The Ballad of Adler Young, Canto 2.5

Adler, find a large number of various manuals. The problem? You can't make heads or tails of them. Only half the books and scrolls are written in a language you can understand, and even those appear to assume the reader to already have advanced knowledge on the subject.
Despair.

Lowfolk, turn out to be too greedy to spend the elfgold quickly. Stash it, and not finding it later, believe that it was stolen. Blame someone and thus start a long lasting feud.

>use the boring but thick books to fashion a crow-proof armor

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It looked like I had my work cut out for me.

With a sigh, I readied myself for a long and tedious study session. I reached into the bookshelf, pulled out one of the scrolls, unrolled it, and began to read.

Only half the books and scrolls are written in a language you can understand

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"Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit," the scroll began.

"What is this gibberish?" I exclaimed in dismay. It wasn't similar to Old High Elvish, or Standard Elvish, or any language I had ever seen before.

I pulled out one of the other scrolls and found that not only was it written in the same mysterious language, it contained the exact same text!! Another scroll was covered with cryptic diagrams full of dotted lines and numbers interspersed with blocks of the cryptic "Lorem ipsum" message again. Whatever it was, it must have been important for the scribes to have copied it so many times .. but unless I could find a Gibberish-to-Elvish translating dictionary, it wasn't going to be much use to me.

All of the scrolls turned out to contain the enigmatic text, so I set them aside and turned to the books.

those appear to assume the reader to already have advanced knowledge on the subject.

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This was slightly better - at least it was in a language I knew, but I quickly realized that the books were almost as useless as the scrolls. They seemed to be in some sort of code or technical jargon which assumed the reader already knew all the basic principles of operating the tower.

Tour Scryinge for Compleat Dummyes, the most basic of the guidebooks, still had instructions such as: "Elevayte ye Veeblefetzer to ye fourthe positione & apply Ebenezum's Equatione, rememberinge to applye Wuntvor's Corollarie to ye factorial resulte."

Nowhere among these books could I find a basic guide to explain what a Veeblefetzer was, nor how to work these equations.

>Who reads the manual? Just go straight to tinkering until something useful happens.
>use the boring but thick books to fashion a crow-proof armor

The only use I could see for these books was perhaps as shields / bludgeons for warding off crows the next time I went outside .. but that wasn't going to help me operate the scrying tower. Was it even possible for me to do so? I stared at the orb and thought.

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The last time I had been here, I had touched the orb. This caused it to show me a brief glimpse of a strange empty field, and then the orb had dissipated and the rings had fallen onto their pedestal. So, touching it was probably not the right thing to do.

Somebody must have come in here and repaired it, because clearly the orb was present and operating again now. I wondered who had done that, but there was no way to guess.

At a loss for anything else to try, I focused my mind and composed a Gramarye commanding the orb to open and let me use it.

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The next thing I knew, I was standing in the middle of the eerie plain that I had seen before.

>Oh, this again...
>A sudden wave of dread overtakes you, begin telling knock-knock jokes to yourself out loud in a vain attempt to keep from panicking.
>When you finally wake up, entire days have passed. You are overwhelmingly hungry and thirsty. Again.

>Is that tree far away or just really small? Let's find out!

Landscape in the scrying plane, be extremely contorted and unintuitive, even by Faerie standards.
Tree, bizarrely turn out to be neither small nor far away.

Adler, try focusing your mind on the weird text you found in the scrolls.
Experience what's it like to be written down on parchment.

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>A sudden wave of dread overtakes you, begin telling knock-knock jokes to yourself out loud in a vain attempt to keep from panicking.
>Is that tree far away or just really small? Let's find out!
Landscape in the scrying plane, be extremely contorted and unintuitive, even by Faerie standards.
Tree, bizarrely turn out to be neither small nor far away.

"Knock knock," I blurted in alarm, instinctively repeating the ancient formula for calming one's nerves when faced with the uncanny & unexpected. "Who's there? Adler. Adler who? Adler Young."

Having reassured myself of my own name and objective existence, I took a deep breath and began walking cautiously toward the creepy dead tree which I could see silhouetted on the horizon.

I had to stop and shake off a feeling of vertigo as my sense of perspective changed. The tree, it turned out, was neither as big nor as far away as it had first appeared. In fact, it wasn't even a tree at all, but a big crack in the invisible wall which apparently enclosed this scryspace.

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I leaned against the wall and peered into the crack.

Lowfolk, turn out to be too greedy to spend the elfgold quickly. Stash it, and not finding it later, believe that it was stolen.
Remember the story of the cobbler that left milk out for some elves and they made a bunch of shoes for him.
Lowfolk, start bringing Adler gifts.

