Previously in The Tale of Jarthen, poor Bertronius was troubled by disturbing remembrances of why he enlisted in the Imperial Army, while Jarthen and the rest of the rebels were led to the Elvish city of Norsa and their cage. No Podcast! Hahahahaha! It'll be back next week.
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Jarthen and his comrades passed the next several days of their captivity rather uneventfully. Their captors maintained a constant guard of several well-armed blue elf warriors. These soldiers appeared, most stern to the young lad – they never seemed to allow a smile to disrupt the unwavering solemnity of their pale countenances, and spoke nary a word to the rebels aside from the occasional incomprehensible grunt meant to communicate, “move back,” or “food.”
Food: that was probably the worst part of their captivity so far, in Jarthen’s mind. Three times a day, as regular as clockwork, the blue elves would bring their prisoners a large cauldron filled with a strange paste-like concoction that seemed to be made from some sort of forest tuber. Though on the surface it bore a striking resemblance to the mush of his homeland, this was only at the most superficial level. One spoonful was enough to demonstrate incontrovertibly the vast inferiority of the blue elves’ food – it lacked the subtlety of flavor, and mushliness of consistency that all Fethilians grow to know and love from years of consuming that regional delicacy.
At least, Jarthen thought to himself, Rethnaki had seemed to stabilize to some extent after a few days of having neither been tortured nor killed by the blue elves -- a fact which had allowed the company of rebels to feel increasingly sanguine about their captivity. Once they had been placed in their cage, Rethnaki had immediately commenced to nervous pacing and ranting to himself under his breath. When he had exhausted himself after several hours of tense perambulation, he huddled himself in the center of the cage, where he wrung his hands and glanced about suspiciously for several sleepless days. However, eventually the elf fell into a deep slumber, which, when he woke, seemed to have reduced his nervousness to some extent. He would now at least carry on conversations with his comrades, and had even been persuaded to take in some of the food, which flavor elicited a weak joke from him about how even gnomish fare surpassed that of the blue elves (though, admittedly, the joke was uttered in such a low voice that there was no possibility of the blue elves hearing it).
Indeed, on their fourth day in Norsa Helkint approached Rethnaki with a proposal: “Oi, Naki, I t'ink I’ve figured a way ta get us out o’ this lot. See them blue phillies o’er yonder? I t'ink they’ve a takin’ a shinin’ ta me,” he said gesturing to a group of blue elf women standing near the cage pointing at the rebels and chattering away in their strange language. During their time in Norsa, Jarthen had observed that the blue elves were absolutely fascinated by the rebel captives. It seemed as if the entire populace had made a point of viewing the foreigners at one point or another – the younger blue elf women, however, seemed particularly taken with the indisputably charming red elf men.
“Wit' yer charm wit' ta lasses,” Helkint continued with a look that betrayed an earnest belief in the brilliance of his plan, “I got no doubt tha' we’ll be able ta convince ‘em ta let us out come nightfall, at which point we should be able ta make a break for it. Wha' do ye say, then?”
Rethnaki gazed up at Helkint, and, for a moment seemed to try to regain that twinkle in his eyes for which he was so famed, but, he quickly lowered his head in discouragement. Rethnaki was clearly in no mood to flirt, even with maidens so comely as those of the blue elves – who were, even to Jarthen’s inexperienced eye, very handsome indeed.
“Very well then,” Helkint replied with a hint of disappointment in his voice, “I guess I’ll jus’ find some o’ ta others ta help me get us out o’ here.” With that, Helkint left Jarthen and Rethnaki to talk to a pair of other elves, Tlin and Elshin, who after listening to his pitch, smiled at one another, and nodded an enthusiastic agreement.
The three red elves then went over to the wall of their prison nearest to the attractive elvish wenches, and motioned for their attention. Though one of the blue elf guards was on duty nearby, he deferred to the female blue elves, and, while he cast a disapproving glance at them, did not impede their approach to talk to the captive red elves.
Despite his great respect for the flirting capabilities of red elves, which he had seen Rethnaki practice with great effect, Jarthen was skeptical of the efficacy of Helkint’s plan.1 He watched as the red elves spoke in their animated, charming manner, while the blue elves responded with giggles, and coquettish winks. He overheard Helkint speaking in what was undoubtedly his sweetest tones, imploring the blue elves to, “jus’ let us out, I promise we’ll be no trouble a’tall, and we’ll make it worth yer while…”
Flirtatious blue elf maidens...The blue elf women responded with further giggles, and a few, gently chiding words in their language that, it must be said, sounded considerably more dulcet when spoken by the fairer sex.
