit many shelves filled with hundreds of paper scrolls.

“But I served in the army for years!” says the man, looking pleadingly at the elf  from under his mop of unkempt grey hair.

“Unfortunately, military service does not excuse you from debt and taxes to our majesty.”

The man trembles. “I have no money, and  due to the injuries I sustained during my military service I am unable to work! How am I to pay? I have a  wife and family!”

The elf looks at the man in pity. “Draken Winds, your name was?”

“Yes sir.” The man replies.

The elf walks to the door, glancing down a long, marble hallway, then quietly shuts the door and returns to his seat.

“It would be, *quite a shame,* if something were to happen to the debt records, would it not?” Says the elf, taking an official looking scroll down from a large shelf behind his desk. He walks over to the hearth, holding the scroll over the crackling fire.

“The king and chief financial officer would never know about a single scroll going missing, would they… How horrible would it be if the king didn’t receive a few more gold pieces?” The elf drops the scroll into the fire, the tongues of flame licking at the edges of the paper, before the thing ignites, crumbling to ash at the base of the hearth.

“May Eiga praise you! You have saved the lives of me and my family with your act of kindness.” Draken proclaims, tears of joy in his eyes.

“I just ask that you pretend to be upset as you leave the building, and tell no one about what I did for you today.” the elf says, smiling at the reaction of the old man.

“Of course, it is the least I can do to repay your selfless deed.” Draken stands, bows to the elf, and leaves the office.

The elf sits down behind his desk, gazing down at a silver ring on his right hand. Inlaid in the ring is a gemstone the color of amber, and on this gemstone are carved many runes. The elf is short for his kind, with golden blonde hair and fair skin. He wears the expensive robes of a king’s magistrate, white fabric gilded with gold. His amber eyes match the color of his ring, and are abnormally large for an elf, giving him a kind and approachable look. He is young for an elf, a mere 122 years old

A knock at the door of the office sounds as he studies his ring.

“Come in!” calls the elf distractedly.

A tall, pale elf wearing golden guard’s armor enters, and stands at attention just inside the room. After him enters an ancient, stooped elf. He carries a cane and his silver hair hangs down nearly to his feet.

“How goes your work, Kelt?” the old elf says, in a cracked voice.

Kelt quickly tears his attention away from his ring and stands, knocking his chair over in his haste.

“Very well, I see.” the old elf says sarcastically. “I need a favor from you Kelt, the king requires that all of the chief officers and their best magistrates join him for a banquet tomorrow night. You hold the best record in this office by a large margin, so I am asking you to accompany me.”

“I-It would be an honor, sir.” Stammers Kelt, bowing respectfully. His eyes dart quickly to the fire and then back to the floor.

“Would it really? These banquets are quite a bore, I’ve been to more than I can count, and they all end far beyond midnight.” The old elf states, gesturing for Kelt to stand up straight.  “Some magistrate always ends up too drunk and is executed on the spot, so at least there is occasional entertainment.”

“It would be an honor.” Kelt repeats, more confidently.

“Very well then, I will see you in the main courtyard at the seventh candle, make sure you look presentable.” The old elf begins to exit the office, but then stops and turns.

“Keep up the good work Kelt.”

He then exits the office. The guard nods at Kelt, then exits, closing the door behind him. Kelt sighs in relief, then glances at the candelabra in the corner of his office. The sixth candle goes out as he looks, and a bell rings brightly in the distance. Kelt dons his tawny traveling cloak, grabs his leather satchel from his desk, and leaves the office.

The autumn leaves of Brightwood rustle in the cool breeze as Kelt walks down a path to his house. This is a popular path, and there are peddlers and merchants along the sides of the path, peddling wares from their stalls. Merchants offer crystal jewelry, food, clothing, trinkets, and all sorts of things. A young female elf approaches Kelt, holding a necklace inlaid with bright shining emeralds.

“A gift for the wife?” She asks slyly, showing him the necklace.

“Thanks, but how could I have a wife when an elf as beautiful as you exists in Brightwood?” He replies, matching her tone. She blushes faintly, but continues with her pitch.

