Elves: The First Outlanders
“It’s been three weeks! How can anyone bear your touch for that long?” This voice was high and nasal, muffled by a scented cloth held over the nose. “I thought you were supposed to be the best, yet after three weeks you give me nothing!”
“He’s an elf, m’lord.” The first voice responded, “You knew I’ve never worked on elves when you hired me, and I said it’d take a while. I beg, have some patience.”
“Patience! Patience nothing! It cost eleven men to capture three of them, and I was barely able to sneak this one away from the rest of the King’s men.” The voice changed, with an element of fear and need entering. “I need something to show for my efforts – names of spies, traitors, merchants who deal with the filthy elves, that sort of thing. If we get caught with a King’s prisoner under my roof we’re looking at charges of treason. Whatever you’re doing, do more!”
“Yes, m’lord, but… m’lord, we’ve taken an eye, an ear, eighteen teeth, most of a hand and a testicle, as well as broken twelve ribs, both arms and shattered everything below the right knee. We’ve used fire, hammers, needles and pliers, and through it all he hasn’t made a sound. He just stares at us. It’s... unnerving.” The voice paused, recalling the stare from the elf's sole remaining orb, and the detached amusement within - then with a shake, continued. “I’ll get back to work immediately, m’lord. We shall redouble our efforts.”
“Do that.” There was the sound of fine cloth rustling, a door opening, shutting and silence. The scent of perfume lingered in the air, then was slowly overpowered by the cloying stench of blood and flesh.
The first voice sat in silence for a short while, thoughts of pain foremost. Pain, how to intensify and cultivate it, how to make it linger and last for days without threatening the health of the recipient. It had taken a long time for him to think of his subjects as such - and of looking upon their screams and cries and begging to stop as merely the appropriate responses to his actions. He had a role to play, they had theirs and while it was a disappointment, in the end they all succumbed to the tragedy of becoming merely a broken, whimpering thing, no longer capable of coherent thought. It was disappointing, but inevitable.
Except for this one. This one was different. He - no, it!
A soft sigh broke the silence.
It was time to be honest. He had yet to even think of the subject as "it" instead of "he". Never had he plied his trade more exquisitely, wielded fire and steel so delicately or garnished the days with such an array of delightful mutilations. He was the best and while it was not enough, for his own sake he would return to the table. Failure would be... unpleasant. Perhaps the right hand this time, with acid, an eyedropper and pliers. Yes...
A large shape rose from the low stool, there was the sound of a small wooden door opening and the clink of glassware, and then a door opened. It was large and heavy, oak bound with dark iron straps, padded with old blankets and wrapped in leather. Light and sound flooded the small room and washed over the man, the light finally giving the voice a face.
He was an imposing man, tall and muscular and clad in leather. His short, nearly shaved head was pale and bore black stubble and scars. Brown eyes looked out from a harsh, lined face, viewing the scene before him with detached professionalism. A stained apron displayed a disturbing array of stains, the older ones a deep maroon with the more recent colors various shades of green.
The sights and sounds of torture assaulted, caressed his senses, filling him with pride and replacing the gnawing sense of failure in his gut. His apprentices and journeyman plied their trade on a pair of serfs. A married couple, they had been discovered hording grain from their lord, who had been in a particularly unpleasant disposition when he sentenced them to death. A few coin in the right palm and instead of a quick, painless execution they were subjected to a lingering, agonizing series of experiments, teachings and explorations. The husband had been restrained and was unable to tear his gaze from the remains of his wife, currently undergoing vivisection. She was still able to manage a faint scream, from time to time.
The man approached, gauging his underlings’ progress. They had learned well and managed to keep her alive, but he could see the subject wouldn’t last much longer – they had nicked a major vein and, while they had quickly tied it off, the seepage would be terminal in a matter of hours. He shook his head at the waste, as her death would also end the torment of the husband. He paused, considering options, and decided to use that one as a demonstration of joint manipulation. He was gaunt enough that there would be little difficulty in observing the bones without having to remove the skin, first. But that would be on the morrow – it was time to visit the elf.
He waved aside the journeyman’s offer of aid, desiring to face this challenge alone. He stared at the door for a moment, then twisted the key in the lock and pushed the door open. It was a small, private room. A small window let in a thin beam of moonlight through the heavy grille, and a single oil lamp shed a soft golden glow on the stained table and the elf chained to it. A stool, a small table and a bucket were all else that was in the room, save for the pools and smears of dried blood on the floor. The stink of charred flesh still hung in the air form the morning’s work.
The elf’s eye fixated on him as the door swung open. It transfixed him, forcing him to pause at the doorway with the bottle and eyedropper in hand. Blue as the sky, glittering as a diamond and as cold as the north winter wind, the single orb told the man he was nothing. He was a child playing in an adult’s game, far beyond his depth and out of his league. At that moment he knew he would never, could never find the necessary conclusion of the roles. He would never have the joy of a job well done, nor the disappointment of a broken plaything, the eager exploration of the next subject. The silence and unwavering gaze of this one would haunt his vision, dreaming and waking, forever.
