Near Matches
Ignore Exact
Everything
2
Fifteen Elvish ways to die
cooled by
mauler
(
idea
)
by
Igloowhite
Tue Feb 26 2002 at 23:02:40
Grayoleth
is readying himself for his day's labors. He selects a shirt of white elvish linen, then goes to the closet to
choose a tie
. Unfortunately, the closet contains an
Orc
.
Palthoas
is cooking cakes under moonlight by the heat of a
brazier
. He shutters the windows against the cold, and wraps himself in a silver shawl to sleep. Forgetting to extinguish the fire, the fumes overcome him.
On his way to the office,
Halmorne
is listening to an epic poem of battle on his CD player. He leans down to fast forward to his favorite part, his sedan quietly swerving into the oncoming truck.
Thisalonar
runs onto the tarmac to remove the forgotten chocks from behind the nose wheel of the passenger jet. A dove tumbles towards him, trapped in the suction of the engines. Can fast feet save both bird and elf? No.
Nimble fingers are not enough to remove moon soda from its jammed position inside the machine. In fit of elvish fury, pull!
Jhamonis
is crushed beneath the machine, despite the warning of labels.
Tidy creatures, elves insist on the cleanest of bathrooms.
But don't mix bleach and ammonia
.
Lohaton's
skill with the longbow is of no use to him now.
A night out on the town. Within a leafy grove,
Qwhuimkoln
seeks to feed the swans, never seeing the school of
piranha
until too late.
Who will light the
Festival of One Thousand Suns
?
Rhalolas
trusts to elvish luck and craft, and splices the evening lights into a hot circuit. Silver slippers in the wet streets make this a tragic miscalculation.
Glindroleth
takes a walk down the boulevard for a hot windgrass tea and star biscuits. 12 stories up, human workmen lose their grip on a window unit air conditioner. If only she'd gone out for soup instead...
Bright sun and spring breezes make this the time of dances, shopping, and diaphanous scarves of magical silk.
Aeioletia
learns too late that such a garment is ill suited for use on an escalator.
The police are in hot pursuit of a dangerous suspect.
Synralon
draws his pocket wand to cast a
Blessing of Chase!
to aid the
constabulary
. The short dark wand causes the police to
think otherwise
.
Xaneprothel
has milk white skin that smells of
lylac
and fresh baked bread. It drives the cruelly starved junkyard hounds into a blood frenzy.
Deep patrol
in
Mirkwood
.
Dindraleen
is on point, his infravison alert to the least movement in brush. But the spider filament is so fine, difficult even for the sharp eyes of an elf. The fiber triggers a fifty pound goblin
claymore mine
, cast in a fearsome face of black iron.
Yillanean
reviews the heavy dwarvish scroll, inscribed with ancient
runes
. He sings the dwarf song, so harsh and guttural in his delicate throat, "Two rights, two lefts, while the third moon shines, to avoid the flame pit." But
elvish football
was his preferred subject, translating the tenses of dwarvish rune verbs was never Yillanean's strong suit. Things get hot.
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Mixing bleach and ammonia does not make a super cleaner
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