Update: April 16, 2022

Tomorrow is Easter.

Easter, like Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Mother's day is one of the worst days of the year. A day that celebrates children and motherhood. On November 14, 2013, while I was 8 month pregnant, and putting bags on the back seat of my car, three still unidentified attackers, brought golf clubs down on my back, breaking my spine and murdering my baby. I am legally blind and almost deaf, so I neither heard nor saw them coming. I read lips, so you must be facing me for me to hear you. Bring legally blind, you also must be less than 3 feet in front of me for me to see your lips, to know you are talking. Because of this it was very easy for them to sneak up behind me while I leaned into my car, putting bags on the seat.

They broke 3 vertebrae in my spine, the shattered bones severing my spinal column, permanently damaging many nerves. Because of this nerve damage I have limited use of my left arm and hand, difficulty breathing, my bladder and intestines no longer function properly requiring adult diapers, massive tremors in both hands prevent me from being able to do basic things like brush my hair or hold a spoon to eat. These are just things from the nerve damage. 

Additionally they broke my pelvis, my hips, and my knees.

I was paralyzed for 5 months. It took me 18 months to relearn to walk. Today I can walk on a very limited basis, aided by a cane, but every step is seeking pain, like lightning bolts going through my leg, across my pelvis and up my spine.

Because of this I was bedridden from 2013 to 2015. And all of that time I had no use of my hands, so I was not online either. And thus was unaware that during that time, a group of locals set to social media to build up massive slanderous rumors about me. They created a huge fairy tale meme of me being an Erotica author, a porn star, a transvestite, a male to female transgender, gay, and an alien abductee. I am none of those things but they spent 3 years, on hundreds of accounts on Facebook and Twitter, many of them fake "Eelkat" accounts where they were pretending to be me, building up this massive slanderous web of lies about me, and I had no idea they were doing it, until October 2021, 9 years after they started doing it.

April 10, 2015 a group of 74 locals, many of them wearing ku klux klan white hooded robes, arrived at my farm. 14 of them held me, Ben, my mother, and one of my 3 younger brothers down on the ice and snow while holding guns to our heads, while the others used cinder block bricks and a metal pole device with wire loops on the end, to beat and behead, 10 of my 12 foster children, then nail their heads to my door. The youngest was 4 years old. The oldest was 16 years old. They chanted "too gay for the family friendly town of old Orchard Beach" while accusing me, my pink Volvo, my pink motor home, and Ben of being gay, transgender, transvestite, and citing that guys were not allowed in Maine.

THIS is what gay haters in Maine do to people they THINK, might maybe, be gay, even though they are not.

No man, woman or child is safe in Maine, so long as these murders walk free. They will kill anything they determine to be gay, even if it is not, as can be seen my the murder of my children.

They also had hundreds of paperback copies of my books, burning them in a huge bonfire on my lawn while calling them gay Erotica and calling mean Erotica author and porn star. (I'm an author, I write a travel blog style series about a homeless man who backpacks his way across Maine, there is no sex in the series. I'm a Mormon, I've never written a sex scene.)

My family was murdered and I am crippled for the rest of my life, because of this group who has been slandering me on social media. But, at the time of these two attacks (November 14, 2013 and April 10,2015) me and my family were unaware of these slanderous rumors the locals of Old Orchard Beach and Biddeford, Maine were spreading not only on Facebook and Twitter, but by word of mouth around town as well.

May 2021, I started walking around town again, for the first time since being paralyzed 9 years ago on November 14, 2013, and it quickly became apparent something was seriously wrong with the locals.

I was unable to walk my dog on Main Street, Bradbury Street, Harvey Street, or Cutts Street Biddeford, where I have lived since becoming paralyzed, but not before gone outside, because of being paralyzed and bedridden and unable to walk until now…

I was unable to walk my dog on Main Street, Bradbury Street, Harvey Street, or Cutts Street Biddeford without being attacked, pushed off the sidewalk by random strangers running up to me and grabbing my cane and using it to push me in the road in front of cars while accusing me of being gay, transgender, or transvestite. Screaming "transvestite freak" while throwing rocks at me. Group of women joggers stopping to surround me and harass me while saying guys aren't allowed on their street. 

October 2021, my Volvo returned to my driveway after 3 years of being completely rebuilt, after the February 2019 attack on it with baseball bats completely destroyed it. Within 5 minutes of starting to repaint it, 2 men showed up in my driveway yelling about aliens and demons and Etoile and because of this I stopped painting fish on the door, painted over the fish and painted a portrait of Etiole instead. 

November 19, 2021 the red haired American woman from the 2016 High Street attack on my navy blue pick up truck, showed up on the porch here on Main Street. 

The location is 409 Main Street, the big white farmhouse Victorian on the 3way corner of Harvey Lane and Cutts street, right at the train tracks. It has 2 driveways one on Main Street and one on Harvey. There are multiple porches. It's the porch on the Main street side, that goes up the driveway alongside the abortive cedar tree hedge, where I park my painted Volvo. That porch is the one this woman shows up on. 

It's an elderly couple and mother in law who live there at that porch.  When they leave for work, this woman shows up when they are not home and stands on the porch bellowing like a fog horn screaming death threats at me, yelling crazy demon and alien slander about Etiole, making the claim of putting a bomb in the tail pipe of my car, screaming about suicide demons and evil eye curses, and yelling about someone named Todd Murphy (I don't know who that is, I get the impression he's a relative or boyfriend or ex of hers or something, but I don't any one by that name, so I don't know who he is. I don't know who she is either.) She looks to be maybe 30s to 40s aged. 

She was here again yesterday. She was bragging that she got a fight started with my mother and the Atwaters on Facebook, laughing about how easy it is to get my mother and her ex fighting and the old woman was giving her hell and telling her to get off the Atwaters Facebook and leave them alone. 

This happened less then an hour after my mother made the claim that a woman of the same short haired blond description, assaulted her and my father at an ATM machine, the blond woman claiming to my mother to be my father's girlfriend, my father claiming he never saw her before. 

All this happened on April 10, 2022, the 7 year anniversary of the murder of my foster children, and the blond woman who was here in my driveway after the ATM attack was bragging the anniversary is why she is instigating the fighting between my parents. 

I did not see the ATM attack, so, I do not know what happened other then what my mother and father are saying. 

I did however see her here in my driveway.

She does not live here. She's shows up in a silver pick-up truck driven by a small skinny blonde man. No one here at this building knows who she is.

There is another blonde woman, older sometimes with her. I do recognize the older woman. She's one of the November 14, 2013 golf club attackers. The one the others who were with her called "Claire". She looks to be in her 60s. Usually wears a blue denim button down man's worksheet as a coat. She sometimes drives a gold Volvo suv around 2004vintage, sometimes a silver Subaru suv, sometimes a mega sized white Nissan 4 door white pick-up truck, and sometimes a pine dark green pick up truck. She frequently has another older woman with her, who calls herself "Kendra" and has very, very long natural red curly hair, sometimes she wears big Janis Joplin glasses and sometimes cyberpunk cyclops lime green glasses, she frequently carries a small white poodle dog. The dog is often wearing either a purple dragon or a black skeleton costume. These 2 older women and a younger bald man are the 2013 golf club attackers who murdered my baby. This new younger blond woman and the 5 who are often with her, appear to be their relatives. The FBI believes they are part of a drug gang from Connecticut that call themselves "The Cyr Clan". According to the FBI the Cyr Clan was a gang that my uncle Bruce was involved with back in the 1960s in Boston before I was born. The FBI believes Bruce pissed them off in the early 2000s and that's what brought them up here to Maine.

The FBI believes they were after either one of Bruce's daughters or one of Bruce's sisters with both the November 2013 and April 2015 attacks.

One of Bruce's daughters also lives on Portland Ave in Old Orchard Beach and she also has a pink motor home. So there are TWO pink motor homes on the same street. This particular daughter of Bruce IS in fact a porn star. She's a pole dancer for a top less bar.

In 2016, there was another large scale attack, near duplicate to the April 10, 2015 attack. I never talk about it because it didn't happen to me. It happened to Bruce's daughter across the street from me. The attack on her family was bigger, bolder, and bloodier, than the attack on my family the previous year.

In 2017, a third similar attack happened in Biddeford to one of Bruce's sisters. Again I don't talk about it because it didn't happen to me.

Like I've said before there is A LOT MORE going on, then what you hear me talking about. I don't talk about what has happened to several of my cousins and their families both the Atwater cousins and the Murphey cousins- because it is not my place to do so. That's why you ONLY hear me talking about what directly happened to me personally and never mentioning the rest.

And I've not said everything that happened to me. A lot more has happened to me then you hear about because the FBI has specifically requested I don't talk about specific aspects of what happened to me and my children, because a lot was never released to the public, because they want to see who knows what. Certain things no one in the public should know about and knowing those things marks you as involved. This new young blonde woman KNOWS several of those things that were not released to the public and yells those things. Which means she is VERY INVOLVED with the murder of my children. 

Like I said until summer and fall of 2021 when started walking again for the first time in 9 years, I was unaware of the local gossip that was falsely accusing me of being gay, falsely accusing me of being transgender, falsely accusing me of being transvestite, falsely accusing me of being a porn star, falsely accusing me of being an Erotica author, or falsely accusing me of being an alien abduttee. 

I have lived here since 1975. You people know me. You people knew my murdered children. You people know I'm a cis female. You people know I'm not gay. I have published 138 novels and more then 2,000 short stories since 1978, and I  have sold 27k copies of every one of them to you people who come to my house and buy them in person, so you've read my books and know they are not Erotica. You people know I've been a devoted orthodox LDS Mormon my whole life, and that I've been with Ben for 37 years, so you know I'm not a porn star. 

What is wrong with you people? My family was murdered and I have spent 9 years recovering from medical hell, and I go outside for the first time in 9 years and find you people who know me have all devolved into gay hating, sex spewing, gibberish slandering gossips spreading vile, evil, malicious rumors and lies that you yourselves know to be untrue?

No wonder not a single one of you have helped my family through any of this. No wonder not a one of you ever once visited me at the hospital or my home after I got out of the hospital and couldn't go outside because I couldn't walk. 

You don't see me for 9 years because I'm bedridden and you're all to cold hearted to stop by and check in on me, and you spend that 9 years spinning wild, crazy transphobic, gay hating, sex filled lies about me?

What is wrong with you people?

You all let some stranger, who very likely IS the murderer, convince you of crazy ass slandering lies, that you people know to be untrue. 

You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves. 

Every resident of Old Orchard Beach and Biddeford, Maine,  you all ought to be ashamed of what you have spent the last 9 years doing.

This new younger blonde woman, she's the one who keeps saying my car has a suicide demon in it and yelling about Todd, saying my car caused him to die.

I don't know who she is, but she's the same one who used to show up at 27 High st, also Biddeford and scream "nasty bitch" at me and acuse me of being an Erotica author and porn star. (Which she did during several Witcher 3 livestreams on Twitch, you can see her doing it if you go back and watch my VOD). I am neither an Erotica author or a Porn star, and she had throughout 2016 to 2019 arrived at High st with 5 others, one a blond man with a silver pick-up truck, one a black man with a yellow Mitsubishi with new York plates, one a very obese woman with blond Shirley Temple sausage curls, and the other two hooded men with a navy blue Buick sedan. If you remember the Christmas Eve 2016 livestream when the gang attacked my high st apartment and screaming "transvestite freak" that's them. This that same woman who also slanders me by calling me transvestite and transgender, which I am neither. I am a cis female, I've had 7 miscarriages, and the 1 baby that made it full term was murdered November 14, 2013 by 3 people with golf clubs, who are suspected to be, these same people. 

One day when I went downstairs to get the mail on high st, a mailbox that was in the lobby and you had to go through 2 sets of doors and foyers to get to, she had her hand in the mailbox and when I came out the door she yelled "I wasn't stealing your mail" threw our mail on the ground and ran off.

She knows the Martals, (Aunt Barbara ex, uncle Paul Martal,  the one in prison for building the Boston Marathon bomb in 2013, Mike's father, those Martals) she was staying with them for a few months in 2016. Is somehow connected to Barbara (the one who wrote all those emails in 1997 pretending to be me, when I did not yet have email or internet or a computer at the time, and I had not yet heard of email and didn't even know what email was, back when Barbara wrote all those alien abduction emails about Etiole and pretending I wrote them.)

She has short straight blond hair and sometimes dyes it dark red or purple. I know she follows both me and my mom and most of the Atwaters and my 3 younger brothers (though not my 2 older brothers as the oldest is in prison and the 2nd oldest is dead) on Facebook because she keeps saying that "I read on Facebook…" when she's in my driveway.

She shows up at Walmart to yell at me sometimes, and sometimes shows up while I'm walking Mickey. She talks about Etiole and White Monkey a lot when yelling, which is strange because that's stuff Brucie and Daddy used to write in their letters to Bishop Morgan back in Cape Elizabeth in 1990s. 

I'm not the one who calls him Etiole that's always been Bruce and Barbara who did that. I know his real name and use his real name.. They don't know his real name. And my father is only one who uses the term White Monkey. The white monkey was Helen Pearlys pet back in 1970s, it had nothing to do with Etoile, I don't know why he keeps saying it does.. My father is the only one who ever makes that connection. I've never called Etiole a demon or alien, again that has always been my father, Barbara and Brucie who said the alien and demon stuff. I don't believe in aliens or demons, but they do. (Etiole if you don't know is a local elderly homeless man who has backpacked around New England since 1953, and since 1978 I let him camp on my farm in Old Orchard Beach when he's in the area. He's covered with scars from WW2 and they call him an alien and demon because of his scars. They refuse to believe he is a human, which just goes to show how absolutely stupid they are.)

