A Poster With A Flourish

[Sporadic 2844]

Why wounds, like tears, are best left unsalted

or

Pointing out the Olog in the room

or

will someone please take that blasted stamp away from Kalenz already?

 

~ An Essay by the Lonely Friend                                                     

 

To call the recent triumph of Haelun'or as anything other than explosive would be underselling it. While nobody should cheer on or encourage a war of Elf on Elf, I begrudgingly admit that even I had a blast. Yet let us not call this a High Elven, but rather an Elven victory, for it may very well be the grand start of a Silver-tipped era of peace and progress for all of Malin's children.

 

But incessant gloating is much like giraffes in that there's too damn many in this city and quite frankly, I don't care for the smell. Let's be realists for a moment and realize that while the foe now subdued was vile and wicked, they were still just Wood Elves. You might as well pat yourself on the back for kicking over a toddler's sandcastle.

 

It's not like Phaedrus and his army of three boneheads could effect a Mali'aheral genoicde all by themselves. The real enemy, the muscle behind our exile, mean and lean and green with envy (and their natural skin pigment), is just salivating for another go. The Uruk. Sharpening their tusks and thirsty for blood (drinking from the skull of an enemy not only looks all the more menacing but also prevents a pileup of dishes, the cleaning of which is indeed a very un-testerony task and probably not the kind of thing you want your blood brothers catch you doing), all they really require of us is to give them just enough leverage.

 

So before we waste our nigh-immortality waiting for Kalenz to actually crack a joke that is funny, we might instead reflect on the Mali'aheral position and how an endless string of increasingly more spiteful official documents towards our brown-skinned cousins is going to affect a future dedicated to Maehr'sae hiylun'ehya. They still wish us dead, certainly; would love to devolve Elven culture back into a cesspool of violence and depravity, would love for the name Larihei Lohmanih to be stricken from the history books. High on cactus green and alone in their struggle, this desire of theirs is hardly an issue. But then again, in this desire they are not alone.

 

The true terror, the massive shadow looming over the city, which the Sohaer conveniently not mentions in his documents of gloating and intents of vengeance, is still out there.

 

And it is waiting...

[hellfiazz 879]

Buubztik frowns at the poster: "Wi nub drink frum zkullz ehnimur, dey hab huulz en zuu id nub vehru praktikul."

[Backup Lago 320]

Gruzz realises that's why whenever he poured himself a drink it ended up on his loincloth.

[_Jandy_ 3519]

Nazark'Dom continues to try

[Dohvi 622]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.