The Ballad of Adler Young, Canto 2.5

>Adler: Venomously berate the child behind you for sassing you.
Child, introduce yourself to Adler. Then start picking on him. Salmonella, show up, but do nothing to stop the little bully.

"Where are your parents?" I asked the impudent possum child. "Didn't they teach you to respect your elders and betters?"

"You sound just like ol' Silverbrush," the child scoffed. "Only less intelligent. My momma's right there, and my pappy's hidin' out somewheres on a secret mission."

"Howdy, Prince Adler," Salmonella Moonbeam sighed as she leaned against the porch rail. "Don't pay no mind to lil' Lem Junior here. Can't nobody straighten out that young'un. Lemmy done tole us all about you, so I figured I'd bring the boy around to take a look while you was right here upside the Antglade."

"My sister was scared to come," Lem Junior sniffed. "But I ain't scared of nothin, specially not some durn fool with a too-small helmet perched on top of his noggin."

"I am a genuine descendant of Irenaeus, child," I growled. "Soon I will be Emperor, so you'd best mind your tongue."

"Elves don't lie," the youngster admitted. "But my pappy may have had some misconceptions concernin' you."

>Irenaeus's accoutrements: While otherwise far too small oddly enough
>...Why not simply use Grammayre to make the helmet and parts of the regalia bigger and fitting ?

This little pipsqueak was starting to get on my nerves! I'd show him a thing or two!

I carefully composed some Gramarye in my mind, and concentrated on making the helmet bigger so it would fit my head.

For some reason, it seemed to actually get smaller, so I redoubled my efforts.



"Think an awful lot of yourself, don't you, Your Headness?" Lem cackled gleefully, pointing at my head.

"Dang it, Adler," the Duchess grumbled over her shoulder. "I done told you to take that thang off and quit messin' with it. Was you tryin' to change its size to make it fit you? Tsk. You oughta know that Irenaeus' armor would be warded against all kinds of magick. Think about it. Would he have wanted some battle wizard a-shrinkin' his armor with him in it? Course not! Any spell you cast on it is gonna be reflected right back at you. Now why don't you give that helmet to the young'un and fix your head, cause I found the thang I was lookin' for."

"Give this priceless Irenaeid artifact to an uncouth elflet?" I asked, outraged.

"Shoot, suits of Irenaeus armor ain't rare," the Duchess replied. "Did you think he only had one set? That lil' feller can't do nothin' to hurt it, so let him run along and play."

Child, manage to abscond with Irenaeus's helmet, which fits you pretty well.

Lem grabbed the helmet and plunked it onto his own head. Of course, it fit perfectly.

"Look, ma! I'm Irenaeus!" he yelled giddily as he dashed off the porch toward the Army. "Maybe one of them soldiers'll let me borry a sword."

Salmonella sighed, rolled her eyes, and descended the porch steps in slow pursuit of her son.

> Elves of long ago where small? What could of caused the change of size? Cant be just be just nutritional intake, the Duchess isn't small and she from back then.
Duchess, give Adler the legendary "Fuma's left booby": Irenaeus's enchanted buckler shield. Named for it's distinct paint job, this legendary artifact is said to be able to block any weapon used against it's wielder, as well as any hostile spell.

Duchess Catherine waited for the O'Possums to leave, and for my head to return to normal size, before withdrawing her arms from the chest. As I looked at her, I could not help but notice that she was normal-sized compared to modern elves - not small, as her explanation of Irenaeus' diminutive stature would have suggested. But wait .. the Duchess of Daisies didn't actually date back to the Long Ago, did she? If I recalled my dynastic history correctly, she was Athanasius' niece, which would have made her one of Irenaeus' granddaughters. I was reluctant to ask her about this, since it was generally considered impolite to inquire about a femme's age or body size.

"So, what's the thing in the crate that you wanted to show me?" I asked instead. "Is it the legendary shield 'Fuma's Booby' which protects its wearer from all physical assaults?"

