Hello, all! This is a somewhat fan-fictionish story I'm writing set in a D&D-esque world, where one dark elf struggles against all odds to ascend to the heights of mediocrity, and become employee of the month working as a guard for a very unusual noble house. You do probably need a little knowledge of D&D to best appreciate this story, but my setting does have major differences with 'canonical' lore. Expect this to update irregularly, but hopefully weekly. Without further ado, here's chapter one:

Spoiler: Chapter One
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How many times had S dragged quivering workers into the maws of the Director of Elvish Resources’ office? And yet, it was now he who was being roughly escorted into that fell chamber! The two guards flanking S gave him a rough shove, and he stumbled forward into the D.E.R.’s office. S frowned. “Poor technique," he thought. A good guardly shove should throw the victim crashing towards the floor, not merely jostle them forwards. And the grip they were using! If S hadn’t been distracted by his gut twisting into a knot in anticipation of the director’s office, he could’ve slipped their grasp by first quickly jerking an elbow into the right guard’s sternum, and then-

“Please, take a seat,” said Lael, Director of Elvish Resources for house Rilynduis. She wore a gentle smile refined by many years of practice. Businesslike, yet not artificial or uncaring. It didn’t quite disarm S enough to make him to fail to check the floor under the chair for a hidden trapdoor, or to pull the chair to the side two feet just in case, but she could tell that he had been put at ease.

“So, um, to what do I owe the honor of being in your presence today, your directorness?” said S, finally settling into the chair before him. Lael had gotten out a file out of her desk drawer while S was going through the ritual of sitting down, and was developing a slight frown reviewing its contents.

“S, I’ve been concerned about your performance in the past quarter. Captain Yaskiira’s review I received last week claims that you ‘frequently disrespect regulations’ and that you ‘incessantly criticize your co-workers’ in an ‘unconstructive fashion’. This account is corroborated by several other guards in your patrol, some of whom have submitted personal complaints to me,” Lael said, turning her concerned look up from her file.

S snorted. “I mean no offense to any of my esteemed comrades, but not a single drow ja’ak of them would recognize a piece of useful criticism if it was clubbing them in the head repeatedly, screaming at them to STOP OPENING DOORS before OILING THE SUNNY HINGES-”

Lael glanced down at her file, looking at one of the many disciplinary citations S had received. “You’re not speaking purely figuratively, are you? Didn’t your screaming during the Kenett Brothers incident alert not only the occupant of the room you were entering to arrest, but also the second Kenett brother two floors above you?”

“Yes, well, I think that gave my co-workers a perfect demonstration of the dangers inherent in making too much noise while breaching a room. Dangers like getting your right ear shot off because someone alerted everyone in the room by not oiling the hinges and making a creaking sound LOUD ENOUGH TO WAKE A DRUNKEN DUERGAR so that he can grab his crossbow and kindly give me a new, two fingers-breadth wide earring that was INCHES AWAY from blasting my brain into bits too small for a mind flayer to bother eating. And FURTHERMORE, captain Yaskiira’s conception of the guard regulations bears only the most trifling of resemblances to the real thing. Why, just last cycle she-”

Sensing that the focus of the meeting was slipping away, the director of elvish resources interrupted once again. “Thank you S, that’s all I need to hear about your thoughts on the captain’s review. But let’s look at your performance on your most recent assignment.” Lael upgraded her frown from slight concern to stern disapproval as she brought the newest page of the file to the top. “You were assigned to guard Vice-Matron Irae’s favorite chair before the annual Inter-house dinner, to avoid a repeat of the acid-filled-bladder-beneath-the-seat-cushion prank perpetrated by certain troublemakers from an as yet unknown rival house. On the night before the dinner, two hooligans entered the dining chamber with the probable intent to sabotage the Vice-Matron’s chair. In the ensuing scuffle you had with them, not only was the chair destroyed, but both the intruders escaped apprehension.”

Although S’s gut had formed a new knot, his voice was as enthusiastic as ever. “Ah, but those miscreants did not escape uninjured! Before they got away, I delivered a severe thrashing to each of them! Not wanting them to think they could mess with our house without consequence, I dealt blow after blow, breaking ribs, shattering arms thrown up in futile defense-”

“Yes, but by using Irae’s chair as the bludgeon, destroying it in the process?”

“Well, erm…”

“And then you got a mimic to imitate the chair to cover up your mistake.”

Although S’s worst fear had been confirmed, he started speaking again in a last, desperate effort at damage control. “Yes! Exactly! I was SO dedicated to ensuring that the Vice-Matron had her favorite chair for the dinner, SO dedicated to preserving our house’s honor, that I rushed out and used the last of my meager savings to hire a mimic to imitate Irae’s chair at the banquet, to confound those fools who thought they could harm our house the night S was on watch!” S was so swept up with emotion that he stood up and dramatically slammed his fist into his palm, only to realize that the chair he was sitting in was still attached to him. “Hey, what’s-”

“LIAR!” The chair bellowed out of a mouth growing from its headrest. “To say that my noble deed was impelled only by a filthy love of lucre – It’s OUTRAGEOUS! I didn’t accept a single pence from this elf!” S panickedly flailed his arms behind his back, trying to land a hand over the mimic’s mouth, but to no avail. “No, I was motivated by LOVE! Oh, to feel the gentle caress of mistress Irae’s bottom on my seat! To have her arms lie daintly across my armrests, supported by my caring embrace! To feel the soft silk of her hair fall languorously down my back!” Realizing that an immediate escape from the director’s office, the castle, and quite likely the entire city was his best chance at survival, S began trying to tear the mimic off his bottom, only to get his arms hopelessly stuck against the glue now being extruded from every square inch of the infuriated mimic.