Jellihondor, who had during this time been engaged in a deep conversation with Glothnafar – the two commanders had spent the vast majority of their confinement in counsel with one another – caught sight of Helkint and his co-conspirators talking to the blue elves. With a look of mild bemusement, he called out to them in a jeering voice, “Oi, what do ye lot t'ink ye’re doin’? Do ye honestly t’ink they’re aboot ta let ye out?”
Helkint, who was clearly embarrassed at having been so singled out by his superior simply gazed back with a dumb look. Jellihondor continued, clearly amused by the foolishness of Helkint's plan, “do ye have any ide’er wha' they’re sayin’ ta ye? Those lasses t'ink yer cute an’all, but they certainly ain’ aboot ta let ta likes o’ ye out. They’re talkin’ aboot ye like yer some sort o’ pup!”
Helkint, who clearly had been convinced that his words were having a much greater effect than was actually the case, blushed as a round of laughter erupted from his fellows. In an attempt to lessen their shame, Helkint and his compatriots quickly made as if they had not been taking their plan nearly so seriously as they actually had, pretending as if they had known all along that, for the blue elf maidens, this was nothing more than a harmless flirtation with some exceptionally exotic, somewhat handsome caged animals.
“Yeh alright?” asked Lem. “Yeh were yellin’ in yer sleep, Bert. Sounded like a nightmare, it did.” There was a note of worry and concern in Lem’s voice -- despite his age and gender, Lem had something of the aspect of a kindly aunt, doting on a favorite nephew. Gradually regaining his bearings, Bertronius rubbed his face and slowly sat up. Though he was loathe to admit it, the truth was that Bertronius was not alright – he couldn’t get the image of Ractor’s snarling face and Jarthen’s confused and wounded expression out of his mind.
Bertronius released a sigh pregnant with emotion, and turned his eyes to face Lem. As Nelhoepher wandered over, Bert conceded, “I did have a nightmare. I’m very sorry about the disruption…I think it might have been that ale we had last night at the party Clemhand threw for us.”
“Aye, the firewater’ll do that to yeh,” said Nelhoepher knowingly, as he plopped down next to Bert, raising hands above his head in an extended yawn. “What was yer dream about, Bert? Do yeh want to talk about it?”
Bertronius was hesitant, as he had been taught to avoid unpleasant conversations such as this, in the fashion of socially advantaged individuals in all societies -- strange, indeed, are the ways of the wealthy. Against his ingrained prejudices, Bertronius sighed and told Lem and Nelhoepher all about the dream, his oath to avenge Jarthen, and the guilt he felt for leaving his parents in such an abrupt manner. As Bertronius waited for the other two boys to respond, he felt at once ashamed by his openness and relieved to have this weighty burden's ponderous mass lightened by it now being distributed across more than just his own youthful shoulders.
“Y’know Bert,” said Lem in a kind and quiet voice, “most of us what hadn’t been drafted are runnin’ away from someone they lost. T’ree years ago, me older brother Avadon was drafted an’ got killed on the front. Don’t know how, never found his body…anyway, when I came o’ age, I joined up. Just seemed like the right thing to do.” Lem smiled a bittersweet smile, one that made Bertronius feel less slightly troubled by the dream and its implications.
Nelhoepher gave Lem’s arm a slight affectionate squeeze. “That’s how it is these days, Bert. Let’s get some breakfast! Walkin’ to the mess tent’ll help ye shake off the aftereffects o' that ale, and there’s not a problem known to man what can’t be solved by a good bowl o’ mush.”
Lem stood up, smiling his normal genial smile. “Never heard a thing truer than that, friend! I guess any mush is better than no mush, then, what with the mess tent servin’ summat more akin to glue…”
Helkint sauntered up to Elcrona, and, with what he hoped was a jocular glint in his eye, smacked her square on the buttocks, while remarking, “well, if there’s no chance o’ getting’ ou’ there, I suppose we’ll jus’ have ta make do wit’ what’s in here!”
This remark elicited a few scattered laughs from the other rebels, while Elcrona, who was used to such treatment from the male members of the army, simply gave him a look of rebuke and resumed her conversation with Citrene. Though she had proven herself as a warrior of great skill and bravery, she, like most females in male dominated professions, still had to contend with the petty tomfoolery so prevalent among the males of almost all populations.