In November an elderly man came over and started asking me why I was emailing him about Etiole and I'm not, I don't use email. He said he was getting over 300 emails a day about Etiole all claiming to be from me. He said there are hundreds of email addresses getting copies of this email. You remember when Barbara and Brucie used to send emails back in 1997 claiming they were from me but we didn't have computer or internet back then? I think it might be Barbara sending those emails again like she did back then. I can't think of who else could be doing it.

This sometimes blond, sometimes red hair, sometimes purple hair woman, also mentions these emails when she is in my driveway yelling at my Volvo at 409 Main street. 

FBI agent Andy Drewer has found and shut down, so far 27 Facebook accounts, all pretending to be me. He said all of them were owed by Brucie. These fake "Eelkat" accounts appear to be the source of a lot of what this blond woman says and is suspected that she may be one of the people behind writing them.

Keep in mind, Brucie is dead. He may have started those Facebook accounts, but he ain't the one writing them. He died 3years ago.

Mervin Bruce Atwater died from Covid19 on November 24, 2019.

The fact remains you ARE impeding an FBI investigation into the murder of my family, and only someone involved would have any reason to do that. ONLY someone connected to the murderer would have a motive to try to stop the FBIs investigation. That makes you an accessory to murder. You make yourself look VERY GUILTY of being involved every time you spread slanders about me, my car, or Etiole. 

Do consider that the source of your slander in all likelihood is the murderer, please tell FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322 at the Portland FBI office on Middle street, the name of the person who is telling you to slander me.

And now tomorrow is Easter. 

A day when mothers take their children on Easter egg hunts.

My children are dead.

My children were murdered. 

And you people have spent the last 9 years making fun of that.

Think about THAT tomorrow when you are out on Easter egg hunts with your babies.

Think about how YOU would feel if it was YOU. How would YOU feel if it had been your baby who was murdered and this entire town was spreading bullying slanderous lies about YOU.

If you know who this blond woman is, please tell FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322 at the Portland FBI office on Middle street. She is wanted for questioning about her connection to the November 14, 2013 murder of my baby and attempted murder of me, and the April 10, 2015 murder of my foster children and the September 26, 2016 hit and run attack on my car and the February 2019 vandalism to 27 High st apartment building, and the November 2021 attack on my Volvo and the March 10, 2022 attack on my Volvo and the April 10, 2022 ATM attack on my parents. 



Update April 11, 2022: Do you know who this woman is?

This woman that my mother is talking about, have any of you ever seen her? Does anyone know who she is?

It isn't that woman who keeps coming on the porch and yelling at my car is it? Do any of you know who the woman attacking my car is?

The location is 409 Main Street, the big white farmhouse Victorian on the 3way corner of Harvey Lane and Cutts street, right at the train tracks. It has 2 driveways one on Main Street and one on Harvey. There are multiple porches. It's the porch on the Main street side, that goes up the driveway alongside the abortive cedar tree hedge, where I park my painted Volvo. That porch is the one this woman shows up on. 

It's an elderly couple and mother in law who live there at that porch.  When they leave for work, this woman shows up when they are not home and stands on the porch bellowing like a fog horn screaming death threats at me, yelling crazy demon and alien slander about Etiole, making the claim of putting a bomb in the tail pipe of my car, screaming about suicide demons and evil eye curses, and yelling about someone named Todd Murphy (I don't know who that is, I get the impression he's a relative or boyfriend or ex of hers or something, but I don't any one by that name, so I don't know who he is. I don't know who she is either.) She looks to be maybe 30s to 40s aged. 

She was here again yesterday. She was bragging that she got a fight started with my mother and the Atwaters on Facebook, laughing about how easy it is to get my mother and her ex fighting and the old woman was giving her hell and telling her to get off the Atwaters Facebook and leave them alone. 

This happened less then an hour after my mother made the claim that a woman of the same short haired blond description, assaulted her and my father at an ATM machine, the blond woman claiming to my mother to be my father's girlfriend, my father claiming he never saw her before. 

All this happened on April 10, 2022, the 7 year anniversary of the murder of my foster children, and the blond woman who was here in my driveway after the ATM attack was bragging the anniversary is why she is instigating the fighting between my parents. 

I did not see the ATM attack, so, I do not know what happened other then what my mother and father are saying. 

I did however see her here in my driveway.

She's the one who keeps saying my car has a suicide demon in it and yelling about Todd, saying my car caused him to die.

I don't know who she is, but she's the same one who used to show up at 27 High st, also Biddeford and scream "nasty bitch" at me and accuses me of being an Erotica author and porn star. (Which she did during several Witcher 3 livestreams on Twitch, you can see her doing it if you go back and watch my VOD). I am neither an Erotica author or a Porn star, and she had throughout 2016 to 2019 arrived at High st with 5 others, one a blond man with a silver pick-up truck, one a black man with a yellow Mitsubishi with new York plates, one a very obese woman with blond Shirley Temple sausage curls, and the other two hooded men with a navy blue Buick sedan. If you remember the Christmas Eve 2016 livestream when the gang attacked my high st apartment and screaming "transvestite freak" that's them. This that same woman who also slanders me by calling me transvestite and transgender, which I am neither. I am a cis female, I've had 7 miscarriages, and the 1 baby that made it full term was murdered November 14, 2013 by 3 people with golf clubs, who are suspected to be, these same people. 

One day when I went downstairs to get the mail on high st, a mailbox that was in the lobby and you had to go through 2 sets of doors and foyers to get to, she had her hand in the mailbox and when I came out the door she yelled "I wasn't stealing your mail" threw our mail on the ground and ran off.

She knows the Martals, (Barbara ex, uncle Paul Martal,  the one in prison for building the Boston Marathon bomb in 2013, Mike's father, those Martals) she was staying with them for a few months in 2016. Is somehow connected to Barbara (the one who wrote all those emails in 1997 pretending to be me, when I did not yet have email or internet or a computer at the time, and I had not yet heard of email and didn't even know what email was, back when Barbara wrote all those alien abduction emails about Etiole and pretending I wrote them.)

She has short straight blond hair and sometimes dyes it dark red or purple. I know she follows both me and my mom and most of the Atwaters and my 3 younger brothers (though not my 2 older brothers as the oldest is in prison and the 2nd oldest is dead) on Facebook because she keeps saying that "I read on Facebook…" when she's in my driveway.

She shows up at Walmart to yell at me sometimes, and sometimes shows up while I'm walking Mickey. She talks about Etiole and White Monkey a lot when yelling, which is strange because that's stuff Brucie and Daddy used to write in their letters to Bishop Morgan back in Cape Elizabeth in 1990s. 

I'm not the one who calls him Etiole that's always been Bruce and Barbara who did that. I know his real name and use his real name.. They don't know his real name. And my father is only one who uses the term White Monkey. The white monkey was Helen Pearlys pet back in 1970s, it had nothing to do with Etoile, I don't know why he keeps saying it does.. My father is the only one who ever makes that connection. I've never called Etiole a demon or alien, again that has always been my father, Barbara and Brucie who said the alien and demon stuff. I don't believe in aliens or demons, but they do.

(Etiole if you don't know is a local elderly homeless man who has backpacked around New England since 1953, and since 1978 I let him camp on my farm in Old Orchard Beach when he's in the area. He's covered with scars from WW2 and they call him an alien and demon because of his scars. They refuse to believe he is a human, which just goes to show how absolutely stupid they are.)

In November an elderly man came over and started asking me why I was emailing him about Etiole and I'm not, I don't use email. He said he was getting over 300 emails a day about Etiole all claiming to be from me. He said there are hundreds of email addresses getting copies of this email. You remember when Barbara and Brucie used to send emails back in 1997 claiming they were from me but we didn't have computer or internet back then? I think it might be Barbara sending those emails again like she did back then. I can't think of who else could be doing it.

This sometimes blond, sometimes red hair, sometimes purple hair woman, also mentions these emails when she is in my driveway yelling at my Volvo at 409 Main street. 

FBI agent Andy Drewer has found and shut down, so far 27 Facebook accounts, all pretending to be me. He said all of them were owed by Brucie. These fake "Eelkat" accounts appear to be the source of a lot of what this blond woman says and is suspected that she may be one of the people behind writing them.

Due to the incident yesterday it is now also believed that she is the mystery blond woman who pretends to be my father's girlfriend and harassed my mother for no reason other then to get a laugh on watching my mother fight with my father (something they do quite violently in public places, in stores, just everywhere.)

If you know who this blond woman is, please tell FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322 at the Portland FBI office on Middle street. She is wanted for questioning about her connection to the November 14, 2013 murder of my baby and attempted murder of me, and the April 10, 2015 murder of my foster children and the September 26, 2016 hit and run attack on my car and the February 2019 vandalism to 27 High st apartment building, and the November 2021 attack on my Volvo and the March 10, 2022 attack on my Volvo and the April 10, 2022 ATM attack on my parents. 



Update: April 10, 2022, big violent attack, as police and FBI expected.

Today is the 7th anniversary of the murder of my family. Remember I said to watch who does what today?... My father just beat the hell out of my mother, tried to kill her. She is right now refusing to call the police. My mother claims she caught my father with a girlfriend he's had for several years now. But near as I can tell, all he did was stop to tell some random stranger how to use the ATM machine. Note, they got divorced in 1994, my mother left my father for another man, left the other man for another man after that, and left the next man for Wayne. She's been with 2 other men (possibly more) since Wayne. She has not been a part of my father's life for 30 years, but feels the need to control his life and harass him on extreme violent levels. If he does have a girlfriend, so what? She left him 30 years ago.

Wayne died during the cat court case, the 2nd one, when he sued my mother for stealing his cats and putting them in my motorhome. Wayne's father, 8 of his cats, and then Wayne himself each died a few weeks apart all from rat poison. Wayne's daughter sued my mother claiming my mother put rat poison in their food.

The fbi believes my mother did kill Wayne and his cats and believes that's why she put his cats in my motorhome. Fbi believes my mother was one who called police April 10, 2015, expecting them to arrest me, take the motorhome, and return the cats to her. She did not expect police to take cats. All the harassment and vandalism of my mom's cars is believed by fbi to be Wayne's daughter friends and relatives and family.

My family, my children were murdered in 2 attacks, one on November 14, 2013 and one on April 10, 2015, both attacks are believed by the FBI to have been attacks that were intended on my mother and the people hired mixed me and her up.

April 10, is my mother's father's birthday by the way, David Henry Atwater, it's WHY she does everything she does, all her wild crazy vandalisms to people on April 10 every year since the 1950s.


April 6, 2022 update, as the attacks on my family and property continue and now more people are in the hospital

Daddy has sepsis and they keeping him in hospital for a few days.

Sepsis is very bad.

That's what I had.

You can die a few hours after it sets in if not treated.

When I was in the hospital in 2014.

That's why I was in the hospital.

I had surgery for it in march 2015.

That was the surgery on my arm.

Sepsis was in a major artery in left arm to heart. 

Side effect from when I was in hospital November 2013 when I was in wheelchair and February 2014 when I was on crutches relearning how to walk. Doctors was focused on my hip and not my spine. They didn't find the source of infection until until the mri in June 2016. 

Sepsis is why I can't walk without cane and why my lungs are messed up and why I have tremors and can't use my hands good anymore. Sepsis infection was so back it damaged my nerves. I was scheduled for spinal column surgery September 2016, they sent me to a neurosurgeon who was supposed to be top brain surgeon in New England and he did more mri and then canceled surgery because damage to my vertebrae (from golf club attack November 2013, which is what caused all of this, including the Sepsis and is the attack that brought the fbi here they think Mark wife did it but college had no security cameras at the bug light parking lot, they investigating Mark family, Barbara family,  and Brucie family. Charges of murdering my baby and attempted murder of me) is so bad. Shattered vertebrae bone fragments are severed into my spinal column nerve bundle at the sacroiliac joint where the hip and pelvis connect to spine. Neurosurgeon said he can't operate because of how nerve damage is, said if he removed bone fragments I would be paralyzed from neck down. But that is also when the source of Sepsis infection was found to be in my spine and not my hip, and that is when it finally went away because they were able to target the correct place to fix the infection.

Mark’s wife is the #1 suspect the FBI is watching, because, according to the FBI, this mysterious Mark guy, whom I have never met, never heard of prior to this, have never talked to, and have never seen, so I have no clue who he or his wife are… according to the FBI, he is friends with my mother, but only via her FaceBook account, where she hired him to put in a septic system, then gave him MY address in Old Orchard, while making the claim that SHE owned both MY land and MY motorhome, and when he asked for a picture of her so he would know who she was, she gave him a picture of ME, not herself.

According to FBI agent Andy Drewer THIS is the reason why the backhoe was driven over my house August 8, 2013 and why the golf club attackers attacked me on November 14, 2013.

According to the FBI, my mother was trying to get my land so she could sell it to use the money for a down payment on a house in Kennebunk and she used this Mark guy as her pawn to do it, by fighting with him on social media using “fake EelKat” accounts to convince him that he was dealing with me, even though I had never heard of him before.

According to the FBI, my mother started sending his family death threats, in the same way she is currently sending Todd Murphey’s family death threats, and that this is why Mark’s wife attacked with the golf clubs, murdering my baby and crippling my spine. According to the FBI, Mark’s wife thought she was attacking my mother and was unaware that both my mother, her sister Barbara, and her brother Bruce’s wife Doris were all impersonating me, using 27 different “fake EelKat” FaceBook accounts to scam Mark’s family about a septic system.