Lael smiled. “That’s enough, Eugenio. We all appreciate your feelings towards our Vice-Matron.” The mimic settled down, content to hold S’s squirming body in place for an inevitable judgment. “Now, S, I see you’ve been working here for the past… twenty two years, is that correct? Don’t you think it’s time for a change? For a transition to someplace new, someplace more suited to your particular temperament and skills?”

“You’re- you’re not talking about D.E.A.T.H., are you?” said S, now trembling. “Please, I’ll do anything! I’ll stop criticizing my co-workers even when they’re skull-crushingly wrong! I’ll happily listen to captain Yaskiira’s inane lectures about her twisted version of the guard regulations every cycle! I’ll learn carpentry and repair Irae’s chair with my own hands!” S started to sob loudly, partly for effect and partly in the hopes that his tears could dissolve some of the mimic’s glue if he angled his head over the right areas.

Drastically Expedited Afterlife Transition Help was a special sort of help the altruistic dark elves gave each other in times of great need. For instance, if a drow witnessed another of her fellows overburdened with material goods and temporal concerns walking through a narrow alley, she might leap out and deliver that elf to his final reward, heroically taking up for herself the weight of the mundane possessions that had shackled the poor soul with their crushing materialism. Or if a drow believed that his superior at work was suffering from crippling anxiety and stress owing to her position, he might send her on a permanent vacation, then assume her mantle of responsibility, carrying on her good work and perhaps even planning to help drow in even higher stations to their own rests.

One unfamiliar with drow culture might confuse D.E.A.T.H. with murder, but this would be making a fundamental mistake. For the first law of all elvish societies, including that of the drow, was this: Elf does not kill elf.* (*At least, not without a good reason).

“No S, not D.E.A.T.H.,” said Lael, chuckling a bit. “The reason I called you here is to inform you that I’ve taken the liberty of selling your employment contract to house Deltyn.”

Immediately S ceased his struggles, and laid in an apathetic slump of defeat, as though a sledgehammer had struck his forehead. “House… Deltyn?” he at last managed to say.

“Please, S, their reputation isn’t that bad. I’m sure you’ll be a great fit for their, ahem, unique style of business. Now if you’ll just sign here… and here…” Lael pushed a clipboard and quill towards S, who had just barely enough flexibility with his mimic glued arms to sign the papers, and not nearly enough spirit left to resist doing as Lael ordered. The consent forms were only a formality, and the transfer would go through if he wanted it or not. S could see a grim future stretching out before him, the only consolation being that it would quite likely be a short one. If he had been executed by house Rilynduis, S could have at least died with a modicum of dignity, but as a member of house Deltyn…

After the forms were signed, and Lael provided S with the papers informing him where and when he could meet his new employers, Lael got the mimic to release its hold. S got up slowly and walked out of the director’s office with his head bowed. He couldn’t even bring himself to cast defiant glares at the two guards who had escorted him to the office, and were still waiting outside the door. One of the two guards followed S to make sure he didn’t do anything drastic, but the other slipped into Lael’s office before the door shut. After a moment’s hesitation, he began to speak. “Excuse me for questioning your decisions, your directorness, but why didn’t you give D.E.A.T.H. to S? Not only does he deserve it ten times over, I can assure you that his astoundingly total incompetence and buffoonery will be apparent from the very instant he starts working! Why sell him to house Deltyn and risk spoiling our reputation for providing decent workers?”

Lael ordinarily might have gotten irritated at someone barging into her office and questioning her the instant after she made a decision, but this time she let it pass. “I can certainly appreciate your view of S,” she said, beginning to cram S’s very, very thick file back into her drawer, “but you have to realize that idiots like him are a natural resource, much like lobsters or mushroom stalks. They must not be squandered with D.E.A.T.H., but exploited to their full potential. Deltyn is growing in power behind their façade of eccentricity and stupidity, and I know certain persons there whom must not be allowed to gain any more influence over drow affairs. Now, imagine what could happen to a burgeoning house like Deltyn when they get a disgruntled S as a new guard. It could go very unfortunately for them, don’t you think? Maybe by showing mercy to S, I’ve given D.E.A.T.H. to house Deltyn, instead.”

The guard thought about what Lael had said. “Your directorness, you’re not suggesting that S could actually bring down all of Deltyn himself, are you? I mean, he’s a horrible guard, but no one could be that bad… could they?” Lael took one last glance at S’s file before she closed the drawer, and she began to laugh.


I'd like to acknowledge the website http://drowcampaign.roleplaynexus.com/ for help coming up with drow names. If you have any feedback or comments to give on the story so far, please do so. Honest criticism is truly appreciated.