“Genuine dwarven cut emerald, 14 karot gold, only 30 platinum pieces! It’s quite frankly a steal.”

“Is that so? In that case, would you care to accompany me back to my home to model it for me?” Kelt says smoothly, placing a hand on hers as he studies the necklace. The merchant blushes much harder, replying:

“I would be honored, but I would like the coin up front.”

Kelt places the platinum pieces in her hand and closes it around them.

“Right this way then, *madam*.”

Kelt snaps awake, unsure of what startled him at first. He glances over to his side, where the merchant lady lays, sleeping peacefully. He puts on a pair of trousers and walks out to his balcony. The balcony overlooks a large section of Brightwood, as his treehouse is located on a hill. The view is stunning in the full moon, as autumn leaves blow in the breeze, elven parties and revels light the valley below with fires and magic sparks. Kelt breathes in deeply, leaning on the balcony, a sense of unease overtaking him. He walks back into the room, looking around for the source of his sudden awakening. As if called by his search, a loud crash comes from the kitchen. Kelt nearly jumps out of his skin, and he silently walks to his bedside table and removes a knife from the drawer. He makes his way to the top of the stairs, seeing a dim yellow light spill onto the bottom steps from the kitchen. He grips the knife tightly in his hand and creeps down the stairs.

As he reaches the bottom, he covers his mouth with his free hand to muffle his gasp of horror. A tall, thin woman stands in his kitchen, bent over his stove, on top of which sits a teapot. She is too tall to fit in the room normally, her arched back scraping the ceiling. She wears a pure white silky robe that drags on the floor behind her, hiding her feet from view. Her hair is black as midnight, hanging in greasy curtains around her face, which is covered by a white porcelain mask. This mask has holes for the mouth and eyes, as well as painted makeup, although the holes seem to have nothing behind them. Kelt stands in horror at the base of the stairs, unsure of what this thing is and why it is in his house. The teapot begins to whistle, and the lady takes it off of the stove, pouring it into two tea cups sitting on the counter. She extinguishes the magical flame, then walks to his table and sits. Kelt begins to creep upstairs, with the plan of escaping over the balcony, but before he can take even one step…

“Where are you going darling?”  The woman says in a sweet, calm voice unfitting to her appearance.

“I went to all the trouble of making tea just for us. Come join me darling.”

Kelt freezes, shaking in fear. He slowly walks to the table. The lady gestures to a chair, in front of which sits a cup of piping hot tea. He sits, gazing at the tea warily.

“Oh darling, I haven’t poisoned it if that’s what you’re worried about. If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have woken up just now.” She says in her silky voice, looking at him expectantly. Kelt takes a sip of the tea carefully, his face wrinkles, and he places the cup back on the table in disgust.

“Why are you in my house, how did you get in, and exactly who in the nine hells are you?!” Kelt yells, slamming his fist on the table in anger. The tea spills. The lady recoils slightly, seeming confused.

“Darling, compose yourself. This is no way for a gentleman to act, but I will humor you. Firstly, I am here on business, secondly, you keep a spare key under a rock near the base of your tree, and thirdly-”

“-How did you know the key was there?!” Interjects Kelt, looking horrified.

“I know lots of things, darling. For example, I know about your little acts of kindness that defy the king’s law, I know that the she-elf sleeping in your bed right now is a thief and a scam artist who only wants your money, I know that you were just invited to a banquet thrown by the king. I know lots of things.” She stands from the table, stooping over again to avoid hitting her head on the ceiling.

“Now unfortunately darling, my time here is up. I have another… person, to visit tonight, so I will make this quick. I am inviting you to my own banquet, tonight. I hope you will join me darling.”

Suddenly, all of the knives in Kelt’s kitchen come flying towards them, barely missing Kelt’s ear. They sink deep into the wall behind him, and the largest one begins to smoke. It then slides down the wall, slicing cleanly through the wood, leaving a black gap in its wake. As the knife reaches the floor it shatters and the cut it made in the wall stretches open into a black portal. The lady walks into it slowly, the black magic flowing over her like a midnight colored waterfall, as she turns to Kelt, saying:

“I hope to see you there darling.”