A Renaissance Nightmare
“STOP!” shouts a deep voice from the shadows. The crowd parts to reveal a tall elf. He is wearing a golden cloak and has gold chains hanging from his neck. He has a sophisticated elderly look with a long silver beard and short silver hair. “Release the prisoner,” he commands in common tongue. Two elves remove your roasting body from the fire and untie your arms and legs. Your back is aching and blistered. The tall elf turns to his followers, “Can’t you see this is one of us? We are not cannibals!” One of the smallest elves speaks up, “But, master, this elf speaks not our tongue. And it stands at a great height.” “You fool,” the leader replies, “See you not his masterful cloak? He is a Calafalan elf! They know not of our tongue.”
While the elves dispute amongst themselves, you look through your leather sack that was spared. There are small, black pellets inside. Quickly, you throw one on the ground to test it, and a large black cloud rises up from the dirt. The elf nearest to you immediately falls to the ground. The elves begin falling one by one, forming piles of bodies around the fire. Elves that are a distance away from the smoke begin to flee into the woods. You don’t stay to watch the damage you have created.
While the elves dispute amongst themselves, you look through your leather sack that was spared. There are small, black pellets inside. Quickly, you throw one on the ground to test it, and a large black cloud rises up from the dirt. The elf nearest to you immediately falls to the ground. The elves begin falling one by one, forming piles of bodies around the fire. Elves that are a distance away from the smoke begin to flee into the woods. You don’t stay to watch the damage you have created.