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I could see below me, far away and yet strangely near, the two lowfolk I had met earlier. They were standing in the circle of stones outside the Gate.

"I'm having misgivings," the femme complained. "What makes you think he'll do it again?"

"He did it once already," the male replied. "Obviously he was hungry, and we all know hunger is a thing that comes back again, so it stands to reason if he was hungry before, then he's probably hungry now. It's been two days."

Had it been that long? Now that I thought about it, I was feeling hungry again.

"But we're prepared this time," the male lowfolk continued. "We didn't ask for anything before, so he gave us elf-gold."

"Are you sure about that?" the femme inquired. "It seemed real enough when we were rolling around and having venery on it."

"Heat of the moment," he shook his head. "I wasn't thinking. It had to be elf-gold because the next day our hiding place was full of pebbles and twigs."

"It could have been Hoppity. He has always been jealous of you. Maybe he followed us, and .. saw what we did, and then took the gold for himself."

"I doubt it, but then again it wouldn't hurt to go ahead and beat him up anyway. No, this time we've got a plan, and we've asked for something that can't turn into dirt, and will be tremendously profitable for us too."

"Are you SURE he'll do it?"

"All of the old tales are clear on this," he insisted, as he carefully placed his picnic basket in front of the entrance to the dolmen. "Come on now; we already know he's shy, so let's go away - and our trade items should be here in the morning."

You are overwhelmingly hungry and thirsty. Again.

With that, they turned and left.

I was feeling VERY hungry and thirsty now. I needed to get out of this scryspace and go fetch that basket .. but how? I had no idea how to shut this thing off and exit the scryspace when I was done. I tried walking through the tree-shaped hole, but somehow ended up stepping back into the area I had just left.

After floundering around for several agonizing minutes, I tried visualizing the scrying orb while composing a Gramarye ordering it to release me.

Instantly I was standing in the tower chamber. I grabbed one of the heaviest books and carefully opened the door.

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I dashed across the porch, swatting at crows with the book. I dove and slid towards the trap-door, leaving the book behind as I slithered nimbly into the opening and closed the hatch behind me.

>Lowfolk: Gold? Bah! You were hoping for shoes.

The picnic basket was right where I had seen the lowfolk put it. AMAZING! So that scry-vision was real, and not just a dream!

The basket contained a chicken leg, a hunk of bread, a small wheel of cheese and a small bottle of wine. Underneath the food were several pieces of folded leather, and a note.

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"THREE PAIRS, SIZE 9 1/2 WIDE" the note read.

>Adler: Dagnabbit! Not all elves make shoes! That's a harmful stereotype!
>Well, you better go looking to see if there are any shoes lying around, otherwise you're going to have to get really good at cobbling really quick.
>It could have been worse. At least they didn't ask for cookies.

>Adler: Oh they take you for a shoemaker now! You, an elven prince! You'll make them a pair of shoes all right, the fiercest pair of boots known to mortals that walk on their own and leap over mountains!
>Adler: Then again you kinda need to eat...
>Adler: Swallow your pride and accept your new reputation, but find someone else to cobble shoes for you. Even though you could just gramarye them up it is still below your status to work for a living. Onto the scrying plane!

Hmmm... Just what exactly did the lowfolk mean when writing that note? You assume they meant shoes, but with the note being so vague...

Maybe you can gramayre the leather strips into a shoe shape and them make it nine and a half palms wide? But wouldn't that make it the size of a smallish bathtub?

Maybe you should bank on the one thing you DO know hwo to make and leave them some of your famous stew ? They'll get hooked and asked for tht inzstead of shoes.

Adler: Look the around the tower and see if you can find any spare pair of shows
Adler: It seems odd that the crows have not killed each other yet, maybe someone is sending more and more birds after you Adler!

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Hmmm... Just what exactly did the lowfolk mean when writing that note? You assume they meant shoes, but with the note being so vague...

The vague wording of the note made me wish it could be interpreted some other way, but really it was pretty obvious that the reference was to shoes. I was quite familiar with the old tale of the Cobbler's Elves, who started out making shoes as a prank but then got trapped in a geas-contract. They were forced to work for no compensation beyond a meager dish of milk and a half-dozen cookies every night - and they weren't even good cookies! The moral of the story, as with most of these cautionary tales from the Long Ago, had been that one should take extreme care when dealing with lowfolk.

>Adler: Dagnabbit! Not all elves make shoes! That's a harmful stereotype!
>Adler: Oh they take you for a shoemaker now! You, an elven prince!

It irritated me to know that these doltish beings thought of me as nothing more than a magickal odd-job servant. I was a prince, confound it! Only one mischance away from being the crowned King of Faerie! I was not a shoemaker!