This was confirmed by the Old Orchard Beach police in October 2016, when Mark attacked my mother in person and was arrested by OOB police, that day. He made the claim, that she, my mother, was me, but the officers in question, Robin and Will, both know me and my mother and informed Mark that this was not me that he was fighting with, it was my mother, to which he said this was the woman he had been dealing with since June 2001 who had called herself EelKat in every correspondence. The police showed Mark pictures of me and he said he had never seen me before and had no clue who I was.

This event October 2016, is when both the police and FBI started expanding their investigation, now looking for people who were friends of my mother, her sister Barbara, and her brother Bruce, and that is when they found the identity of long time stalker and bomb builder Kendra Silvermander who turned out to be a FaceBook friend of all 3 of them.

After Mark’s gang found out October 2016 that I was NOT the person they had been fighting with online, but rather it had been my mother impersonating me, the attacks on my family stopped but the attacks on my mother’s family started February 2017 when a road grader drove 75 feet up her driveway and flattened her car. Since then this event was repeated with 3 more cars.

In August 2021, My mother and her sister began impersonating me on FaceBook and with emails, yet again, and as they had done in the past, used my friend Etiole to do it. Once again, calling him a demon and an alien and a cryptid, and once again pretending to be me, they wrote a lot of emails and started mass spam sending them to every Maine email address they could find, at a rate of sending them to several thousand people a day.

I found out about this in November 2021, after Etiole was shot, gunned down by 6 people at Rotary Park in Biddeford, Maine on November 21, 2021, by people who claimed to be from Scarborough, Maine and claimed to be the mother and in laws of some guy named Todd Murphey.

I still have no clue who Todd Murphey is, but apparently he used to work with my mother and commit suicide recently and my mother and her sister took advantage of his suicide to yet again pretend to be me, and this time, calling Etiole a suicide demon, started harassing this Todd guy’s ex wife, son, and mother on FaceBook and via emails while pretending to be me. Which caused these people to show up at my 409 Main Street/Harvey/Cutts street Biddeford apartment to vandalize my car and cut all the wires off the apartment building, not once, but twice: on Thanksgiving day 2021 and again on March 10, 2022, because these friends and family of this Todd guy are 100% convinced the nut they are dealing with on FaceBook is me, when in fact, the one they are dealing with is no me, but rather my mother yet again pretending to be me.

This is also what led to the December 2021 and January 2022 FBI raids in the Cutts Street are of Biddeford, just a few weeks ago, which led to the arrests of 8 people.

Back to sepsis…

On December 24, 2021, my mother arrived here at 409 Main street and stole my father’s 14 medications that he takes for his triple by pass, his kidney dialysis, his diabetes… and then, she took him in her car, drove to his doctor, and told his doctor, he’s not allowed to have medicine, because he has to do what she says.

He has not taken his medicine since December 24, 2021, it is today April 6, 2022, and he is struggling to stay alive.

All of this is because she is hell bent on a house in Kennebunk and doesn’t give a shit that she has caused my baby to be murdered November 14, 2013, my foster children to be murdered April 10, 2015, me to be going through a decade long medical nightmare after being crippled November 14, 2013, 5 of my cars to be destroyed including The real Cristine The World’s Most Haunted Car that Stephen King based his Cristine off of, my house -the one that was in the Thinner movie- to be driven over by a back hoe, and now my father dying in the hospital.

Death and destruction at every turn, and she doesn’t give a shit because, as she puts it: “What are we going to do about Wendy? She can’t keep that land, I need a house in Kennebunk!”

Her obsession with getting a house is utter ludicrous insanity, that needs to be stopped before anyone else dies at the hands of her fucking retarded FaceBook friends who blinding attack, vandalize, and beat up anyone and everyone on her command.

I am so fed up with her blind devotion to a fairy tale house she thinks she has to have, at the expense of the lives of everyone around her.



March 30, 2022, update on yet another attack on my family and land

Police take notice. 


Scam artists have been bringing real estate agents onto my property in attempt to illegally sell my land. They have no right or permission to be here. My land is NOT for sale. If you see them doing it, please arrest them.

These are the Scottish Travellers. They arrive here every summer, harassing my family for four decades now. They are the same ones who drove a backhoe over my house August 8, 2013. The same ones who crippled me and murdered my baby November 14, 2013 with golf clubs, leaveing me paralized with a broken spine ever since. I am cripled with a shattered spinal column since the golf club attack and am bedridden weeks to a time unable to sit up or get out of bed. I have rebuilt my house 5 times in the past 9 years, and their attempts to steal my land and sell it have been barbaric and violent, and icluded a bomb that blew up my house October 18, 2006, and most of my family is now dead, murdered at their hands. These are the same people who cut my 1964 Dodge 330 in half May 10, 2010. They arrived back here September 19, 2020 and illegally cut down most of the trees across my lawn, and arrived again November 19, 2021 and for the last 20 years they arrive every summer with a green dump truck and dump garbage on my lawn. In 2014 they left a pile of garbage 175 feet long, 30 feet wide and 12 feet tall and it cost me $12,000 to have it removed. I am crippled and elderly and there is no one to help me against their harassment.

There should NEVER be anyone other than me EelKat Wendy C Allen (with the painted Volvo) or my partner Benjamin Wildes (with the blue Honda) in my yard at 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine, where the ink motorhome is parked. If you see ANYONE ELSE or any other car in my yard, please call the police immediately. There is no one else who has permission to be on my land.

My land is NOT for sale, if you see real estate agents, please inform them they are being scammed and the people trying to sell my land are NOT the legal land owners.

The FBI are on the look out for them as are the local police. If you see them in my yard, please notify both the Old Orchard Beach Police Department at 207-934-4911 and FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322 at the Portland FBI office on Middle street.





March 10, 2022 update on the most recent vandalism of my car

This is a copy of the letter that has been forwarded to the police departments involved. For this online edition some parts have been removed (so if you get to a place that seems like the topic changed abruptly, that is why) and the names are removed from the online version, but the version the police have, includes all the full names and contact info of all the people in question. And for those who have asked: yes, the police and FBI have talked to Etiole, they are fully aware of him, his health, his homelessness, etc.

Dear Sirs,

I feel I need to tell you what has been happening as it has gotten very much out of control the past few weeks. It's been slowly escalating for a few years and, if you look at my police record for both Old Orchard Beach and Biddeford, you will see dozens of reports for vandalism of my 1992 Volvo 240 (the painted one) at now 3 apartments in Biddeford, and vandalism of my land in Old Orchard Beach. In the past 6 months, a hyper escalation started with has become very out of control the past couple of weeks.

Last night, my car was vandalized again.  

As these events are taking place in both Old Orchard Beach and Biddeford, I'm giving this same letter to both departments, so events from both towns are listed.

I am Wendy Christine Allen of 146 Portland Ave Old Orchard Beach, Maine and 409 Main Street apartment 101 Biddeford, Maine.

There appears to be someone fairly local impersonating me online, and is raising hell with a lot of local people, inciting them to do very violent physical attacks on me, my Biddeford apartment, my Old Orchard land, and my car.

It's reached the point where I can not go to the store without having my car towed home, because it gets vandalized so bad while I'm n the store shopping. EVERY TIME I go to the store. I've been at a loss to understand why this is happening. I don't know who these people are or why they are attacking. On Thanksgiving day they cut all the wires off the Biddeford apartment building so we had no internet or heat or anything for a while. There is a "redhaired" woman who shows up on the front porch to cream at my car, every time the family who lives in that apartment goes to work. She stopped a few weeks ago, because the man who lives there fell on the ice, broke his shoulder and has not gone to work since. It appears she knows that family who lives there and does not want them knowing she does this while they are not home.

A few weeks ago an old man walked up to me, asked if I was EelKat and then asked me why I kept emailing him, and I said I don't email anyone cause I don't use email. He said some days he gets over 300 emails a day from someone claiming to be EelKat.

 

We are Gypsies, and though I've lived in America my whole life, I know very little of American habits and laws or what specifically to do in this situation. We are the Gypsies who were in Stephen King's Thinner movie and my 146 Portland Ave land was one of the filming locations of the movie and, the cars in the opening scenes were our cars, one of which I still have. I mention this, because, there are two Gypsy clans, The Atwaters (Scottish Travellers) and the Cyrs (Irish Travellers) fighting over my land and the fight centres largely around the fact that it was the filming location of Stephen King's the Thinner movie.

I own the land. From the 1940s it was owned by my grandmother Helen Ricker Allen. She left it to me in her will in 1983. Unknown to me, at some point after 1983, the Atwaters had the land illegally transferred into their names -they steal land this way as a full time career and many of them have illegally deed swapped land in all 50 states in America.

In 2014, I found out they are done an illegal deed swap, when an auction group showed up on my land to sell it. Upon discovery I had been living on the land since 1975 and paying taxes on it since 1983, but my name was not on the deed, the auctioneer (and member of the OOB town hall) cancelled the auction and ordered a town hall meeting to review the situation. Upon investigation it was discovered that when the land went from my grandmother to me, my father signed as "joint witness" and then a year later, went back to the town hall to have my name removed from the deed and his put on it, even though he had no legal write to do so. After that, the record shows that every 3 to 5 years, he and my mother swapped names on the deed, sometimes his name, sometimes her name. The land changed ownership names more then 30 times between 1983 and 2013. 

Because I have severe agoraphobia, I had not set foot off of my land since the 1970s. When it came time to pay the taxes, I gave my father the money and he delivered it to the town hall, or so I thought. In 2014, I learned that in spite of my paying my taxes like clockwork, since 2006, the town hall had no record of receiving any money. It is unclear where the money went. On one hand it looks like my father spent the money and never paid the taxes. On the other hand it looks like he sometimes did pay the taxes but instead of going to the tax office he gave the money to Kathy BR in the permits office and she gave the money to a guy called JB who went to prison for embezzling $3million in OOB tax money from the town hall. JB did not work for the town hall, he was a software designers who built the online banking security for the town hall to direct deposit money to the bank, and according to the FBI the money was going to his bank account not the town hall bank account, but he was only found with $30k not $3million. I don't know the full details, I only know this part, because when we tried to find out why my land was being auctioned this is the info we were given.

In any case, at some point my dad stole my land via just walking into the town hall and asking the desk clerk to remove my name from the deed and put his name on it instead. The whole thing was done illegally and without my knowledge or permission.

There were 3 lands originally. 144, 146, and 146a. My father stole all 3 of them. 144 was auctioned off to the Collard family in 2007, even though I was still living there until 2015 without any knowledge of the auction happening. No one informed me. I've since spoken with the Collards and they were unaware of the situation. They actually bought the land legally even though it was stolen land they had bought, they were unaware the land had been stolen. Everything has been straightened out between me and the Collards, they are not part of the current problem.

My mother owns 146a, but she owns it illegally. She claims it's rightfully hers because my father gave it to her, but, he stole it from me via illegally rewriting the deed, so he had no right to give it to her.

In 2014 and 2015, all the court and legal work was done to restore 146 back to me.

The current situation is my parents are in an active attempt to remove my name off the deed again, like they had done back in 1983.

On a daily basis my mother shows up and first words out of her mouth every day is: "What are we going to do about Wendy? She can't keep that land. I need a house in Kennebunk." to my father.  She started doing this in August, originally bragging that she was going to take my land out of retaliation for my refusal to cast death curses on Chris at work. I don't know who "Chris at work" is. It was one of the names on her list of people she wants me to kill via death spell curses. I was live streaming on Twitch the day she came in yelling about "Chris at work" and my need to kill him for her, so a lot of people online heard her saying these things. I'm a YouTube gamer, I have a livestream going almost daily for 12+ hours a day, so when she comes in, #1 it's breaking and entering because I didn't let her in, and #2 she is interrupting my live streams quite regular so I have hundreds of video footage clips of her saying these things and making these threats. The day she and my father cut the cable/internet wires off my apartment building - I have that on livestream footage as well. My father cut the wires off the house while my mother was ordering him to do it. In November 2021 and again 2 days ago March 9, 2022.

They both make the claim I don't need internet, because I am as they put it "being a bad daughter" because I "won't sell your land and give me the money for a down payment, I need a down payment, you are supposed to give me the down payment money for a house, I'm your mother!"'

As for what happened to my car March 9, 2022 - my father, my father vandalized my car and tried to make it look like my brother  did it. My father stuffed the tailpipe full of McDonald's ketchup packets that he stole from the Biddeford McDonald's where my brother works, which is what caused the fuel line to blow up. I could have died. My car is now being repaired again, for the exact same thing I had to have it repaired for in November 2021. My father tried to kill me and make it look like my brother who works at McDonald's did it so my brother would be blamed. Twice. Once in November 2021 and again 2 days ago.