But still, however pointless and humiliating the actions might be, the alternative was worse. If he admitted failure to his employer he would count himself fortunate to find a sharp, quick death and shallow grave. More likely was to be given to his own men, men he knew would look upon the opportunity as a professional challenge. It would be… unpleasant. He steeled his thoughts and entered.
As he arranged his instruments – the acid, dropper, needles, nails and restraints – he avoided the elf’s gaze. He knew it would do him no good, and he concentrated on the hand as he pulled the stool close. It was when he reached to open the bottle that he froze.
“Not tonight, my friend.”
The words were softly spoken, and slightly slurred from the mangled jaw and lips, but held the strength of steel and the firm conviction of one who holds the rains of power.
“I’m afraid we must postpone our time together, as we must be off. I have dallied overlong as it is.” There was a hint of eastern in the accent, and also a hint of regret.
The elf waved his injured hand, flexing the two remaining fingers and dislodging a few burned pieces of flesh that fell to the floor. The elf was free. He was free! The man tried to stand, tried to yell to his men, tried to blink – and found he could not. His body was not his own and would not obey his commands, howevermuch he strained. Sweat dotted his face as he struggled to make a single sound that would alert the men not a dozen yards away.
A rich, reddish-purple glow encompassed the elf’s hand, a few white sparks circling the fingers. The glow spread to the rest of the body and the white sparks intensified, concentrating on the burns, scars and pulped flesh that the past three weeks had inflicted. After a few minutes the glow faded and the elf stood, rising from the table in a single, impossibly graceful motion. Fingers restored, he smoothed his hair and smiled, showing perfect teeth from behind restored lips. It was not a nice smile, more appropriate to a very large cat that had just found a particularly fat mouse.
“You are confused, perhaps? I shall show you courtesy and introduce myself. I am Ethanial da’Rounkaliman Melinal’an Shor’tark’ring, Haemonculi, and my title would translate as Master Fleshcrafter.” He took a few, smooth steps behind the man, and said a few words in a vibrant, liquid tongue. “There, now we won’t be disturbed. Your associates won’t think of coming here for some little time - and we have things to do.”
Another few steps toward the window and a casual wave of a hand caused the iron grill to float to the floor and the window itself to expand. Seconds after the small hole began to ripple and grow, moonlight shone through a floor-to-ceiling, arched portal. Floating in midair was a shadow-wrapped form, a billowing cloak ruffling in the breeze and graceful, pointed ears gave evidence to its race. Another few of those flowing words and the shadowy form offered a sword-belt, a brace of long daggers glinting in the silvery light. Strapping on the belt, the elf turned to the still-struggling man and drew a blade. The man froze, tendrils of fear wrapping themselves around his brain and his sweat turned cold. He had tortured the figure before him for three solid weeks, inflicting horrible pain day in and day out. He expected nothing less than a hideous death, and while he screamed silently in his paralysis a detached fragment of his mind looked on with anticipation. He would at last see the art of the elves, renowned for their cruelty and legendary in their revenge.
The elf stepped forward and a crimson line of agony speared through his left shoulder, from collarbone to armpit. The arm went numb and with a soft, fleshy *thump* it fell to the floor. The man’s eyes widened a fraction with the realization of what had just happened. The fire in the shoulder faded slowly, with a tingling numbness replacing the red-hot spikes shooting through his torso. With the fading of the pain came thoughts of helplessness and contempt. Cut the arm off? All at once? What a waste! A similar wave speared through his right shoulder and the sound of falling flesh repeated. This time the arm dropped within the man’s view, and he idly noted the twitching fingers. Already becoming detached from his mutilated body, the man idly wondered, where’s all the blood? A strong hand cupped itself under his chin and pulled him backwards, off the stool. There was a brief flash of weightlessness, then a second hand caught his head before it hit the stone floor. He was eased onto the cold surface and two more flashes removed his legs. Once again a hand gripped his belt, lifting his limbless torso onto the table. This time the hands tilted his head back and his mouth open, and the long knife entered his mouth. The elf paused, felt the man’s throat and with a short, delicate movement severed the man’s vocal cords. The knife withdrew, and then with a quick cupping movement cut out the man’s tongue and speared it, withdrawing the limp muscle from the man’s mouth. The elf stepped back and assessed his work, then dropped the flesh on the floor and cleaned his blade.
“You wonder why there is no blood? I will grant you a favor and tell you. These blades are symbols of my art, and if it is not my desire to shed blood they will not do so – I am a Fleshcrafter, and yours is the flesh I choose to sculpt. We have far to travel and I care not to burden myself with the extra weight as we travel.
