PBEM, Interview 6 - Wyn

And here was the last interlude interview with Wyn, the Elf. And you get to see how the goblins and kobolds view elves.

Follows:

WYN

Hello again and thanks to Borocream for that advertisement; remember, when your scales have mites, use Borocream! This is Gowan Sukiht, K’bold reporter, and before we roll into our 4th of 9 segments regarding the birth of Zydeco Music and its influence on modern assault weaponry, we figured we would delve into the 6th and thankfully final segment regarding the wanton killing fleshbags that had been marching stormtrooper style around Murderer’s Castle and laying to waste the good and lawful citizenry who emigrated here from Jector in the interest of peace and horticulture.

Now our producers thought we were finished with this project and it was only on the clearing out of the wastebins in the Records and Recycling Departments that the unrun piece on the second least interesting and knife-eared member of the Murderhobos was found under the paper wrappings from Bjorn’s Hydra Burgers. There was thought to just forgetting this sad chapter and moving on but it was pointed out that our contract stipulates full completion of all segments. So in the interest of preserving our money pouches, we’d like to present this to you now.

Now I want to let all the younger listeners at home know to be terribly afraid as this last segment involves the interview of the group’s most deadly predator: the elf. Elves, as you know, are a horrendous children eating subspecies of dungfly and shitbeetle who prey on young kobolds and goblins who don’t eat their vegetables and talk back to their parents. With sharpened teeth, eyes of killer blue or crazed-girlfriend green, and a penchant for chopping off ears and setting oily fires to sleeping women, they are the most dangerous of all the two legged foes that walk the earth. Never approach an elf without an armed escort and elves should only be trusted to bleed if stabbed, and to fuck you over if given half a chance…before they cut your ears off. Even the Boogyman gives the elves a wide berth; and the same goes for the Boogieman, the Slenderman, and Pumpkinhead.

We were lucky enough to capture this interview with the most crazed and potential homicidal member of the adventuring troupe when he had slaked his bloodlust and was mostly in torpor after a day of dining on goblin livers. Hello Wyn you murderous troll, and welcome to the program.

“Um, ‘Ello.”

Back up fucker or I’ll have you shot.

“I am just seeting here. Why are you so ‘fraid?”

Never mind, I’m watching you.

“Oui! I can see. Ah! You must be Gowan I ‘ave ‘eard so conflicting things about, non?”

Gowan Sukiht.

“Zat is an unfortunate name you ‘ave.”

True. But my sister Iywanda has it worse.

“Zhat is true. Zo…why am I here?”

To murder me and take my ears?

“Um…I do not think so.”

Hmm…Ok, I can do this. I’m a professional. I took an Annex course on journalism while at BOCES. Game face, Sukiht.

“You are doing great.”

Sit the HELL down you chipmunk fucking FREAK or I swear to Corfard I’ll waste you with this crossbow!

“Hokay…first, I was adjusting myself, thees chair is not so comfortable for le cul. Second, maybe a leetle less café on a going forward, oui?”

Sorry. Ok, let’s start with you. Tell us a bit about yourself, Wyn?

“Umm. Like what?”

I’ve had this problem before. Let’s start with a brief description, give our listeners something to help identify you as you come stalking them from under the bed.

“Why do ye want to know dis? Eet is quite strange.”

So is being in a room with a barely restrained mentally unbalanced butcher.

“Pardon?”

Never mind, please, go on.

“Well, I stand ‘tween 16 ta 17 hands tall from mon toes to de tip of mon ears.”

Hands?

“Oui.”

Is that like a standard unit of measurement?

“Oui, it is.”

Like in this country?

“Oui! Can I continue?”

By all means. (For those interested, a “hand” is roughly 4 inches, so this places him between 64 and 68 inches tall. For those not interested, go fuck yourself.)

“My weight be 'round 11 stone.”

Ugh. Fucking really?

“Wot? It’s tru! 'Tis be muscle dat weighs Wyn down.”

No you daft buggerer, again with the fucked up terms? Stone?

“Oui! It is not my fault that you don’t know and cannot relate. Not everything is feet and inches?”

Whatever. (For those interested, a “stone” is roughly 14 pounds, so this places him at about 154 pounds. For those not interested, you may still go and fuck yourself – sideways this time.)

“Now ‘leven stones is beefy for an elf. You get dat from pullin' a propa bow en livin' in da swamp.”

So swamp elves are typically bigger than other elves?

“Oui! We ‘ave to be. Dodgin’ crocogators, ‘wrasslin’ possum, killin’ goblin’s and takin’ their ears for bounty, polin’ swamp boats through th’ bayous…”

Go back, what did you just say?

“Polin’ through the bayou? Ye gots a flat bottomed swamp boat an’ ya gots ta pole in ‘long…”

No, no, no. Before that.