My father did the same thing in November, because of some guy named Todd who I supposedly convinced to kill himself via may painting a "suicide demon" on my car. There is a picture of Etiole on my car, that is what they are calling "a suicide demon"

I don't know who Todd is, but I assume the Biddeford police know as they did spend a week scrapping the thousands of exploded parts of him off all the houses around Cutts st and South st, after he jumped in front of a train November 19, 2021 at 6:27PM. I was walking my dog and saw him, he was gibbering a lot of wild nonsense stuff like: "fibbery-gibbit-beebydi-booop-bop-boop-bop-booop-beeeeeeeep!" I amused he was either very drunk or very high on drugs or both and was attempting to make train sounds while he ran up and down the train tracks. I thought nothing of it, as he did this on a daily basis all summer long, he was a homeless man who lived in the ravine by the train tressal bridge over the river, the one the police kept chasing out of the black grain building turned storage units. There were 4 people on bicycles, driving circles around him bullying him, teasing him, taunting him daily around 3AM every morning. I saw them while I was walking my dog. It appeared to be his girlfriend and her friends based on the stuff she was yelling at him. Stuff like "You run off with that whore will you! WW I showed you! I killed your dog! Hahahahahaha! I killed your cat! Hahahahaha! And you ain't never gonna see your baby again! Hahahahaha!" I know every one says he commit suicide, but I think he was just running to get away from the harassers on the bikes and was too drunk to see the train. That's certainly what it looked like to me.

THAT was not a suicide, not what I saw happen. That was a man being bullied and chased down by four harassers riding bicycles up the tracks, driving him head on into a train on purpose to try to kill him so they could laugh about it. I wouldn't call THAT a suicide.

Anyways, I didn't know his name or that my mother was best friends with him. Though I had told her about the homeless man being bullied and her response was "Why should I care? It's just a homeless man!" She changed her tune quite a lot after he got hit by the train, and found out his name. The police contacted her or something, when they were trying to find his family. I guess she knew his family on FaceBook or something.

Since his death, me, my car, and my apartment have been attacked on a near daily basis from people who are making the claim that I am online spreading rumours and lies about Todd. I kept asking them who Todd was (because at that point I did not yet know they were talking about the homeless man hit by the train - though I saw him daily for about 4 months, ever since the police kicked him out of the storage until he'd been living in and he lived under the train bridge and in Rotary Park instead - he only ever spoke to me a few times - once to pet my dog and say "they took my dog" and saying "hi" as we passed on the sidewalk. So I never knew his name. He lived in a yellow pup-tent beside the tracks for a while, but one day it was laying out there cut to ribbons by a knife or scissors.)

Even though I only knew him from saying "hi" each night as we passed each other on the sidewalk and I never knew his name until after his death, more then a dozen people have arrived in my driveway (both the Biddeford and Old Orchard addresses) to accuse me and my friend Etiole and the words painted on my Volvo of being the cause of this Todd guy's train death.

They are focusing heavily on the words on my car, which say: "Have information about the murder of my family? Call FBI @ 207-774-9322"

There is a sign in my Old Orchard driveway which says: "Have information about the murder of my children? Call FBI @ 207-774-9322"

On November 14, 2013, at Southern Maine Community College, while I was 8 months pregnant, I was attacked by 3 people with golf clubs. A man and 2 women.

There is no reason for anyone who is NOT involved in the murder of my baby, to be upset about either the sign in my yard or the sign on my car, both of which are nothing more then the FBI phone number with the request for anyone who has information to call.

I don't understand why me asking for people to help find my baby's killer, is seen by my parents as such a huge threat. The only person who who feel threatened by that would be the person who hired the golf club people - Claire, Kendra, and the bald man - who have still not yet been found/caught/identified to this day 9 years later.

Both my mother and my father keep saying and I quote "take that shit off your car, you are only trying to start trouble!" and "get that sign out of your yard, you are only trying to stir stuff up". I'm trying to find the people who murdered my baby and left me crippled for the rest of my life. I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm not trying to cause trouble. How is me asking people to help identify the murderer, me trying to start trouble?

I was paralyzed for 5 months. I had to relearn to walk. I crippled the rest of my life, and my baby is dead. No one should have to live through this type of agony. And no one who commits crimes like this should be allowed to walk free. Would you stand back and do nothing, say nothing, while a criminal like that walked free? How is my asking people to come forward with any information they know, me trying to start trouble? You tell me that!

I'm not allowed to ask for help in finding the psychopath who murdered my baby and left me crippled for the rest of my life? What kind of logic is that?

Someone out there knows the names of these people. The older blond woman they called Claire, the younger blond woman with the Shirley Temple sausage curls, the red haired woman they call Kendra, the white haired man with the green pick up truck, the bald man with the 4door white pickup truck, the new redhaired women who screams on the front porch. These people, this group, they are the ones who were wielding golf clubs and murdered my baby. They are being allowed to get away wit murder and I'll spend the rest of my life demanding justice if I have to. You tell me, how is my asking if you know who they are, don't let them kill again, tell the FBI everything you know, by painting that request on my car and a sign in my yard, me looking to start trouble? My mother's priorities are fucked up. All she cares about is money, money, money, money, money, money, money, money! 

I'm the bed ridden, crippled by multiple attacks. The November 14, 2013 golf club attack, I was almost healed from, but the June 2016 shopping cart attack at my workplace at Scarborough WalMart re opened the 2013 injury and doctors can't operate this time because of the bone shards severing my spinal column. I'm crippled for the rest of my life and no one in this family ever cared. 

Both attacks the FBI wanted to talk to my parents and they refused to talk to him both times. My baby was murdered in the first attack. I was 8 months pregnant and all any of them would do was gibberish about "rosemary baby" and say there was no baby because it was a demon because it was Etiole's. My parents and the Atwaters hate Etiole that much, that they shun the existence of my baby and act like it was never there. That's how much they hate me. That's how cruel and hate filled they are towards me. They spent the last 50 years calling me demon possessed and them saying that is WHY local people attack me and killed my baby and left me crippled for the rest of my life. 

I am in bed 15 or more hours a day, I can barely sit up, I can barely stand up long enough to cook, I have to wear adult diapers since 2013 because half my organs don't work any more because the nerves from those organs to my spine are cut off. My hands shake so bad that it takes me hours to eat a single meal. I can't go back to college, I can't go back to work. But do they care? No. Not my mother. Not my father. Neither of them give a shit. They are both too damned selfish thinking about their own greed to ever once lift a finger to help me. Daddy treats me like a fucking slave and my mother is so far out of my life shunning me because bishop kenning in Saco ward told her too that she hasn't got a clue how bad things are.

I'm not doing a damned thing to any of them. I mind my own business. I write my novels. I don't contact them. I don't talk to them. I don't talk about them.  Someone is clearly pretending to be me online and is slandering me and getting sick of it. My mother flips out about everything thing under the sun and I never have a clue what she's talking about, because I never did or said any of the things she accuses me of. And my father and the Atwaters do the same thing. Some one is out there pretending to be me to get them worked into a frenzy just to sit back and laugh while watching my mother, my father, and the Atwaters be too damned stupid to think. My mother and my father and the Atwaters are all filled with so much pure hatred for me that it takes nothing to convince them to attack me. And whoever it is posting online pretending to be me, knows that and is taking advantage of it. 

They are obsessed with my land, because my mother's father used to tell people there was $7million in gold buried on my land. Several times over the years the Atwaters have invaded bringing with them shovels, pickaxes, and construction equipment, to illegally dig up my land. They've ripped up flowers, dug up bushes, cut down trees... usually they do it while I'm gone to the store, so I come back to find my property ripped to shreds. They've been doing this on an almost yearly basis since Grammy Helen died in 1983. According to what David Henry Atwater claimed, pirates buried treasure on my land in the 1500s. There is ZERO evidence that pirates ever buried anything on my land. Later he changed the story and said that the gold plates of the Book of Mormon Part 2 were buried on my land, this time he claimed an angel from god told him. So the Atwaters have multiple excuses for why they arrive to dig everything up, but it's always that they are gold crazy and have gold fever and are convinced if they dig long enough they'll find gold on my land.

The other obsession they have with my land is a homeless man they call "Etiole". They sometimes claim he is a demon, they other times claim he is an alien, for a few years they called him a cryptid, they often say he's the Mememegwasi spirit of the Saco River Curse, a few of them say he's a watcher/fallen angel, some say he's a ghost of an Indian chief, some say he's the ghost of a French solider, some have called him a Faerie/Leprechaun/FarDarrig ... and a whole slew of other claims. Regardless of what they call him, they all adimintly refuse to believe that he is just an ordinary human, an elderly homeless man who keeps to himself and desperately wants them to leave him alone. That's all he is. He's just a homeless man who lives in the woods and wants them to leave him alone.

The Atwaters are obsessed with Etiole on severe levels and have gone to alarming levels of monstrous harassment of him through the past 50 years. Part of their obsession with him, is caused by their previously mentioned gold fever. You see, Etiole travels all over Maine, I never know where he is at any given time, but when he's in the local area, I let him camp out on my land. I've let him stay with me like this for over 40 years. In the 1980s, one of the times they arrived to dig up my land, Etiole was sleeping in my 1964 Dodge 330, and according to them, he jumped out of the car and "threw blue lighten bolts" at them causing a tornado to destroy their construction equipment. They claimed he turned into a black serpent with red eyes and 6 blue wings that was hundreds of feet long, surrounded them and killed several of them by summoning lightning bolts. . . . uhm . . . yeah. I wasn't home so I didn't see this event, of Etiole supposedly attacking them. But it's pretty clear they had some sort of massive LSD hallucination, given many of them heavily used LSD back in the 1970s and 1980s when this event happened. According to Etiole, he just jumped out of the car and ran into the swamp to hide, he didn't see any of the stuff they described.

After that they got it into their heads that I had summoned a demon (and that Etiole was said demon) to protect my secret cache of pirate gold, and their battle cry of "kill the demon" is what caused them to blow up my house with a bomb October 18, 2006, drive over my house with a backhoe August 8, 2013, beat me up with golf clubs and murder my baby November 14, 2013, cut my 1964 Dodge 330 in half May 10, 2010. All those things you have all those police reports about.

They are convinced Etiole is in my yard to keep them from my gold. The only problem is, there is no gold on my land. Etiole is not a demon, and their extreme levels of harassment are utterly insane! 

But then, when they get caught on my camera, because I'm a daily vlogger, so the camera is running all the time, them they accuse me of harassing them, because their faces showed up on my livestream. Uhm... I'm on y own land, in my own bedroom, usually a few hours into my daily livestream when they get caught in the background trespassing. That's NOT me harassing them. That's them trespassing and vandalizing, and breaking and entering while not realizing I was home and them getting caught in the act of vandalizing and trespassing.

Then they run to FaceBook and make all kinds of wild claims about me stalking them. I'm crippled. I can't even get out of bed. Every time I have them on camera, it's because they were trespassing and breaking and entering. I'm in my bedroom livestream a game on my computer and they'll be smashing out windows and get mad that it happened to be the window in line with my livestream webcam on my computer. That's NOT be stalking them. That's me laying in bed playing Witcher 3 and them breaking in.

I'm too damned sick and crippled to even attempt to do half the crazy shit my mother and my father are accusing me of. And what's worse, my father is right here in the same apartment with me. He sees me every day, he knows how bad off my health is. 

Look how much I'm bleeding all over the house every day. Massive nose bleeds that last for hours to a time, not bleeding from my nose. Just coming out of my nose. I'm so dizzy I can't sit up for weeks to a time. I faint and blackout when I try to get up to go to the bathroom. The pain in my hip and pelvis and knee and spine is so bad I can't even move my fingers to type my novels. 

And look at what they do. Do they really think I'm physically capable of doing the things they accuse me of? They are so damned self centred and paranoid. It's all I can do just to sit up and eat something, how the hell do they think I can do the stuff they accuse me of? My day is spent focusing on trying to get my leg to move so I can make a meal, I don't even have time to think about them. 

It looks more and like my mother and my father are doing this stuff on purpose to try to kill me. My father knows how bad off my heart and lungs are and how difficult it is for me to breath after just a couple of steps. His mother left that land to me in her will in 1983. He stole it, had it put into his name illegally. He's been pissed ever since her death, because she gave everything to me not him. That's been a big problem for him for the last 40 years. He raves about it alongside his ravings about going to Utah taking him off the fire department. He hates my mother because of Utah, blames her every day for losing his fire department pension. He raves about it all night long every single night. He blames me for his mother disinheriting him. He raves about that all the time too. I was only grandchild That's why she left everything to me. Including the land that he stole and put in his name. That land is rightfully mine, his mother gave it to me, and he can't stand it. He's needling my mother about the land just to spite his mother.

He's only trying to get the land away from me because he is mad that the town didn't take it. His mother wanted it to stay in the family. It had been in her family since 1530. Her family was the original settlement family of Old Orchard and my land is that spot that the first house in Old Orchard was built.  My father stopped paying taxes to spite his mother and lose the land. He said so many times. He was angry when I bought the land back from the town. He still is. He wants it out of the family because his mother wanted it in the family. That's why he's trying to turn my mother against me over the land. Because he gates his own mother that much.

Keep in mind the 4 door white truck showed up at my workplace daily. Even though I never knew ahead of time what store I would be working at. I was a retail merchandiser and stocked shelves at dozens of stores all over the state. Walmart's every where, CVS, khols, sometimes local, sometimes as far as Freeport and once in Vermont and once in Massachusetts.  I got the notice of which store to be at 15 minutes before I left. So the only person who ever knew where I was going was my father. 

And yet the 4 door white truck would also arrive ahead of me and be waiting. They didn't follow me, they got their first.

And the police caught the truck and the driver in 2017. Kathy BR owned the truck. Her son was the driver.

The smith's are my parents friends. My mother's visiting and home teachers for years.

Kathy was the district emergency dispatch for all the towns in the area, not just old Orchard. That's why none of the 911 calls went through during the attacks by the 4 door white truck. He only attacked while she was on duty. She never forwarded any of the calls so officers never were told to come help me.