>Adler: Then again you kinda need to eat...

Unfortunately though, at present I had to rely on the goodwill of these idiots so they would keep bringing me food. I considered my options:

>Well, you better go looking to see if there are any shoes lying around, otherwise you're going to have to get really good at cobbling really quick.
Adler: Look the around the tower and see if you can find any spare pair

I could go searching around for a few pairs of shoes to steal, to fill the lowfolk's order .. but there were two problems I could see immediately with that plan. First, very few elves actually wore shoes, so they would probably be quite hard to find. Second, I would have to return to the scrying tower in order to conduct such a search, and I didn't feel like running the gauntlet with those crows again right now.

Additionally, how would I know that any shoes I found would be the right size?

>Adler: Swallow your pride and accept your new reputation, but find someone else to cobble shoes for you.

I could perhaps find someone to do the work for me, but that raised a whole crop of additional questions. Presumably I would have to use the scry tower to locate them, and then would I be able to speak to them, or was the tower strictly for observation only? My mother's brief contact with me suggested it might be two-way, but I had no idea how to make that work. Furthermore, what kind of deal would I have to make with the cobbler? No way was I going to share my food with him. It was barely enough just for me!

Even though you could just gramarye them up it is still below your status to work for a living.
Maybe you can gramayre the leather strips into a shoe shape

I could perhaps use gramarye to shape this leather into shoes, but I wasn't completely familiar with how shoes were constructed - and therefore uncertain how they would turn out. And anyway, such work was far beneath my dignity!

Maybe you should bank on the one thing you DO know hwo to make and leave them some of your famous stew ? They'll get hooked and asked for tht inzstead of shoes.

I briefly toyed with the idea of making some stew. After they tasted it, the lowfolk would surely be in my thrall .. but then again, I would have to find a cauldron, and start a fire, and use most of my lunch as ingredients. NO! These miserable lowfolk didn't deserve to taste my wondrous stew! It was completely presumptuous of them to come here, demanding specific rewards far out of proportion to the value of their picnic lunch! If they couldn't appreciate elf-gold, that was their problem, not mine.

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I ate the food, then gathered an armload of pine cones to fill the basket. I used the charred end of a stick to write "JUST WHO DO YOU THINK I AM??" on the note, and stuck it in amidst the cones.

Then I made myself as comfortable as I could under the dolmen, and waited for morning.

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Not long after first light, I heard the trees whispering amongst themselves that the lowfolk were coming, so I scurried to the top of the dolmen and concealed myself in a spot where I could see the picnic basket.

"What the?" the male exclaimed. "All the food is gone, but the leather is still here. And he filled the basket with pine cones! What a jerk!"

"What's that written on the back of our note?" the femme inquired.

"It says 'Just who do you think I am,'" he replied, slowly sounding out the words. "OH, I get it! He wants us to guess his name. We can't make him do anything unless we can command him by name."

"Well, judging by the description in the Chanson, he has to be Adler Young, the rebellious traitor whom the Queen of Elves trapped here for his crimes."

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"ADLER YOUNG!" the two lowfolk called out. "ADLER YOUNG, COME FORTH!! SHOW YOURSELF!"

They repeated this formula several times before stopping and looking at each other in confusion.

"They have to obey when you use their name," the male lowfolk insisted.

"Yes, but he's not appearing," the femme observed. "So I guess this isn't Adler Young we're dealing with."

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I observed these antics with a mixture of outrage and disbelief. The NERVE of these creatures, to think they could boss an elf around just because they happened to know his name! Where did they even get that idea, anyway??

On the other hand, I needed to keep these lowfolk sweet so they would continue bringing me food. How would Estvan have handled this? He (according to him, at least) had enjoyed many profitable dealings with lowfolk over the centuries. I wished that I'd had a chance to learn more from him..

It was also clear that I needed to do something about the existence of this so-called "Chanson du Percy" or it was going to cause me no end of trouble.

>Adler, your prejudice does you no credit. How could they possibly know any better when the only source of their knowledge comes from that nincompoop Percy. These lowfolk are going to be the only company you'll have for a very long time. You'd best learn to like them.
>Time to reveal yourself, make a show of it. Give em' the old razzle-dazzle.
>Explain that you were not the traitor, you were trying to save your brother from entire societies of scheming traitors, which is completely true. Don't cry at the mention of your brother and how everyone you ever loved or cared about is dead now, though, the last thing you need is to embarrass yourself in front of your prospective entourage. R-really, don't. -sniff-
>Lowfolk: Awkwardly and uncomfortably stare at the blubbering, emotional-wreck of an elf openly weeping in front of you. This... This is a lot less romanticized than all the stories made it out to be...

