Lord Fred finds himself in the realm of the Elves, ancient beings who
craft the weapons for the fabled lands of Asgard. Lord Fred is welcomed most heartily for the Elves know he is good. None could enroach on their territory with evil intent. Confused but delighted he finds himself sitting in a small dining room, lit glass that caught light. The light was reflected by mirrors far above, that caught sunlight, directing it down into into the elven-inhabitated caves. Paintings of farmlands and relatives lined the walls. The furniture was stone, mixed with wood, everything polished to a deep shine. The stone table was covered by a bright pink table cloth with lace edgings. A closer look revealed intracate patterns of dancing elves in the lace. Every figure different. The elves themselves were, on average, four feet tall. They had sharp, pointed ears, of course. Most of the men were wiry, strong and had baked, brown skin from long hours spent working at the fires. Fred wanted to suss out how he came here but the elves wouldn't have none of it. Welcome a guest first. Problems are for the pipes around the fireplace after dinner. And of course, the head weaponsmith had the honor of hosting Fred. His name was Nargsdrill. He had pure white hair, blue eyes and wore blue vests and leggings. His wife, Firna, had skin the color of caramel and favored orange. Among them they had eleven kids, who all looked the same to Fred. The younger ones stared at him with awe. And...
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11/8/2002 1:54:38 PM
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