That includes the November 14, 2013 golf club attack in South Portland. But the college security officer made a report even though the police never arrived. That big black officer who was head of security was on duty and him and 2 student officers from the police academy made the report.

And FBI found the data from the calls, that never got forwarded to police, that's why Kathy BR lost her job. Because she's the one who tampered with the 911 call files.

Tim and Kathy BR both, not together, individually, arriving separately, both arrived at my tent multiple times throughout the entire year of 2013, saying they were coming to speak to me on behalf of someone who wanted to remain anonymous. So I never knew who sent them. Each time they arrived all they would say was that I had to tear down "the little yellow house" as they called the shop. 

August 8, 2013 the backhoe drove over the shop while I was at work on the food truck down by the pier.

I never saw Tim or Kathy again after that. Not once. And these were people who stopped by to visit my parents daily for over 40 years. Since August 8, 2013 and the backhoe attack on my house, Kathy and Tim have gone to alarming extreme levels to avoid running into me. They just down the street, on one of the private drives, so it's difficult to avoid running into me, and we used to see them a few times a week at local grocery stores. They both, if they see me in a store, literally throw whatever they are carrying across the store and run out of the store like they have a pack of rabid wolves on their heels. It's pretty fascinating thing to see.

My cousin and next door neighbour Tim Murphy was murdered that same week, a few days before the backhoe. His body was left at the cascade Ross road crossroad. 14 days later his head was left at the Portland Ave Ross road crossroad road. His mother put up the big white cross a month later. 

Note that there were THREE 4-door white trucks, a smaller one, a larger one, and a mega-sized giant one -like a Dodge Power Wagon type only it was not a Dodge Power Wagon it was one of the look alike brands, possibly a Nissan. The owner and driver of the big-big-super sized one is still unidentified. The other 2 were both caught in 2017, Kathy BR's truck being the larger of the 2. The 3 trucks often showed up together and drive circles around me, on Rout 1/Portland Rd, while I was driving. They would slam my car from back and sides and push me off the road. Several times they did damage to the frame of my car with had to be repaired multiple times. They've done several tens of thousands in damages to my Volvo over the years. You already have a lot of the smashed up car photos on file, at both Biddeford and Old Orchard police departments, you each have more then a dozen reports for attacks on my car -though the FBI has said someone attempted to destroy several of the records with my name, at the Old Orchard police department. FBI said they arrested the officers who did that. I don't know which files were damaged or how. 

For several years/decades now, I have had multiple people trying to buy my land. The same people over and over again. Only buying my land is not what they are asking for. Rather, they claim my land is cursed and I have to sell it to break the curse. Crazy, I know, but that's what they say. The crazier part is they say that after I sell my land I have to hand the money over to them so they can use it as a down payment on a house they want to buy in Kennebunk. The people in question are my parents and they've been doing this for well over 20 years now. I've always said "no, I'm not selling my land" and left it at that.

My mother (she changes her last name often, I'm not sure which she currently uses) and my father my father both have become extreme hostile and violent the past 2 weeks, and I'm not sure what set them off, but they are hyper infuriated on my refusal to sell my land and give them the money for a down payment of a house in Kennebunk. 

I did not suspect them, all these years, because always been other people showing up and say they were contacting me on behalf of someone who wanted to remain anonymous, but now they are directly doing it themselves.

Starting in June 2001, lots of harassment started and at first, I did not suspect them, or think there was a connection. But now they are outright bragging to my face, that they are the ones behind the vandalism. Like I said, check the police records for 144, 146, 148 Portland Ave from June 2001 til current date. There have been dozens of attacks, including drive by shootings, the bombing of my house, the backhoe driving over my next house, me being beat up with golf clubs which is why I am crippled now for the rest of my life and how my baby died.

The FBI is involved. If you need more information beyond what I've written here,  FBI Agent Andy Drewer can be reached at 207-774-9322 he is at the Portland Office on Middle Street, he is in charge of the investigation, of several events, namely the 2013 Boston Marathon bombing, which my uncle Paul Martel went to prison for building the bomb and selling it to ISIS. The 2006 bombing of the house at 144 Portland Ave Old Orchard Beach, Maine. My baby was murdered November 14, 2013, a backhoe drove over my house at 146 Portland August 8, 2013 that's why I'm at the Biddeford apartment right now, because we can't get Kathy BR at the town hall to get a building permit, even though she's not the one in charge of that, she takes over our application and won't let it be approved, because she claims I shouldn't be allowed to live in Old Orchard, due to my having left the Mormon church to become a Voodoo Priestess, she says that makes me a witch and I'm not allowed to apply for a house building permit on those grounds, so, it's been 9 years and I'm still without a house on my land in Old Orchard and still stuck in a Biddeford apartment.

It is a long list of a lot of things happening. I'll try to organize it all in order:

At it's start, the whole thing goes back to a homeless man who wishes to remain anonymous, so I'm not using his real name here, nor have I ever used his real name anywhere online or offline or with any conversation with any one.

He, didn't do anything wrong. Quite the contrary, all he's ever done is live in the Ross Forest and surrounding swamps and marshes along the Saco River in Pine Point, OOB, Saco, Biddeford, and probably other areas, he moves around a lot rotating where he sets up camp, something he's done since 1953. I know quite a few people have seen him and talked to him, I don't know if any police officers have ever encountered him or not. Because he is elderly and in frail health, I often let him stay on my land. He's the ONLY person who has permission to be there. Herein lays the problem: he's deformed from acid burn scars covering most of his body. Churches around the area have spent decades accusing him of being a cryptid, alien, demon, watcher, fallen angel, you name it, someone has called him some weird conspiracy. According to him, himself, he was a Jewish WW2 concentration camp survivor, who arrived in OOB with a bunch of other refugees in 1953. Because he's so deformed by his scars, he was bullied by the locals who refused to believe him a human, and that's why he fled into the forest and never set foot in society again. The problem is, the people harassing me have made up this wild conspiracy that he's a demon and I'm protecting him, and they claim they need to get me off my land in order to get to him.

This all started in 1978.

My parents (my father and my mother), uncles (12), aunts (12+), and cousins (64 at the 1970s/1980s time - more then 400 today), teased and bullied me throughout my childhood about him, but they teased and bullied everyone about everything, so I didn't think that much of their bullying back in the 1970s and 1980s when it first started happening. It was just them being the toxic bullies that they are to everyone.

It wasn't until the 1990s and 2000s that it started to become a problem. And 207 is when I first realized how big of a problem it really was.

In 1996 and 1997 Aunt aunt B sent out lots of emails to the family claiming the emails had been written by me. I did not have email, internet, or even a computer yet. She got Dickie (Richard Merlin Atwater) and David (Atwater) and Joey (Atwater -the one who lives in Australia and is wanted by the FBI for kidnapping and selling babies back in the 1980s- FBI can't arrest him until he leaves Australia -I'm not sure why- so he became a citizen. I don't know the details of what he's wanted for.) in raving warpath over it. All three of them showed up in OOB -even Joey from Australia-though I didn't know he was wanted by the FBI back than. But they arrived here in OOB to yell at me in person, because aunt B made the claim that the emails were from me, so they were all mad at me for having written them, but I never did know the contents of the emails because I didn't write them.

I did not see the emails. I didn't have access to a computer back then ad I didn't have internet until 2007 a full 11 years later. Dickie had several of them printed out and waving them around, but I never got a chance to read what they said. One of the emails was 64 pages long, and according to Dickie was all about aliens. I know nothing about aliens, so most of what he said was just gibberish nonsense to me. This was in 1996, shortly before Heaven's Gate killed 39 people in California and at the time, all 3 of those uncles, plus a few other uncles were members of Heaven's Gate, and one uncle -Mervin Bruce Atwater-made the claim to be "the leader of the Maine division of Heaven's Gate"- I don't know if he actually was a Heaven's Gate leader or not, but he maintained that he was right up until 2019, and in April 2019 he was making the claim to be following Comet Wormwood because HaleBop was the wrong one. Like I said, they were coming up with some pretty wild alien and UFO claims and I'm not sure how much of what they claimed was true.

Well, this was the first time I heard the word "Etiole" which was the nickname they had given to the homeless man who sometimes camped out on my yard. Etiole is not his name, it's always been just the word the Atwaters call him (they say it means man from the stars or alien and that it's a French word. I don't know French, aunt B is the one who knows French, so I never would have given him a French name.) Somewhere in the emails, aunt B had called the homeless man "Etiole" and "amphibious alien" and made the claim that he was an "alien grey" who had abducted me to some mother-ship.  

I have never been abducted by aliens and never made such a claim. I never heard such foolishness. But, that this point, I wasn't fully aware of what they were talking about, so I didn't yet realize they were saying that I was making the claim to have been abducted by aliens.

That's the summer they all showed up talking about Etiole and amphibious aliens and alien abduction. aunt B was the one who started all of that stuff about Etiole, who I never called Etiole. But that was how it got started...all this stuff that is happening now with the vandalism and threats going on this week March 2022.

Bruce and Dickie went to a bunch on MUFON forums from 1996 to 2007 spreading lies about me and Etiole calling him a demon and alien and claiming I was an alien abducted. I found out about what they were doing in 2007 after they'd already been doing it for 11 years. 

I don't think aunt B has ever stopped sending out emails about Etiole while pretended to be me, I think she is still doing it. I think this, because in December 2021, I was at the Biddeford library when an elderly man came over to me, asked if I was EelKat and asked me why I was sending him hundreds of emails about Etiole, and who was Etiole? I told the man I don't use email, I've never emailed anyone, I don't know what he's talking about. He says he gets over 300 emails a day about Etiole from someone claiming to be EelKat. But here's the thing: EelKat is not something I call myself. I'll explain that in a bit.

First, let's go back to 1994. Before aunt B started sending the emails out, while claiming they were written by me. My father (my father) was the one who told the Atwaters about Etiole. My father and Dickie both called him "the white monkey". 

In 1994 and 1996 Bishop Paul Morgan asked me to his office and showed me a bunch of letters, all of them signed "The White Monkey, OST". He said the letters were written to sound like I had written them but he said he'd seen my handwriting before and knew I hadn't written these. The Bishop wanted to know if I recognized the handwriting. Some had been written by my father. Others had been written by Dickie. One was written by my mom's father David Henry Atwater who died several years ago now. This was the Mormon bishop in Cape Elizabeth. This bishop had more then one hundred letters laying on his desk, and he had several boxes more around his desk. He said he received no fewer then 5 letter every day for several months, and was quite concerned for my safety as he felt the letter writers may be "mentally unhinged" and "highly dangerous" based on what he called "several homicidal rants" contained in the letters. He said he was giving the letters to Paul Peterson, at Pine Land Centre Mental Health Institute in New Gloucester, because he felt my father and my uncle Dickie should be committed due to the contents of the letters.

The letters looked physically bizarre. Each one started like a normal letter, straight across sentences, line by line, but upon reaching the end of the page, the words spiralled around the outer edge and into a circle around the page, then upside down bottom to top between the first rows.

Each letter contained codes and cryptographers, and large portions of the letters were unreadable unless you cracked the "secret code" that was included with them.

Both my father and my uncle Dickie frequently wrote in that weird spiral and zigzag of lines fashion. My father's letters were the ones that included the cryptography and hidden codes. Dickies letters were just weird spiralling but no codes to solve.

I did not read any of the letters, but the Bishop was deeply upset by them, and stated that he used to be Catholic before becoming Mormon and said that if he was still Catholic he'd recommend my father had an excorsim down, because as the Bishop put it "the white monkey letters are the closet thing I've ever seen to demon possession".

Later that same year Paul Peterson from Pine Land Centre arrived at church and asked to talk to me. He had with him, some of the White Monkey letters and like the Bishop asked me to id the handwriting.

Stake President Earnshaw (of the same church) later called me in to his office for similar letters he had also received and again the white monkey letters were written by mostly daddy and some Dickie all pretending to be me, trying to make it look like I was pretending to be Etiole. 

In total 16 Bishops and 2 stake presidents had contacted me over the years about white monkey letters, all citing they were receiving them daily. Some said members were receiving them. When I stopped attending the Mormon church, my mother's minister's at the 15 churches she was attending at the time, all started getting the letters. (At the time my mom had a belief that she had to be in church as close to 24 hours a day as possible, so she was attending week day church services at every church that had them, even though she was not a member of most of those churches. She became an atheist last I had heard and attends no churches at all anymore as far as I know.) 

My father was in and out of the hospital a lot during this time period (1991 to 1996-ish), due to the violent fights between him and my mother which included him twice being hospitalized due to blood gushing head injuries from a brick, which also included OOB police arresting my mother for beating him said brick. The psychiatrist from Pine Land Centre felt that my dad suffered serious brain damage from one of the brick beating attacks, and wanted him to press charges against my mother, but he refused. The psychiatrist said he felt that my dad's White Monkey letters was a side effect of the multiple head injuries he was hospitalized for. 

The white monkey letters stopped in 2007 when the psychiatrist at Biddeford hospital diagnosed my father as having schizophrenia and put him on psychiatric medicine. The Biddeford police have this arrest on record. We were living at Water st at the time and my father had tried to kill me and my brother Joshua and also himself. The police arrested him. He was in the psych ward for around a week, and released because of the drastic change in his personality that was caused by the medication. He was only released on the condition that he maintained the meds.