“You see, my friend, we have unfinished business together.” The elf stepped forward and lovingly took the man’s face in his hands, gently cradling the maimed man. “We are kindred spirits, you and I. We explore the further regions of experience. Pleasure and pain, indivisible and undeniable.” The crooning whispering voice assumed an eager note as it continued, “Which do you find more exhilarating, my friend? The pleasure… or the pain?
“Personally, I prefer the pain.” The elf slowly caressed the lines of scars on the man’s head, humming a complex tune.
“You show great promise – for a human that is – and I have been watching you. I suspected, but had to know for myself and so put my life in your hands. I am *so* pleased I was not wrong. Together we shall delve your talent. Your body will undergo the delights of mutilation, and the joy of regrowth as we restore your health. A hundred years shall pass as we discover the torments of unimaginable ecstasy, the exquisite agony of failure and taste the bitter tears of success. You shall come to embrace the pain we will share, take it as your own and experience it with your soul.” The elf’s eyes met the man’s, and glistened with unshed tears of anticipation.
“It shall be glorious.”
Elves are physically powerful, being both stronger and faster than most of the greenskin races. They do not age and take centuries to perfect their skills in both war and the arts, making them some of the most dangerous beings on the planet. Loyalty to their family is one of the leading elven traits, arrogance the other. They take great pains to revenge themselves for any slight, real or imagined, and follow an intricate honor system that to outsiders seems both subjective and variable. They are are also one of the most magically-oriented race on Adi, capable of some of the most powerful and complex magics known.
The word "elf" in the ancient Dwarven tongue means "smell." There is more than social dislike that motivates this name, as elvish body chemistry is radically different from Greenskins. Elves have a distinctive scent that most greenskins can recognize as "not-native" - it's neither overpowering nor immediately offensive, simply distinctive (i.e. there is no bonus or penalty to stealth or social interaction skills). In addition, while the greenskin races bleed various shades of green, Elves bleed blue. While there are recorded half-elf crossbreeds, all have required magical intervention to create and most are dangerously insane.
Players may not normally be elves. The elf racial package includes a 20-point loyalty disad which would preclude the character from being in most adventures. If you really want to be an elf, let me know and write a one-page background history that explains how you (or your parents / guardians) got away from your society. You'll almost undoubtably have a Hunted (that you'll get points for) and severe social penalties (which you get for free). Elves are not nice people and nobody really likes them (including other Elves). *******************************************
It was soon after their arrival on Ærth that one of the Elven families led a revolt against their king. The family contained many mages who greatly increased in power due to Ærth's high magical field. Unfortunately for the rebels, so had the royal wizards and the revolt was crushed. In punishment the family and their allies were sentenced to exile on Ærth as the rest of the Elves continued on their interdimensional voyage. Powerful magical barriers were created to prevent the traitors from leaving, and all members of the family were changed. Their once-fair complexion was changed to match the darkness in their hearts, and they were named for an ancient word for "darkness" - Drow.For ages after the Sindar departed, the Drow attempted to penetrate the dimensional barrier time and time again. Every attempt failed and many were fatal to those who tried. After thousands of years the Drow made yet another attempt, this one a powerful attampt to simply destroy the barrier. Combining the power of every wizard and apprentice, the Drow struck the barrier. Created by the most powerful of the Sindar it held, and the power of the spell rebounded through the massed ranks of the Drow mages. Thousands were incinerated and killed in an instant, while thousands more survived as feeble, shattered shells of what they once were. The strength of the Drow on Ærth was significantly reduced. This happened millennia ago, and the vast majority of the origional Drow have perished over the ages. Unfortunately, their legacy lived on and they repeatedly att Elves are perhaps the most magically-oriented race on Ærth, and are capable of more powerful and more complex magics than most other mages.
Literature References
The Drow of Lithgar are based on the AD&D race of the same name, modified to lower their
homicidal tendencies (they know they have a limited population and a low birth rate). They
are still very much a cruel, decadent race that has been twisted by hate and foul magic,
but they are not all matriarchial theocracies. Elven societies are more homogeneous than
others on Lithgar, but there is still a range of government types. Punishments include
slavery (of limited duration, say 100 years), crippling (with regeneration potions allowed
after a set number of decades), public humiliation and temporary exile.
The elven racial package is provided for completeness, and to make the players nervous about running across an elven hunting party.
| Elven Racial Package | Cost |
| +8 DEX (24), +3 CON (6), +3 INT (3), +3 EGO (6), +10 PRE (10), +10 COM (5), +1.2 SPD (12), +3" Running (6), Infravision (5), Ultravision (5), +1 Enhanced Perception (3), Extended Breathing (1), Lightsleep (3), Diminished Sleep (1), Immunity to Aging (5), Immunity to Disease (5), 30 END / 3 REC Magic Potential (5), Loyalty (-20), Reputation (-20), Rivalry (-5), Distinctive Features (-5) | 55 |