However, one of the blue elf guards who had been looking at the cage during this exchange caught sight of the incident and was immediately roused to extreme distress. He began yelling, and pointing at Helkint in a most agitated manner, while calling to his fellow soldiers. The blue elf then, or at least so it seemed to Jarthen, proceeded to explain what had transpired to his compatriots who quickly adopted equally disgusted countenances.
Helkint, who had been jocularly exchanging elbows and ribbings with his two comrades-in-flirting over what they clearly considered to have been his very witty violence to Elcrona’s backside, noticed the hullabaloo that the blue elves were making and paused in his revelry to ask, “wha' do ye t'ink they’re makin' such a fuss about?”
“I ha'en’t ta foggiest,” Tlin responded, “but they certainly seem ta have their knickers in a knot.”
The blue elves, who were growing increasingly enraged as they spoke to one another, began pointing and gesticulating at Helkint in a very threatening manner. Observing the growing tide of fury among the blue elves, Helkint’s haughty demeanor began to fade in the face of the menacing mob. “Oi, what’d I do?” he asked with a crack of nervousness in his voice, looking back and forth between his friends in a pleading manner.
Helkint had barely uttered these words when a bevy of sinewy blue elves' arms reached through the bars that he had been standing next to and pulled him flush against the wall. The young elf's eyes expanded to the size of dinner plates in terror, as he struggled against the unyielding grasp of the angry mob: in the meantime, the rest of the rebels seemed frozen to where they stood, not daring to move in the face of the enraged mass of well-armed blue elves.
Jellihondor, who had resumed his conversation with Glothnafar, was the only one who was immune to the spell of terror. The old elf strode purposefully towards the thrashing Helkint -- Jarthen observed that Jellihondor looked calm, all except for his eyes, that betrayed a seething emotion of some stripe or another. In an even, authoritative voice, Jellihondor addressed the blue elves in their own language. Every rebel eye in the cage was fixed to their leader as he spoke in the incomprehensible language. Though Jarthen could not understand anything of what was said, he felt the incredible power with which Jellihondor spoke, and could see the effect that it had on the blue elves as they held the now whimpering Helkint. The blue elves muttered and gesticulated, but, after another brief speech on the part of the red elf leader, they released the terrified red elf, who immediately dashed to a point as far away from the still angry blue elves as he could.
Jellihondor, having dismissed the assembled blue elves with some well chosen words, now proceeded to storm over to Helkint. The calm facade that he had erected while interacting with the blue elves dissolved, as he grabbed Helkint firmly by the shoulders, spinning him around with amazing dexterity. He then proceeded to slap the impetuous elf about the face, while letting forth such a string of obscenities that it would be utterly improper to besmirch these pages with their recollection. After he had exhausted his rich, extensive vocabulary of oaths, Jellihondor enumerated the reason for his extreme reaction. “Have ye no notion o' blue elvish custom? Have ye not observed anyt'in’ o' ta blue elves reverence for ta feminine, ye foolish whelp?” he demanded.
Helkint, who had been reduced to a whimpering child by Jellihondor’s towering rage, could only muster an incomprehensible mutter in reply.
Jellihondor seemed ready to lash into Helkint again, but he was interrupted by a high-pitched shriek that issued from Rethnaki, who was on his feet pointing at a large, official-looking procession heading towards their cage. “It’s Svava, she’s come ta ha'e us killt! Tha’s ta only thing for it now, we’re all goin’ ta die!” Rethnaki lamented in terror at the magnificent sight of the blue elf queen -- he proceeded to then faint dead away. She was adorned in rich robes, and her beautiful, pale skin was ornamented in intricate tattoos that served to highlight the natural, fierce dignity of her features. She was surrounded by footmen, and an entourage of equally attired female elves. Jarthen was astounded by the almost savage aura that she exuded -- the lad felt as if he was in the presence of some sort of incredibly powerful wild animal.
Jellihondor, observing the approach of this clearly eminent personage turned to Helkint and, with a steely glint in his eye, warned, “I’ll deal wit' ye later.”
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1Damning evidence of Helkint's suspect intellect.
1 comment:
Seriously, ass-slapping is a pretty extreme form of sexual harrassment. If one my male coworkers slapped my ass, you'd bet he'd be getting punched in the face. Even if a close male friend slapped my ass, he be hard-pressed to defend himself from a beating. Elcrona was so eager to bitchslap Rethnaki for asking for a kiss, and she just shrugs off an ass-slap? Are there extenuating circumstances here? What's up with the unchecked sexual harrassment amongst the red elves?
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