Since 2007 no one has mentioned Etiole or the white monkey, until November 19, 2021, when things (the vandalism and harassment and threats) started escalating, the week Todd Murphy died when people started showing up in Biddeford driveway yelling about Etiole and calling him a suicide demon, claiming my Volvo was demon possessed, and accusing me of driving my car around town to drive people to suicide. I don't know who these people were. The one doing most of the yelling has very unique and very identifiable hair: it's a "high fashion" stick straight bob, like what you see in Italy Runways, super stiff as a board, stick straight, like she uses a few jars of jell to get it so straight. And a weird dark-purple tinted red. Very anime cartoon looking hair. You can't mistake it. She always wears big dark glasses, and usually has a little skinny blond man with her, who appears to be her husband or boyfriend. She frequently is beating him over the head with a baby car seat, while yelling at me and my car, while standing on the front porch of our building. They don't live here, I don't know who they re or where they come from. She did it almost every day of December, and most of the last week of November 2021.

This is the first time anyone has mentioned Etiole in years.

They call him Etiole sometimes, White Monkey other times. 

I should tell you where the term "white monkey" come from.

There was a white monkey, in OOB in the 1970s. It belonged to Helen Pearly of Pine Point and was part of her "White Animal Farm" zoo that she ran, which was a little petting zoo of all albino animals. I think it shut down in the early 1980s. Most older folks of the area remember Helen Pearly and her albino zoo animals - which included an elephant, and other such animals. Well, one day the white monkey escaped and Helen Pearly was a friend of my grandmother's (Helen Ricker Allen) and Helen Pearly showed up at 146 Portland Ave (than 862 because the road was renumbers in 1982) to tell my Grammy Helen the monkey had been seen nearby and to let her know if we saw it. Well, after that me and the other neighbour kids started going out into the swamps looking for the white monkey because Helen Pearly was offering a reward for it being returned. And one day we saw it, and tried to catch it and we followed it into the swamps and we found a homeless man out there. He was sick and starving to death. 

The white monkey belonged to Helen Pearly and has nothing to do with Etiole at all. In 1978 Helen Pearly had a pet white monkey that got lost. Me and Atwater cousin Micheal and my Murphy cousin Timmy (the one whose white cross is on the Ross rd he died in 2013) saw it in the woods out back and tried to catch it. We found Etiole the same day. Etiole is a homeless man who lives behind my land in the woods. Me and Micheal and Timmy took him food. And to this day, we still do, except Michael moved away and Timmy died in 2013 so that left just me taking care of Etiole today. Etiole is very old, probably 80s or 90s today. He's very small, not much bigger than a child, maybe around 5'1"-ish. He's covered with acid burns, scars, and tattoos. He has extreme PTSD and is terrified of the sight of people. He's very skittish, almost mute, speaks mostly with his hands, and run terrified from any people who try to get near him. The only reason he didn't run the day we found him, was because he was very sick, probably pneumonia or something like that. Had we children not found him and taken him food for the next several weeks, he probably would have died that same summer. He must have been in his 50s or 60s back then in 1978.

We told the adults about him, and they went to find him, but, they found some plants instead out there in the swamp, and my mom called the police, and the OOB police called the state police, and the state police called the FBI and the entire rest of the week was lots of police digging up lots of plants. Adam and the Babe, were 2 police officers who were left to stand watch over us children while every one else hauled out the plants. News reporters showed up and the news stations called it "Maine's largest drug raid". I don't know what drug plants look like so I don't know what kind of drugs they were. According the the FBI agents who talked to use kids (we were all 5 to 10 years old at the time) a "bad name named Bryan Cyr put those bad plants in the swamp". The FBI agents said they had been looking for Bryan Cyr and his Cyr Clan from Connecticut for several years and wanted to know had we seen him.  We had not, though we did see him about a year later when the big shoot out happened at 142 Portland Ave in front of the Dome house - the day the dome house blue up because Anne Cyr set fire to the meth lab inside- I saw her poured 3 gas cans on the house then throw several matches. Bryan fled in a robin egg blue micro-mini pick up truck, screaming that the meth lab was gonna blow. The whole house went up like a mushroom cloud. It's the only time I ever saw the Cyr Clan.) 

Adam and the Babe went with us kids to look for the sick homeless man/Etiole as he's now called by locals, but he was gone by then, because it had been 5 or 6 or more hours since the adults found the plants. The 2 police officers looked all over the forest for him, and stopped when they found a human leg bone in the Bachelder Brooke and took that with them and left to join the other officers. (144, 146, and 148 Portland Ave and the swamps and forest behind it is a massive Native American grave - there are at least 500 graves, that back in the 1970s all still had markers, most of the dates are 1400s to 1500, but in the mid 1980s someone stole most all of the slate grave markers, so they are unmarked today. I assume the leg bone was from one of those graves - human bones wash up out of the ground all the time on these sections of land because there are just so many Native American graves all over the place here, on my land and the lands abutting me. It's why the Powder Horn campground can't expand any closer to my land - they hit Native American graves last time they expanded the campground.)

So, because they got sidetracked by all the drug plants and all the police everywhere for the rest of the week, the adults never saw the homeless man or the white monkey as both had been scared off by the huge crowd of drug raid crews.

For some reason because we found him while looking for Helen Pearly white monkey my father and the Atwaters got it in their heads that Etiole was a demon alien shape shifter who turned into a white monkey to lure me and Micheal into the woods. And that's how their stupid ass alien and demon rumours got started.

I should point out, her family, The Atwaters, are the Scottish Traveller Gypsies, aka as The Scottish Mafia by several white Americans, her brothers Bruce and David and several of Davids adult children, grandchildren, and great grand children call themselves Scottish Mafia  and act every bit fitting on that title, which is both why the FBI is investigating and why I have nothing to do with them.

Right after the June attack on her car, a large group of Irish Travellers showed up from the Carilinas and Tennessee and were setting up squatting camps all around the area, The had set up a large camp on BB street behind my Main st/Cutts St apartment in Biddeford, setting up in the big chain link fenced yard on the corner (which is why the owners have since roped the land off.) I didn't think anything of it at first, because the Irish Travellers show up in Southern Maine every year for decades now, so there's nothing unusual about seeing them setting up camps on any space they can find, you see it every year. Usually they camp on the cow farms in Dayton/Buxton/North Saco area, so seeing them in Biddeford was a bit strange.

I point this out because the week they arrived on BB, my mother and her Atwater siblings and their families flipped out big time. They put heavy focus on "the brown house on the corner and the chain link fence yard across the street" and laid out to harassing the landlords of those two locations. They had a list of around 100 addresses in Biddeford, Cape Elizabeth, and many other places included Rhode Island and Connecticut. I saw the list because my mother showed up at my yard waving it around and demanding I help her and the Atwaters stage an attack on the Irish Travellers, whom she claimed was family of the man in the green truck with the 2x4 attack on her car.

A war between the Scottish Travellers/Scottish Mafia/The Atwaters and the Irish Travellers -which include The Cry Clan drug gang from Connecticut - the one the FBI is here looking for-, is the last thing I want to get involved in. Those same two clans are the ones who did the 4-5-8 shoot out back in the 1970s/1980s, when they blew up the dome house at 142 Portland Ave. They were armed to the teeth with truck loads and school bus loads of illegal military guns back in the 4-5-8 shoot out and I don't want to see what kind of weaponry that same group lugs around now 40 years later.

I am a Voodoo Priestess. Voodoo is also known as Folk Catholicism. It is a branch of the Catholic Church. Voodoo is a Christian religion, that focuses on reverence the ancestors. Hollywood Horror movies have slandered our religion to such an extent that the average person thinks Voodoo is dark magic, death spells, curses, and voodoo dolls. Those are all things that exist only in Hollywood and do not exist in real world Voodoo. The problem is made worse, when teens and young adults, not knowing the actual religion, call themselves Voodoo while practising things they see in movies.  While the older generations of Gypsies and Travellers know the difference, younger generation have fallen far from the old traditions, especially the old religion, and sadly, even among Gypsies and Travellers today, many in the age group of 60 years old and younger, only know Voodoo from Horror movies and not from their grandmother's actual practice.

I say this because my mother and her Atwaters wanted me to join then as a "figure head" for their cause. They specifically demanding I summon demons, make voodoo dolls, cast curses, and use magic to kill the list of people living at the addresses on the list they had. In short they attempted to hire me to be a quasi-hit-man for them.

When I explained to them that this is not what Voodoo is about, Voodoo is peaceful, non-violent, we shun weapons and hurtful acts of all types, they lashed out at Etiole -who was not here, it was just me they were yelling at, yelling about him. My mother called Etiole a demon, said he was my familiar, said "I know you work with demons, you can't lie to me" and "you cast death curses on people all the time you lying little bitch, you just won't do it for me because you want to spite your mother, after all I do for you!

I made a Twitch livestream video that same day, telling what was going on and what I feared was about to happen, because I have seen these same two Gypsy clans go to war with each other before.

Well, I have too much to deal with with my health. I'm bedridden 15+ hours a day, so I do nothing but play video games and write novels and edit novels, ALL of which I do on livestream - yes, I livestream for 12 to 15, sometimes 19 hours each and every single day, and I have 92TB of hard drive full of that video footage all the way back to 2015 - I have every minute of every day of my life not only live streamed on Twitch, but I have ALL the video footage files, which mean I have footage of all the attacks, all the yelling at my car, all the demanding I cast death spells, all the trying to hire me as a hit man - all of it. I have over 15k hours of video footage. And because most of the attacks happened during a livestream, there are also hundreds of witness online who saw and heard the attacks and threats already, seeing and hearing them as they were happening.

Going back to the suspecting someone is impersonating me... My mother makes the claim that it is her right to cut the wires off my Biddeford apartment building, because she claims I've put her name, address, and where she goes online. I've never put her address or name or where she goes on the internet. Don't know what she's talking about. I gave her the FBI contact info and told her that if she actually is seeing "me" posting this stuff she claims I'm posting online, then she needs to forward that stuff to the FBI because it's someone impersonating me, and that was one of the things the FBI has suspected was happening so they are actively looking for that kind of stuff. They are trying to get to the bottom of who it is spreading these wild, crazy ass rumours and lies, both doing it in my name and doing it about me.

They've already located a shut down a few dozen impersonation of me, social network accounts, and so far, to date, all of them have belonged to just one person: my mother's brother Mervin Bruce Atwater. Well, it makes sense that HE would know her home address and where she goes, seeing how, for the past decade they were kind of joined at the hip and did everything together. Yeah, of course he knows where she lives and what car she drives and where she goes. 

Also, I never went to school, she did not allow it, There were several legal/court battles between my mom and the OOB school and the state of Maine ad the department of education throughout the 1980s, over the fact that she was actively refusing to allow me to attend school. So I never learned to do math or numbers. I don't know how to count or do money or any stuff like that. And numbers don't register in my head for some reason. People will tell me a phone number or home address and 5 seconds later my mind is blank on the numbers. I can't remember them. That's why when something like an attack happens I write down the tie and date immediately and keep it on a chart - I have a list, day by day, all times and dates of every attack since June 2001. I wouldn't be able to remember what happened when if I didn't keep a list like that.

Well, my mother knows all of this, so she knows even if she had told me her address, which she didn't, I wouldn't have remembered it long enough to even write it down.

In June 2021, I found out she moved, because I was walking my dog -we walk 3 to 4 miles a day, all over Biddeford, Old Orchard, and Scarborough, because I am trying to rebuild my leg muscles after having been bedridden since 2013, with only minimal movement- Doctors said I would never walk again and I aim to prove them wrong and well I have, because I am at least walking enough to walk my dog each day, but it is very difficult, and every step I take feels like a sword stabbing up my right leg and into my spine, because of the nerve damage. It is why I walk so slow and limp so bad, because it hurts terrible to step down.

Well, one day I was walking my dog and all of a sudden, there's my mother, telling me that I'm standing in front of her house and I was surprised, because last I knew she lived several miles away. I had no clue she lived 2 streets over from me and that she had done so for 3 years!

I don't know how she expects me to even know where she goes considering I've had no contact with her in almost a decade now, not since the stunt she pulled April 10, 2015 when she broke into my motorhome, filled it with feces, and then locked her 13 cats in it to frame me for animal abuse. She did not expect the Old Orchard Beach police to arrive and confiscate her cats and then not give them back to her and she has been in a social media battle with several animal shelters, veterinarians, animal control officers, and police officers ever since. Most of her harassment of these people has been targeted at former OOB town hall worker DF  and OOB police officer WW , both of whom she has been harassing on FaceBook for the past 7 years. You can ask DF  and WW  and their family and friends on FaceBook, how bad it has gotten. In recent months she added a new person to her FaceBook harassment, I don't know their name, just that it's the ex-wife and 15 year old son of someone named Todd Murphy who recently died from being hit by a train in front of my Biddeford apartment on Nov 19, 2021. Sometimes she says his death was a suicide, other times she says he was murdered and thrown in front of the train. I don't know which it is, I didn't know him, and only have her word for any of it.

In her mind, the way the whole thing was supposed to happen was: you police were supposed to confiscate my motorhome and she would take her cats and go home. 

What actually happened was: you police confiscated her cats, and I kept my motorhome.

She has spent the last 7 years harassing every pet shelter and rescue in New England, trying to find the cats.

In answer to questions about the cats from April 2015—those were cats belonging to Wayne Whitten of Biddeford, Maine. I was never able to talk about it because of the court case going on between Wayne's family and the Atwaters.

To make matters even worse, the cats were not hers, either. Rather, they belonged to Wayne Whitten and his daughter. My mother had stolen the cats from Wayne, in an act of retaliation, after Wayne refused to hand over to her, his father, William's land.