“Possums?”

No, the other thing.

“Um…coons?”

Really? Getting like that in this climate?

“Wot? I dun get it? Coons? Huntin’? Takes time, y’know when going after them, ya gotta find a solid bit o’ ground an’ kneel down when…”

You know what? Fuck it. We are not going there.

“Ye are one strange little kobold.”

You have no idea. So, you were telling me about swamp elves in relation to other types.

“Oui! We swamp elves, are tres strong! But dat don't mean I not be light on me feet... just not like one of dem skinny 'igh elves.”

Gay stuff as well? Don’t you have any respect for yourself?

“I don’t unnerstand.”

No, your kind never does, does it? Moving on. Sharks have a fin that sticks up to let people know that trouble is coming at them, and similarly, most elves have hair that is reflective, gives you that approaching carnage look when stalking wounded kobolds and helpless prey. Yours is different.

“Mon 'air ees... what ees word... auburn? Like color of forest een autumn.”

It is different, that is true.

“Oui. En eet all biz-ness up front en par-tee in back.”

Mullet.

“No, I dun t’ink it over. I make th’ ‘air do it wit dee life braid a-growin' down de left side of mon face.”

Hides your profile when looking to shoot someone from the shadows?

“Um, no. It shows 'ow many other lives Wyn 'as 'ad it does.”

So you say.

“You seem to ‘ave a view o’ elves tha’ ain’t…th’ way it reelly is.”

No, I’m pretty sure it is as we’ve all been told since the days of our birth.

“We are a peaceful people.”

Sure.

“Eets true. We only fight w’en we gots no choice. Elves, we like to look at a problem first for awhile a’fore we decide ta do something.”

I’ve seen elven eyes staring at me in the dark. It’s not a comforting sight.

“Me eyes? Well I been told dey be the color of dat hour jus' befah da setting sun. When everytin' be all golden.”

Is that even a color?

“Sure! I jus’ said it.”

So in the Crayola box, I’ll find “Golden Color an hour before the setting sun”? Is that near “flesh”, “Indian red” and “moral ambiguity grey”?

“Wot is thees Kray-Oh-Lah?”

Don’t worry. You wouldn’t get it, it’s a box of colors where all of them sit together in one place without separation, together.

“Swamp elves be like that too. We all ‘ave the same color skin in th’ area of th’ swamp I live in.”

No shit. I rest my case.

“Skeen be nicely tan from workin' en livin' out among de swamp en nature. Only way to be.”

So exclusionary.

Having sat in the tiger’s den for as long as I could facing this barely restrained racist rage demon, I pretending to have to take a bathroom break and then ran for my life. We were lucky enough to get a further view on this homicidal blood machine from two of the toy maker’s companions; the rotund and dull-witted Kovid Manslayer XIX, and the slack jawed and mentally impaired Abraxas Salazar. Their interviews appeared earlier in our program. Beardy McBeardface was first.

"For a pointy eared tree hugger, Master Wyn is a welcome addition to the party. With that thick accent I can only understand about three out of every five words he says, but what I do catch seems genuine and thoughtful.”

“I question his motives though. He keeps talking about how he's in this for the experience, to better himself, and for the story. Doesn't he want silver or gold? I mean think of all the ale you can buy with gold, never mind how pretty it is. Looks like he could use the money too - straw hat, leather pants (from some creature he calls an ALY-GAY-TOR) and is always chewing on a damn blade of grass.”

“Says he's from a place called a swamp. I've never seen one so I'm not sure what it is, but apparently they don't wear shoes around camp. Otherwise he carries himself with a proud posture and a positive attitude. Long dark hair, tall and slender, so not much to look at.”

No mention of the necklace of ears he wore or the stink of old blood crusting the end of his hair, but as far as descriptions was concerned, not a bad one. Following this we also had Abraxas give us his thoughts on this firebrand of evil.

“Wine? He is someone that is truly on my own level. Senor appreciates the simpler things in life – la casa, family, fun, and bueno food! I know this, because I to appreciate the simpler things in life – la casa, family, fun, and Bueno food! Um…did I just say that?”

“Senor Wyvern must be such a good listener because his ears are larger than anyone else's! Like Senor Pond, I respects Senor Elf’s ability with the bow, the scouting, and the sword. Eef I had to pick a best amigo on this ‘venture, it would be the Senor. We are not too far off in our goals and dreams.”

“I likes the cuisine options Senor Tween talks about, that I has never tried! Señor Wynd tells the best stories. Most about comida muy tasty sounding. I hope to have una familia similar a Señor Dundee una dia. He is a... how do you say... huevo bueno. I am most interested in trying this gumbo de que dice.”