"I seem to recollect that thang was burned," the Duchess replied. "Caer Adland folks didn't like seein' any visual depiction of the Great Auk, least of all one bein' carried into battle by a Mephitist warlord, and they figured it was disrespectful to call the Auk a booby, even though he was acknowledged to be a flunky of the Goddess. Nope, what I got here is way better'n that."



She cozied up next to me and presented a small sulfur-green glass phial.

"This here is the Gladsome Antglade's secret weapon," she whispered with a satisfied smirk. "My alchemists at the P.I. plant came up with it back durin' the war, but them dang Imperials whupped us before we ever had a chance to use it. Ol' Silverbrush's durn lithophagous beetles took us completely by surprise, and after it was over we was all trapped here in this swamp with no more use for a secret weapon."

"What is it?" I asked.

"They called it the Plague of Battles," Catherine whispered ominously. "It causes elves to go into a berserk frenzy."

"So .. I should give it to my army to raise their fighting spirit?"

"Oh heck no! You put a drop or two on an arrow and shoot it into the enemy camp. The frenzy is catchin, see, like a plague, and yer enemies'll all start fightin' each other till they ain't none left."

"That's Unseelie," I gasped, horrified.

"That's strategy," the Duchess corrected. "You ain't gotta use it if you don't want to, but at least the option will be there. Take it."

I put the phial very carefully into my Elfintory and walked away as Catherine started putting things back into the chest.

>Make a mental note that Thomson did not say "No". She rebuffed you with a vague question. Your legal representative may have an agenda different than your own. Be wary, but don't let her catch on.
Thomson indeed did not deny ordering the attack. Maybe the Sisterhood is cleaning up loose ends? They needed scutis for the de-elfination plan, and someone ordered Evan Klive to be killed way back too.
>Burnside: Attempt to teach the soldiers all of your custom evisceration techniques.
(Well-fed mammal) Start, for no particular reason, to play a tune on an overturned half-barrel.
(Baglute players) Accompany the wombat in your own fashion.

Around the corner of the porch, I saw Ms. Thomson leaning on the railing and staring out over the troops as they munched ham, talked, and fought on the lawn. I paused and eyed her suspiciously. She had evaded my question earlier, when I asked if the Sisterhood had ordered the Scuti assassination. Why, indeed, would they do such a thing? One of the Scuti had helped Estmere sire a child with Edessa, but was that a reason to kill it? I could not see what that would accomplish. Killing the Scuti would not undo the pregnancy. Plus, Scuti Preston would be the likely target in that case, but it had survived the attack.

Perhaps, if Scuti Preston was truly Scuti Prime, the long-lost tail of Irenaeus .. the Sisterhood might have been interested in tying up that loose end, if they thought the Scuti could be contenders for the throne. But did the Sisterhood even know that the Scuti were descendants of Irenaeus? Unless there had been a spy listening in on our conversation in Sergeant Avogadro's office, the only people who knew were the Scuti, maybe their hosts, myself, and Avogadro. Had he told the Marshal? It was never mentioned during my interrogation and trial. Who else had a reason to attack the Scuti?



"I'm concerned about this Army, Your Highness," Thomson said as I approached. "They won't be a match for the Imperial & Royal Army, even in its present state. The Shrub Auxiliary could even defeat this mob. They are undisciplined and untrained."

"I'll teach 'em how to kill!" Burnside shouted happily behind me. She pulled a large knife out of her Elfintory and dashed down the steps into the yard.

"You can't deny their enthusiasm," I pointed out, listening to the boisterous cheers and screams and clattering metal. "Look, we already have a regimental drummer helping keep up morale." I pointed to a rotund rodent who was beating out a martial rhythm on an overturned bucket.

"A chubby wombat thumping a tub?" Thomson scoffed. "IS THAT MUSIC??"

"NOT ANYMORE," I yelled over the racket as a trio of baglute players joined the wombat.