If you do not know, there are several polygamists in my family, all on the Atwater side. My mother is one of them. Wayne Whitten is one of her many Husbands, and therefore Wayne Whitten is also my stepfather.

In May 2010, my mother took a chainsaw to my 1964 Dodge 330. But it was not the ONLY car she attacked that week. Two days earlier, she took a chainsaw to Wayne's black 1970s vintage Dodge. AFTER, she locked her Old English sheepdog in the trunk and left it there for 6 months, and then tried to say that Wayne killed her dog, when in fact, she had.

Many people in Biddeford, Maine knew Wayne Whitten and his father William Whitten, and both men were known for the wild tales of Wayne's 5th wife, Jeannie, who daily beat him, gathered her older brothers to beat him, and hospitalized him several times, multiple times nearly killing him. That wife is also my mother.

Unfortunately for Wayne Whitten, no one would believe him about how violent and psychotically deranged his wife was and in the space of only a few weeks, his father, then his cats, and then Wayne himself all died. Because of the violent nature of Wayne's death, details were withheld from the public.

Three cats—the white cat Old Lady, and the 2 tabby's Trouble and Sassy, were already dead before the police arrived, and all three were diagnosed as having been force-fed rat poison. This is why, even though my mother put 13 cats in my motorhome, the police only took 10 cats.

Wayne's father, William, owned the cape house next door to Ben's Flooring in Biddeford, behind Walmart. In his 90s, with his health failing, my mother arrived demanding William sell his house and give her the money for a down payment on a mansion in Kennebunk. The exact same demands she is now making at me, these 7 years later. She did this to William Whitten in 2015, and Wayne's daughter to this day maintains that my mother's threats, demands, and harassment were the major contributing factors of William's death.

My mother took the Whitten cats, intending to hold them hostage, until William sold his house and gave her the money. This was why she hid the cats in my motorhome. This is also why when the police showed up asking about the cats, I had no clue what they were talking about and let them search the motorhome telling them there were no cats in it. My mother broke into my motorhome and hid the cats in there, apparently 3 days earlier, and I was unaware she had done this so was unaware the cats were there.

This is also why, when police officer Will Watson asked how many cats there were and what their names were, why I did not know how many cats there were and only knew the names of a couple of the cats that I had heard Wayne talk about.

William Whitten died while the cat fiasco was going on.

Wayne, realizing what my mother had done to his cats, tried to get them back, but he died a few weeks later.

Wayne, his father, and his cats all died a few weeks apart from each other.

My mother went around triumphantly bragging that she had gotten Wayne's father's land, via being Wayne's wife, and set about to the process of buying the house in Kennebunk. And got slapped with a reality check when the two wills got read and both William and Wayne had left everything they had to Wayne's daughter.

In raging inferno, my mom lashed out at Wayne's daughter, and a lawsuit happened, with Wayne's daughter charging my mother with kidnapping the cats, and using rat poison to slowly poison Wayne. A massive Facebook war happened between the Whittens and the Atwaters as my mother got her Atwater thugs involved, and the Whitten's fled in terror once they realized the rumours that my mother was part of the Scottish Mafia, was in fact, very, very, very true.

To this day, the remains of Wayne Whitten's surviving family live in mortal terror, daily vandalism, and barbaric levels of harassment at the hands of my mother, and her brothers Bruce and David and David's sons and grandsons.

More details of what happened can be found here: Amphibious Aliens: https://www.eelkat.com/AmphibiousAliens.html

And no, for the people who are confused, Amphibious Aliens has nothing to do with aliens. It is about a homeless man whom my mother and her brother Bruce, over hyper focused on, and together my mother and Bruce created an elaborate alien abduction and demon possession hoax, so they could try to scam several dozen locals out of their houses.

This cat stealing, house stealing scam is something they have been doing to people all over Southern Maine since BEFORE I was even born. The earliest known attempt at this house stealing scam dates back to their father David Henry Atwater and a house he stole in the 1930s in Rumford Maine. At the time, my grandfather used the hoax of an angel from heaven coming down and telling him to take the Rumford farm. And at the time, my grandfather was a transport driver for Honey Fizt's ACTUAL Boston Mafia, which is WHY, the Atwaters make the claim to be the Scottish Mafia. Their claim is that because they are Scottish, and their father worked for Honey Fitz that they are Mafia. But the Atwaters are neither Scottish nor Mafia, both claims are outright lies that are nothing more than part of the scam they run.

As can be seen with BOTH what she has spent the past 5 decades doing to Etiole and what she is currently doing to Todd Murphy's family on and off FaceBook, you can see how much my mother hyper focuses on homeless people and abusing their friends and relatives and using the homeless person's homelessness as excuses for the scams she runs.

That she spent decades running a land stealing scam in Etiole's name, and now is running another land stealing scam in Todd Murphey's name is utterly deplorable.

And you people who wonder WHY I've not had contact with my mother in 30 years, WHY I shun her. WHY I hate her and her Atwater thugs so much... you are right now witnessing it live as they do it all over again, this time taking advantage of the pain and suffering of Todd Murphy's family to try to steal land from people in the name of a homeless man who was killed by a train.

I am thoroughly and utterly disgusted with my mother's vile abuse of the Murphy family and what she is doing in the name of a dead man.

I've said it thousands of times before and I'll say it again: The Atwaters are scum.

The Atwaters devote their lives to abusing homeless people and the families of those homeless people, just so they can run their filthy scams, and I’m fucking sick of the Atwaters and their filth.


She has had several retaliation attacks happen to her, done by family and friends of the people she's harassing on FaceBook. the retaliation attacks included a Biddeford Public Works road grader being driven into her yard and over her car in 2017. Two additional attacks on her next car, the following year. And in June 2021 a man driving a green pick up truck drove into her yard and beat her car with a 2by4. (Note, I did not witness any of these attacks on her cars and only have her word on what happened.)

All of these people she is fighting with on FaceBook, I don't know, they are people she knows and they are not on my FaceBook and I blocked her and all the Atwaters from my FaceBook back in May 2015, when her and her nieces and nephews and siblings were posting death threats on my FB profile. One cousin cousin name, posted pictures of herself carrying a machine gun (not automatic rifle - but a machine gun - the big type you put on a tripod and have a belt full of hundreds of bullets slung over your shoulder- similar to a gatland gun but not as big, though she had pictures of her gatland gun too that she was also posting on my FB) She'd write under the pictures "This is the gun I'm going to shoot you with"... her husband was one of the guys arrested after the Jan 6 attack, by the way - the guy in Florida with the Nancy something's ( forget her last name, I think it began with a P? I don't know American politics, I find it all confusing so I'm not sure who the Nancy woman was). He stole her pulpit and  he was posting pictures of him stealing on FB. Her mom is aunt L, and she and he were among the 23 cousins that the FBI has been trying to find because they supplied a lot of the guns for the Jan 6th attack, according to posts they made on FB. I don't know, I never saw any such posts because I have them all blocked n FB since 2015. Her brother cousin name was also posting pictures of him carrying guns and writing death threats underneath on my FB wall. His messages said: "I'm an ordained Aaronic Priest and god has given me permission to blow your brains out with this gun". cousin name and cousin name are 2 of David and aunt L's 15 adult kids -all are 40 to 60+ years old. David is my mom's oldest brother, he's in his 80s. He is very violent, there has never been an occasion of him arriving on my land in Old Orchard, that did not involve his trying to kill me, usually by strangling me. He is the most violent of all the uncles. Several times while he's been here he beat up his adult kids by hitting them in the face with weights off of dumbells. 

Most of the Atwater men are retired Marines, and all of them are over 6'2" the tallest, is 7'3". These guys are HUGE and are all weightlifters. You don't want to cross one of the Atwater uncles, they are former Marines trained in weaponless combat. David runs a compound in Palmyra.. . and you might have just seen his crew in the news - they were doing a squatter's rights takeover of that big mansion next door to Stephen King in Bangor and somehow the place caught fire. The news reports didn't mention Stephen King and went out of their way to get camera angles that kept King's house out of the news, but I'm as familiar with Bangor streets as I am Old Orchard and Biddeford streets, so I recognized which house it was on the news, that got attacked by the squatters doing a take over war. 

My uncle and his kids are trying to confiscate the land all around Stephen King - they say they have the right to because no one was ever paid any money for being in The Thinner movie. That happened about 2 weeks ago, the news did not list the squatters name, but like I said, it's my uncle and his crew, they been focusing on the 20 or so houses around King's big red Victorian, for over a decade now. They tried to get me to help them do it, that's how I found out. They made the claim that because I'm an author I should be able to reason with Stephen King and convince him to hand over his red Victorian house in exchange for his never paying them for being in The Thinner. I told them to get lost and burn in hell. Just because I'm an author and King's film crew filmed a part of Thinner on my land in Old Orchard doesn't mean I know King himself, I never even met him, and them being obsessed with stealing land from people is just out of control. 

The whole Atwater clan does this. They don't see anything wrong with moving in, setting up camp, and driving the rightful land owners off their land at gunpoint.

They act like it's a family tradition to steal land from people, via squatting, harassment, corrosion, death threats, and outright just forging deeds and switching the files, like they did with my land.

And that's the issue we have going on right now. My mother has gone on a psych crazed warpath vendetta of taking my land or else, and or else so far has included her twice now having my father shove things up the tailpipe of my car, both times doing lots of damage t the car when I started the engine and everything inside blew up because of the fuel line blocked. And twice now - each time the same day as attacking my Volvo cutting the wires off the Biddeford apartment as well, in the same driveway where the car was parked.

Both times they admitted to doing it and both times used the justification that I deserved it because I was refusing to sell my land and give my mother the money to buy a house in Kennebunk. She says she has to move to Kennebunk to "get away from the niggars invading Maine, Kennebunk is all white they don't allow no niggars". She's very crude and vulgar and has an extreme hatred for black people and hangs around online with some group that calls itself "the workers of iniquity" which claims to be "a branch of the Ku Klux Klan because the original Ku Klux Klan is not strict enough".

Throughout 2016 people wearing KKK-like white robes and hood showed up in Old Orchard to make threats about my land. Back then I was unaware that my mother was friends with such a group. The robes are NOT KKK robes, the KKK robes are very distinctive, covered with fancy bead work and embroidery, and are not white, but are usually green or red or blue or yellow. It's a Hollywood myth that the KKK wears white, and that's how you can tell REAL KKK from fake wannabe's pretending to be KKK. Real KKK is not wearing white sheets and white pillowcases. The real KKK is a church that is organized similar to Catholic church and all their robes mean specific ranks, also they don't wear hood, they wear mitre hats like the pope does, and have a veil mask over their eyes. So its pretty easy to identify real KKK from fakers in white sheets, and the people showing up in my yard were not real KKK, they were fakers literally wrapped in white bed sheets with pillow cases over their heads. 

Well, various white-power groups show up in the area, that's nothing unusual. Neo-Nazi, Sovereign Citizens, ect. They've always been around Maine, so much so that there are KKK and white power history museums in Maine -one is in Saco. So, I didn't think much of the white hood idiots in my yard. We are Gypsies, white hooded idiots are a part of our non-white life.

Well, here's the thing: we are not white. My mother's mother was not a Gypsy. Eva Viola Little John Dyer Atwater was half Kickapoo Native American and half black. He mother was 100% Native America. Her father 100% black. My mom is 1/4 black, 1/4 Native American, and 1/2 Gypsy of Roumania/Arabian/Middle Eastern descent. There is not one drop of white blood in her. Which is why I was surprised to hear her say: "I gotta move to Kennebunk to get away from the niggars invading Maine, Kennebunk is all white they don't allow no niggars". Yes, Kennebunk is all white, and look at the news, the black school teach who lives in Old Orchard Beach and worked at Kennebunk schools is daily bombarded with swastika painted on her car while she's teaching class. I can't drive my Volvo down main street Kennebunk with out getting pelted with rocks and crowds running off the sidewalks screaming "death to Gypsy scum!" It's dangerous t drive through Kennebunk and not be white -they pull us coloured folks out of cars if we get stopped at a red light. Kennebunk is legendary for being the most white power town in the state of Maine.

One has only to look up the international news reports of the 10 year old school children dragging their black teacher into the streets and almost beating her to death -in 2020. That happened barely a year ago. Kennebunk is the most hostile anti-black town in America and they are proud of it, brag about it, and since the BLM stuff of 2020, Kennebunk has gotten ten times worse. And, she's been seeing all that in the news and wants to live there, and I'm not sure why, because like I said,  my mom is 1/4 black, 1/4 Native American, and 1/2 Gypsy of Roumania/Arabian/Middle Eastern descent and if she tries to buy a house there, and they find out she has black blood, they'll kill her. But she's all hyped up on a white power kick and wants to join Kennebunk's anti-black movement, and... I... I just don't understand it and I'm sure if that's actual why she wants to go thee or not.

