A Tale of One City Writing Contest - Win Prizes!

Everyone thinks that I am an elf. But I’m not. At least I am pretty sure I am not. I was raised among humans, no one knowing who my father was, or my mother really. I think of the woman who raised me as my mother, but she tells me that she found me on a cold winter’s night, in the arms of a dead woman. She always told me that my mother at least appeared to be human. When she saw my ears, she knew something was amiss. But she took me anyway, and raised me to be strong of body and of mind and to take care of myself.

She died of consumption not long after I technically became a woman. I was 22. Old for a human but not for an elf. I am shorter than most elves and yet tall for a human woman. I can only think that by some strange magic my father was elfkin.

I knew after her death that I could not stay in the human lands, and so I left, on my own. I had to dodge many a raider but managed to raise enough gold to build my own place. I called it Greenpeace, after the woman who raised me. Her name was Molly Green. It did not take long for elfkin to come calling and to decide I was safe enough. Soon refuges, both human and elfin came to live near my home and a growing community began to thrive. We had so many people that we eventually had to settle some nearby areas to have more room for crops and to graze animals which we can trade for harder to get items.

Drinking With Dwarves

We’d made it to the second pitcher of the fine Aqua da Pyro Moonshine. My face was beginning to go numb, but the dwarf was still pounding the drink, so I wasn’t to let up. Pounding drink after drink, we got to where we could only barely understand each other. 

We ended up mixing my ‘shine with his Dwarven Whiskey. The truly magical mixture sizzled and popped. The dark elf dropped back behind the bar as me and the dwarf watched the mixture with glee. After it settled we each took a hearty swallow. It was like drinking fire itself. The dwarf burped and bubbles that popped like exotic fireworks erupted from his mouth and nose. The sights made us each giggle like children.

We polished off the mixture, and realized each other were still standing… in a sense. The nearest alcoholic beverage was across the tavern, a barrel of ale. No one else being around, we took it upon ourselves to get to the barrel.  

The dwarf lay down on his back and started sliding himself across the floor, knocking over chairs and tables alike. I was following, keeping close, crawling on my hands and knees and laughing the whole way. At one point, the dwarf’s axe got hung in a notch in the floor. While yelling about how they got him, I went to work undoing the beltwork holding the axe in place. (If you’ve never tried to de-arm a really drunk dwarf, don’t try it.) After what seemed like a millennia, we got him free and continued our journey towards the ale.

We finally reached the barrel, but realized it was untapped and we had no mugs. Leave it to a dwarf to come up with a solution. He punched the barrel, cracking it pretty good and it started releasing a steady stream of the golden liquid.

We took turns drinking from the stream while discussing what to tell everyone the next day. We decided on the story of a monster breaking in, trying to steal the ale. We battled this monster near to its death before it fled. And it drank all the ale at some point. We both passed out underneath the emptying barrel of ale.