It was also clear that I needed to do something about the existence of this so-called "Chanson du Percy” or it was going to cause me no end of trouble.

Wasn't aware that 'the only reason you've get food and compagny who isn't trying to kill you' was now called trouble'.

> Might be time to get off your high ant your majesty. You're the prince of ruins, stuck in poisonous desert and most of your 'subjects' despise you. HYou better lear to compose with lowfolks fast because they are the only ones who will ever give you the time of day, and that's the truth of it.

>Of couse some judicious use of elfshotsz can sort of level the negociating fields and make sure they undertand who'se gonna be the boss there.

Adler: Snap and start yelling at the lowfolk, call them fat, stupid, ugly, and smelly.
Lowfolk: Genuinely have your feelings hurt.
Lowfolk: Genuinely feel bad about trying to force Adler to work for you, ask if there is anyway to make amends
A Malicious Unseen 3rd Party: Observe this exchange, with ill intent.

>Adler: Face the music. Let them believe that saying your name out loud summoned you. It'll be a fun gag, just like vampires and their 'having to be invited into houses' nonsense.

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These lowfolk are going to be the only company you'll have for a very long time. You'd best learn to like them.
Don't cry at the mention of your brother and how everyone you ever loved or cared about is dead
> Might be time to get off your high ant your majesty. You better lear to compose with lowfolks fast because they are the only ones who will ever give you the time of day, and that's the truth of it.

It really bothered me the way these lowfolk were making assumptions about their right to boss me around .. but on the other hand, they were pretty much my only chance of survival until I figured out a better way to get food and supplies.

But Fuma blast me if I was going to play fair with them!

>Time to reveal yourself, make a show of it. Give em' the old razzle-dazzle.
make sure they undertand who'se gonna be the boss there.
>Adler: Face the music. Let them believe that saying your name out loud summoned you. It'll be a fun gag

If they wanted to do the old "guess my name" routine, then I suppose I could play along. Elves of the Long Ago must have invented that shtick for a reason .. but I was going to work it my own way. Under no circumstances was I letting these filthy lowfolk bandy my actual royal name about. No, I would have to be tricky and deceptive. How would Estvan handle this?

I thought for a few seconds and devised a plan.

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"Ye blitherin' idiots!!" I yelled, in what I hoped was a convincing Sidhe accent. "Dolts! Dullards! Addle-witted spalpeens! Sure an' how can it be that ye've never heard o' Lord Randall?"

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I pooked down behind the lowfolk, and they seemed suitably impressed. I tried not to be intimidated by their formidable height, and kept talking loudly.

"Sure an' hand me that book, sirrah, that Chanson that ye speak so hoighly of. Tis simply implausible that a book about elves should fail to mention me."

The male lowfolk handed me his copy, and I flipped irritably through it, scanning the pages and muttering random words like "preposterous" and "hogwash" and "poppycock."

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"Hey ... is your name Randall?" the female asked after a few minutes.

"What?" I snapped back. "What?? Irrelevant! Forget oi mentioned it."

"It is Randall, isn't it? You're Lord Randall! You're Lord Randall!!" she cackled while hopping inelegantly from one foot to the other and pointing at me.

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"Faith an' begorrah," I groaned in mock defeat. I deftly slipped the book into my elfintory, and spread my hands in despair. "What an embarrasin' slip-up. All roight, colleen, sure an ye guessed fair an' square. What is it ye moight be wishin for, then?"

>Lowfolk Woman: Make the uncomfortably somber request that you wish that your sister didn't hate you...
>"Randall": Oh... Um... Relationship counseling isn't really your forte.
>Lowfolk Man: Ask for a really nice pair of warm boots so you can finally get through a winter without frost bite.
>"Randall": Oh for the love of... Again with the shoes.
Or
>Randall: Guess their names so you'll have power over THEM! Because that's apparently how this works.

>Lowfolk Woman: Make the uncomfortably somber request that you wish that your sister didn't hate you...
>"Randall": Oh... Um... Relationship counseling isn't really your forte.

>Suggest a wholesome threesome instead to avoid the awkwardness

So that's where "Randall" comes in....

>Lowfolk Mel: Wish for a hundred wishes. Get scolded by "Randall" and the Lowfolk woman.
>Lowfolk Mel: Ineffectually explain why that wish is "logical". Fail miserably.

