An Elf and a Dwarf at the Faire
No, not faerie, this ain't that kind of epic tale
The dwarf walked over to the elf as he was moving swiftly this way and that in a sort of pretend combat but without weapons. Stopping to look, he was amused at the elf making thrusts and parries with his arms, but doing so faster than he had ever seen. Off to the side was a chipmunk and a baby fox watching intently. Finally the elf finished, nodded, and turned toward the dwarf. The chipmunk and fox ran off chittering happily to each other.
“What are you doing?” asked the dwarf.
“ChipTok challenge,” said the elf matter of factly.
“Are you kidding me?” replied the dwarf. “You can do those in your sleep with your elven muscles and such.”
“And FX,” murmured the elf.
“And FX” acknowledged the dwarf rolling his eyes.
“So what’s up?” asked the elf.
“It’s our day for the Faire,” said the dwarf.
“Ugh, right.”
“Oh, c’mon, it’s easy work and you know it,” said the dwarf.
“They ask such inane questions,” complained the elf.
They walked along the meadow until they could see the tents and flags waving in the breeze. A smell of popcorn filled the air, and when they got to the fence the young peasant taking tickets merely waved them in.
“Nice duds, dudes,” said the peasant.
They walked over to their assigned spot and the elf began admiring some mithril chainmail, while the dwarf sat down at the anvil and shrugged his shoulders. He was glad to see his usual mug of mead had been provided.
In a few minutes the gates were opened to the general public and it wasn’t long until a family of four were standing by the stall with the elf and the dwarf.
“Pretty valuable stuff, eh elf?” asked the balding father who glanced at his wife and chuckled as he played his part.
“Oh yes,” said the elf, “this mithril has been mined from the deepest of mountain sources, refined through elven magic, and what you see here is worth all of what you see around you combined.”
“It’s pretty,” said the wife who was distracted by the Tilt-a-Dragon ride that was attracting a crowd in a nearby field.
“It just looks like glass,” sneered the teen son.
“Ah, but the worth of an item is rarely perceived by outward appearances,” said the elf with a touch of annoyance.
“You got that right,” said the dad.
“Not as right as you think, dear,” said his wife.
“Are you married?” said the younger sister looking dreamily at the tall, thin, impossibly good-looking elf.
“Indeed,” said the elf, “but why don’t you ask my dwarf friend over there.”
“As if!” sniffed the girl who now glanced at the Tilt-a-Dragon area and saw with concern some smoke emanating from somewhere.
“Your beard real?” asked the dad of the dwarf.
“Aye,” said the dwarf as he banged a sword against the anvil, “but don’t ask to pull it if you value your limbs.”
The dad rolled his eyes and then saw people running from the Tilt-a-Dragon field. Screams were heard as the people fled, and then the family saw that the dragon in question was lifting himself in the air, people falling off his side, and he was breathing fire.
“Looks like someone poked George wrong,” said the dwarf.
“What did they think it meant to tilt at a dragon,” nodded the elf.
You won't like George when he's angry!