Elf Whores

By: Some Generic Fantasy Writer

Notes: In case you haven’t figured it out, this is likely the most tasteless, warped parody you’ll ever read. If you like this, feel free to check out my other parody Space Bores. As for a lot of the errors in this story, the more the “better.” Certain RPGs, such as Dungeons and Dragons and MMORPGs, will be clearly referenced here, as they are clear examples of nerd fantasy. Chances are, if you write like this, you need some better ideas.

Cover Art: Scantily Clad Elf with Blond Hair holding a glowing magic stick with a vaguely phallic design.

Rear Cover contains “Advance Praise”:

“It’s Tolkien reincarnated! Buy this book!” -Another generic fantasy writer, paid handsomely

“This r0xx0rs cuz elfs r teh shit!” -Random forum-troll on LameFAQsDOTCon

“Plz have some 3mo kids! We r like sooooo d33p!” -FPDOTCom reviewer

“I think my standards just dropped by another level.” -The Editor

Prologue:

Once upon a time, there was a forest of elves. These elves were not high elves (as no crack was around), nor wild elves (as they had been tamed), nor dark elves (as they were light skinned). Instead, they lived in the woods in harmony with nature. The mean orcs attacked them, until the elves fought and one against them. The elves were unsure how to handle the remaining orcs, until a new figure came to power. He called himself the Tolkienfuhrer, and masturbated daily into the copies of his two favorite books, Lord of the Rings, and Mein Kampf.

The Tolkienfuhrer was enthralled by the similarities between the two. Both mentioned there were races so innately evil, they must be destroyed. To the Tolkien, it was the orcs and evil, dark skinned men from the south and Easterlings. To the Fuhrer Hitler, it was the Jews, the Slavs, and other lesser non-Aryan races. Both also mentioned intellectuals were evil, and only a cabal of light skinned people of the proper heritage could rule.

The Tolkienfuhrer got his name by combining those two names together. Not like he bothered thinking too much about any deeper ideas, like the real Tolkien’s antifascist essays or how evil and mean Hitler was. The name just sounded cool. So, the Tolkienfuhrer stood above his army of Nazi elves. “Sieg heil!” he saluted with his right hand upwards. “My soldiers, march with me into the lands of Generica, and we will have a final solution to the orcish question! May the lesser races fall before us! Sieg heil!” he yelled.

The Tolkienfuhrer then masturbated into Mein Kampf and then Lord of the Rings while his faceless, nameless Nazi elf soldiers chanted.

--

Meanwhile, in a Generic tavern, a very Generic party was meeting. Shirley Templar the paladin was playing an intellectual game of chess with Baka Teppo the samurai while Shirley Templar. Ravyn the half-elven thief dressed in black leather while stealing money from the Generic barkeep. Prissinathenchenya (but called Prissy) Arwench the elf-mage was casting elf-spells of elf-grace and elf-speech. The party’s leader, a brave hero known as Harry Imagoon. Harry was talking with his comrade Baka on what the party needed.

“So, Baka, get your katana sharpened?” Harry asked.

“No, dumbass. I haven’t used it since that dungeon crawl last weekend. I prefer this,” Baka mentioned as he pulled out his musket. “Much more damage, much cooler, and surprisingly reliable.”

“I thought you samurai found guns dishonorable! How would your lord daimyo take such a dishonorable samurai?” Harry asked, shocked.

“Contrary to the popular belief, historical samurai were avid fans and innovative users of the harquebus and other early firearms. Several famous and successful daimyo, such as Oda Nobunaga and Date Masamune, pioneered tactics such as snipers, entrenched artillery, constant rates of fire, and so forth,” Baka described.

“Baka, you’re not being paid to talk history and real samurai. You’re being paid to act like a Generic samurai, see?” Harry reminded. “We’re lucky we’re letting you and your girlfriend star together in this story. Now, act more like a samurai visiting Generica from the land of Japindiochinalayonesiastan.”

“You mean that place where the writer lumped every conceivable Asian stereotype together?” Baka grumbled.

Harry cleared his throat and pointed to the gaping plothole in the fourth wall.

“Oh, I mean…Domo arigato.” He bowed and rubbed the musket, muttering to himself. “One of these days, one of these days…”

Harry looked at Baka and his girlfriend Shirley go off together, probably to complain about the only job they could find since their old series Space Bores bombed. Harry then turned to Ravyn, who was composing ballads on her internal trauma and grief. She looked up at the hero, and said, “My life is so sad since I’m a half elf, and I’m pretty but no one likes me!”

Pretty whiny, for sure, Harry thought.

“I’ve been thinking of…” she stumbled with her words. “-Talking a level of bard.”

Harry almost puked out the ale (which was close enough to puke). “WHAT! Anything but that!”

“I’m serious! They’re my experience points, and I can do what I want!” she cried.

It’s a cry for help, Harry thought. “Now, I know you’re not being serious! Can’t you just go back to cutting your wrists like normal?”

“It’s down the block, not across the street, right?” she asked.

Harry nodded. “You can use my knife if you want.”

“It gets boring because my magic ring of healing keeps fixing it!” she protested.

“Why don’t you just take it off?” Harry asked.

“Are you crazy? I rolled a critical success on that evil wizard back there,” she noted. “I’d look so unstylish without it!”

“Anyway, we need some people for the party. We need a cleric and a ranger,” Harry ordered. “How about you go around and recruit a few with those?” he pointed at her chest.

“Oh, I recruited an awesome guy!” she whistled.

A young man covered in mascara, tight clothing, emo glasses, and with a bad comb-over entered the tavern. He had a long knife in his hands, and a book of badly-written emo poems under his other arm. He looked at Ravyn. “You make my hard life seem worth living, Ravyn,” he said in a pathetic tone.

“Harry, this is Malgoth the Emo Bard and Knife-fighter. Malgoth, this is my party’s leader, Harry,” she introduced both.

“I can’t say I approve, but I’ll keep an open mind. Tell me. What exactly is Emo Knife-fighting?” Harry asked.

Malgoth lifted his knife. “This,” he said as he cut one wrist, and then the other. Jets of blood began to blast out of each wrist. He died of blood loss within a few seconds, and the barkeep deep-fried his body into hamburgers soon afterwards.

“That was lame,” Harry noted.

Ravyn broke down in crocodile tears and began to write more emo poems back in her dark corner. Harry turned to his love Prissy.

“Hello, my dear. Have you find a cleric and a ranger for us?” he asked.

“Yeah. I found something even better: a cleranger!” Prissy piped.

“What the hell is a cleranger?”

“A cleric and ranger,” Prissy replied. “He said his name was Elron Hub-Ard, and introduced himself as a cleric of Xemu who had an “animal companion.” He should be waiting outside now.”

Harry stepped outside to see a strange sight. There was a creepy old guy eating a sandwich in one hand, and pulling a large wagon behind him. Inside the wagon was a giant whale with a stupid grin, box of chocolates, flowers, and was humming a Barry White tune. “Hello, I am Elron Hub-Ard, and this is my animal “companion” Humpy the Sperm Whale. May Xemu, God of Clam Sandwiches bless you!”

“Hey, why don’t we go on a quest against a Generic evil overlord now?” Harry asked.

And so the party went out towards a Generic evil stronghold, the castle of the evil vampire Count Chavula.