Lowfolk Female: His hair is so beautiful, it is the greatest hair you have ever seen. So effeminate so not masculine, so girlish. Begin trying to braid his hair
Lowfolk Male: His hair, HIS HAIR! It reminds you of the first woman you ever loved, the most beautiful lowfolk woman who would have said that if she had this Faerie's hair it would make her ten times the woman she was
Adler: What did you do to ever do to deserve this, aside from killing everybody

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>Randall: Guess their names so you'll have power over THEM! Because that's apparently how this works.
>Lowfolk Mel: Wish for a hundred wishes. Get scolded by "Randall" and the Lowfolk woman.

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"I wish for a hundred wishes!" the male lowfolk declared eagerly.

"You can't do that," the female scolded him.

"Aye, my boyo, ye can't," I chimed in. "Besides, tis when were ye after bein' entitled to a wish at all, at all? Sure an' twas the bonny lass that guessed the name, not you."

"Lord Randall," the male lowfolk exclaimed. "You're Lord Randall, and I wish -"

"Doesn't count," I snapped. "Sure an' you already heard her say it, so that's not guessin' at all at all."

"LAME," he pouted.

"Rules are rules, me boyo. Or how would you like it if it's your name I was guessin' and ye had to do my biddin' if I guessed it right?"

"He will never guess Jerry," the male lowfolk thought, as clear as day.

"Sure an' grant me a hundred wishes ... JERRY," I snarled. "Doesn't feel so good, does it?"

"I'm sorry," he said, abashed and slightly astonished.

"Now then, colleen, tis no time for dillyin' nor dallyin' but sure it's wishin' for yer own heart's desire ye must be," I urged the female.

>Lowfolk Woman: Make the uncomfortably somber request that you wish that your sister didn't hate you...
>"Randall": Oh... Um... Relationship counseling isn't really your forte.
>Lowfolk Man: Ask for a really nice pair of warm boots

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"I really wish my sister Ethel didn't hate me," she murmured sadly .. and then I heard her think, "Because she loved Jerry and I had venery with him."

"Urggh," Jerry groaned. "Way to waste your wish, Trudy. You could have had fabulous riches! You could have had a pair of nice warm winter boots!"

"Hush, ye blatherskyte," I scolded him. "Tis her wish, not yours. Ah, but, Trudy me lass, sure an the counselin' o' relationships really isn't my line at all, at all. Might there be somethin' else, of a more practical an' material nature, that ye might be wantin' instead?"

Lowfolk Female: His hair is so beautiful, it is the greatest hair you have ever seen. So effeminate so not masculine, so girlish. Begin trying to braid his hair
Lowfolk Male: His hair, HIS HAIR! It reminds you of the first woman you ever loved, the most beautiful lowfolk woman who would have said that if she had this Faerie's hair it would make her ten times the woman she was

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"Well, now that you mention it," she muttered as she leaned close, fondled a lock of my hair, and immediately started to braid it. "You have the most gorgeous hair. So radiant! So lustrous! So silky! I wish I had beautiful hair like this."

"She's right, you know," Jerry added. "It's magnificent. I wish Ethel had hair like this."

"What do you mean by that??" Trudy snapped, tugging rudely at my follicles.

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"OW!" I yelled, swatting their hands away and jumping back. "Get yer uncivilized paws off me elfly locks an me noble tresses! Such a boon is not for the likes o' you! Sure an' ye've gone an' insulted me! Away wi' the lot o' ye! Trudy, send yer sister to me an' I'll see what I can do, but until then I'll parley no more with such a lot o' grabby gabblers! Good DAY t'ye!"

I pooked into the dolmen and focused my mind on mushrooms.

>Adler: When the wayward sister Ethel arrives, Goodness Gracious! She's the most beautiful lowfolk woman you've ever seen! She is most definately a lowfolk as she lacks the specific elfy features, but that drawback just adds a poetic tragedy to her unspoilt looks. You're so taken aback that you stand there gawking at her perfect visage.
>Ethel: Counter to your gentle appearance, your manner of speech is very coarse and shockingly vulgar. "So my stupid sister told me to come out here and talk to a smelly fairy with dumb hair."
>Adler: "Uuuuuhhhhh---" It's like an angel is speaking... Compose yourself and do the same spiel as earlier.
>Ethel: "Why do you have a fake accent?"

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Spoiler>Rumors begin to spread of the magic elf in the woods with perfect hair. Unfortunately, when rumors exchange hands so many times, things get twisted around. Eventually a bunch of Baldies who want their hair back show up bearing shoes for Adler to eat so that he won't turn to stone in the sunlight as a result of spending all his time mining for precious metals deep in the mountains.
>Adler: "How do you morons manage to keep messing up the folklore you came up with!?"

>You know, up close the lowfolk appeared surprisingly tall, even the female towered over you.
>Come to grips with the realization that you might, in fact, be a manlet.