There was a court case about the cats (3 different ones because the town hall dropped the case after evidence proved the cats were not mine and my mother had snuck them in my motorhome a few days earlier to try to frame me and then some MB guy crawled out of the woodwork to reopen the case a month later), which, for some reason was in my name, not her name, because the motorhome was mine, even though the cats were hers. Weirdly, half way through the court case the town hall dropped the case and some guy named MB Bureau took over it instead. Thing is, I don't know who this MB guy is. He's not anyone I have ever even met before and he was not at the court so I didn't meet him there either. He came in with lots of wild accusations about me harassing him, even though I had no clue who he was and had never heard of him before. MB's lawyer took photo copies of a conversation on Twitter between me and JB (the guy the FBI arrested for embezzling $30k out of the OOB town hall bank account - $3million in OOB tax money went missing, the rest was never found as far as I know. The Twitter conversation was this JB sending me death threats because he had just been released from prison, and he was claiming I had put him there, even though I didn't know him or that he'd been in prison or that he had stolen money from OOB town hall. According to FBI, JB was a church friend of my mother's and he and town manager Jim Thomas, had been Bishopric counsellors to Mormon Church Bishop DK and the 3 of them and several others from the Saco LDS church had taken over the OOB town hall in around 2010 and embezzled $3million in town taxes. Apparently my Uncle Mervin Bruce Atwater, Richard Merlin Atwater, and aunt B had been involved, been involved and they had used fake social media accounts in my name to contact JB so he thought I knew him, that's why he contacted me on my real account after getting out of prison. I don't know the details I only know the small bit of info the FBI told me to let me know why this JB guy was contacting me.) For some reason, this MB guy, said the Twitter conversation with this Joel guy was about him. 

And apparently according to the FBI, this MB guy owns the old abandoned logging road across the street from me, which is numbered as 139 Portland Ave. I don't know, that road has been abandoned at least since the 1970s, I had no idea any one lived down there, but FBI says this MB guy does. I've been at 146 since 1975, and I've never see any one live there. FBI says there is another driveway on a different side that they probably use. Any ways, for some odd reason this MB guy took over the court case with the cats, only he suddenly said it was about me being transgender (but I'm not transgender, so I don't know why he said I was) His lawyer came into court saying I was a man pretending to be a woman, and here's where it got really weird, the lawyer copied what he SAID was an "About Me" page off of my website (eelkat.com) only what he copied was the about page for the main character of the novel series I write (I'm the author of 138 published novels). The series is about a male Elf who is possessed by a female parasitic alien jellyfish. So it's a female jellyfish wearing the body of a dead male Elf like a coat and passing herself off as him.

Well, this lawyer (Gene Libby) for this MB guy is waving THAT fictional character profile around in court, saying it was my personal about me page, and making the claim that I was a male to female transvestite who believed I was an Elf... and here's the kicker... his whole spiel was trying to convince the judge that I was insane so this MB guy could confiscate my land at 146 Portland Ave! It was the most bizarre thing, and the judge thought so too, because the judge tossed the whole thing out of court because the charges this MB guy had against me were so oddball off the wall nut job ridiculous. But the thing was, again, it was someone making wild claims that I had to hand them over my land, which is what keeps happening with every one of these weird attacks. And always, like both these 2 guys: JB and MB Bureau they are creepy ass strangers who crawl out of the woodwork, people I've never heard of before, making claims to being my friend (JB made the claim he was my best friend and said we talked all the time on FaceBook, but he wasn't on my FB and I'd never heard of him before. While MB Bureau in his court papers made the claim to be one of my uncles -he is not-and)

aunt B and aunt L of Bangor used to be putting stuff online about me and my brothers and JB would get it from aunt B and aunt L and forward it every where. This was in 2010 era, but I did not see the posts, because none of them is a FaceBook friend of me. The FBI however said they saw a lot of the posts, these people made, including several death threats. Seems likely something like that is happening again given the way people keep showing up here at the Biddeford apartment when no one even knew I was here.

I met aunt L about 3 times during my childhood, it's been 30+ years since I last saw her, and I've never spoken with her online or offline not once in my entire life.

aunt B I meet 10 or 12 times during my childhood, and likewise it's been 30+ years since I last saw her, except for 2 times. One in 2013 she showed up at my Biddeford apartment on Water St, with some medical scam idea she had that she wanted me to help her with. She said she was working at Blue Cross/Blue Shield and had found a way to get people's insurance money because a lot of people didn't file claims; she said she was also an EMT, and she could take the records from one job to cross with the other job, to have people's insurance money forwarded to a POBox she owned. I told her I wanted nothing to do with it and to get lost. I don't know how true any of the stuff she said was. I don't know if she worked at those places or could do the scam she was claiming or not.

aunt B showed up again in 2016, at the Gazebo Park (might be named Mechanic's Park?) on the Saco River by the water treatment plant. I was there walking my dog, and my mother showed up with an uncle Peter (now deceased) who was visiting from Utah. They were having a picnic. aunt B and Bruce showed up to trash everything, steal the food, and then leave. They were yelling and screaming the whole time. They acted drunk, except I didn't think they drank. I don't know. Mormons don't drink, not usually.

So I don't know aunt B and aunt L otherwise. I know nothing about them. Have never had contact with them, have never spoken with them online or offline. So, I'm puzzled as to why they were posting things online about me in 2010, or why they were acting like they knew me, when neither of them has ever been a part of my life or know anything about me.

But, they make claims that I say and do various things that I don't say or do. The list of things they've accused me of is massive and kind of crazy and include the claims that I am a prostitute, and that I am a Mafia gang leader ... like I said, it's just wild and also very slanderous and I'm sick of it.

Back in 2019 when my mother got her car, she had it over a month before I even knew she had gotten a car. I found out she had it when she flipped out saying I was online telling people she bought a car. And it turned out is was aunt B and Brucie online telling everyone she got a car, but I had told them,  even thought I had never talked to either of them since 2013 when FBI told me cut off all contact with them

aunt B and Bruce and aunt L all 3 are constantly telling people I said things, that I never said. 

I told you people been showing up talking about Todd and claiming I said things online about him, but I don't even know who he is or what they are talking about. It almost looks like someone is online impersonating me.

A few weeks ago an old man walked up to me, asked if I was EelKat and then asked me why I kept emailing him, and I said I don't email anyone cause I don't use email. He said some days he gets over 300 emails a day from someone claiming to be EelKat 

Last time my car had this problem was same day my father cut the internet on my mom's orders. Suspicious my car has same problem again, same day internet goes off again. It went off while my mother was here

aunt B showed up at water st day after golf club attack, but I never knew how she found out , I never told anyone online about it . Her and Bruce knew about it some how before any one else.  They wanted me to use my injury to help them run a medical scam and they were pissed when I refused to. They started spreading lies about me online because of that. That was Nov 2013

aunt B and Bruce knew about the cats and DAY BEFORE it happened. aunt B posted on my FaceBook wall "the next head nailed to the door will be yours" the day before any heads were nailed to door

I think it's aunt B online saying stuff about me and my mom, because she did it before and because FBI was here asking about her going down to Washington Jan 6 attack, but I didn't yet know the Jan 6 attack had even happened. They said aunt B aunt L and 23 cousins had been down there and they FBI was trying to find them. 

Old Orchard police and Biddeford police and a detective have all shown up asking about aunt B and aunt L and 23 cousins as well. But again I don't know anything because I not had contact with them. But FBI, 2 police departments and a detective are all saying aunt B and aunt L and 23 cousins are making claims about me, in connection to bombs and ISIS .

That's how I found out Paul Martel was in prison. According to FBI agents, Paul Martel built the bombs for the 2013 Boston marathon and the 2013 bomb at South Maine Community College and put the college bomb in my class to make it look like I made the Boston bomb. That's why the FBI showed up to begin with. They were at the college investigating both bombs that happened the same day

FBI said they believed the whole thing was aunt B and Bruce idea, but Paul martial was the one who actually built the bomb and sold it to ISIS, and put the second bomb in my class at college so Paul Martel was the only one they could arrest. FBI is trying to arrest aunt B because they think she's the one behind it. They said the whole thing seems to have started because Scott went to prison for selling drugs at Scarborough downs and for some reason aunt B thinks I'm the one who turned him in, even though I've not seen or heard from Scott since he was 8 years old

FBI thinks the attack on the cats was aunt B retaliating because Paul Martel got arrested. 

When Dickie died also in 2013, after the bomb in Boston but before the golf club attackers aunt B was with him taking charge of his medicine and his official cause of death was an overdose of his medicine, with a not saying unable to determine if accident or suicide. I found out this 2 days after he died when Jacksonville County state police from Florida showed up here in Maine to interview me about where I was the day Dickie died  because when he died aunt B called 911 and told the police I had killed him. 

The FBI thinks the golf club attack was aunt B retaliating because police didn't arrest me for murdering Dickie like she had demanded they do

FBI is full focused on arresting aunt B and Bruce. There's no evidence Bruce is dead. All evidence points to him being in New Zealand. 

FBI believes Bruce faked death because FBI was moving in to close and he didn't want to take the fall for what aunt B is doing 

In 1996 and 1997 aunt B sent out lots of emails to the family claiming the emails had been written by me. I did not have email, internet, or even a computer yet. She got Dickie and David and Joey in raving warpath over it. That's the summer they all showed up talking about Etiole and amphibious aliens and alien abduction. aunt B was the one who started all of that stuff about Etiole, who I never called Etiole. Etiole is not his name, it's always been the word the Atwaters used to describe him (it means man from the stars or alien it's a French word. I don't know French, aunt B is the one who knows French, so I never would have given him a French name) Bruce and Dickie went to a bunch on MUFON forums from 1996 to 2007 spreading lies about me and Etiole calling him a demon and alien and claiming I was an alien abducted. I found out about it in 2007 after they'd already been doing it for 11 years. I don't think aunt B has ever stopped sending out emails about Etiole while pretended to be me, I think she is still doing it.

My father was the one who told the Atwaters about Etiole. My father and Dickie both called him the white monkey. In 1994 and 1996 Bishop Morgan asked me to his office and showed me a bunch of letters, all of them signed "The White Monkey, OST". He said the letters were written to sound like I had written them but he said he'd seen my handwriting before and knew I hadn't written these. He wanted to know if I recognized the handwriting. Some had been written by daddy. Others had been written by Dickie. President Earnshaw later called me in for similar letters he had received and again the white monkey letters were written by mostly daddy and some Dickie all pretending to be me, trying to make it look like I was pretending to be Etiole. In total 16 Bishops and 2 stake presidents had contacted me over the years about white monkey letters

The white monkey letters stopped in 2007 when the psychiatrist at Biddeford hospital diagnosed daddy as having schizophrenia and put him on psychiatric medicine. Since 2007 no one has mentioned Etiole or white monkey, until the week Todd died when people started showing up in Biddeford driveway yelling about Etiole and calling him a suicide demon

The white monkey belonged to Helen pearly and has nothing to do with Etiole at all. In 1978 Helen pearly had a pet white monkey that got lost. Me and cousin Micheal saw it in the woods out back and tried to catch it. We found Etiole the same day. Etiole is a homeless man who lives behind my land in the woods. Me and Micheal took him food. For some reason because we found him while looking for Helen pearly white monkey my father and the Atwaters got it in their heads that Etiole was a demon alien shape shifter who turned into a white monkey to lure me and Micheal into the woods. And that's how their stupid ass alien and demon rumours got started.

I used to let him sleep in the Dodge at night, that's why people started saying the car was haunted. They said Etiole was a demon and the car was demon possessed. My father and Bruce used to stay up all night debating what kind of demon Etiole must be and kept calling me a demon child and a witch and saying I was demon possessed and they called Etiole my familiar and said I summoned him to cast curses and death spells. Bruce believed all that stuff as actual fact and after Bruce left for the night my dad would joke about how gullible Bruce was and how easy it was to convince him demons lived in my car. From there the rumours ended up on the internet through the Heaven's Gate group, that Bruce was a member of at the time. They were a group of around 200 people who went from one UFO forum to the next spreading rumours about me and Etiole. They did that for 11 years before I found out Bruce and his UFO friends were doing it. 

I found out when people started showing up in Old Orchard with beeping equipment claiming they were here the capture Etiole while calling him an amphibious alien and EBE and calling me "EelKat Etiole's friend" I did not use the username EelKat online and none of my books about EelKat (the black bobcat) had ever been published so there was no reason for internet people to know either the name EelKat or Etiole.  I was using the username xavychup online not EelKat, that's why my email address is xavychup not EelKat. EelKat is something Grammy called me back in the 1970s because she said eels and cats were my spirit animals. I never called myself EelKat online or offline so only the Atwaters had ever heard that word before and yet in 2007, I spent the entire summer with endless people showing up in my yard at my tent and all calling me EelKat and all looking for Etiole. 

Because I was living under the tarp I had no access to internet yet so had no clue what was going on online. I went to the library and searched Etiole and EelKat to see what came up and I found tens of thousands of forum posts and interviews and articles all written by Bruce and Dickie, including interviews with Buddy Hopkins, David Mack, and David Icke. All the stuff they said was how they had this demon possessed niece who had been abducted by aliens and has brought an alien back from the mother ship with her and was now protecting him. Every one of the forum posts. Interviews and articles had my full name, my old Orchard address, my email, and my old Orchard phone number listed. That was why so many people were showing up at the tent. In 2006 to 2009. The whole thing of people calling me a Witch and saying about curses and death spells and aliens and demons was started by daddy saying that stuff to Bruce and then Bruce and Dickie spreading it online for 11 years from 1996 to 2007

I started using the name EelKat online BECAUSE my uncles had spent 11 years calling me that on MUFON forums, and when I found out about it and started contacting all the forum admins, I had to tell every one:

"I'm Wendy Christine Allen. I'm the one you all call EelKat, Etiole's friend, the REAL EelKat, friend of the REAL Etiole,  and I'm here to slap every damned one of you with protection from harassment orders. I'm tired of the slander and lies you people are spreading about me of fucking UFO websites. I'm not an alien abductee, I've never claimed to be, until this morning I didn't even know what an alien abductee was. Etiole is not an alien. Etiole is not a demon. He's a local homeless man who has a skin deformity, so he hides in the forest because people are scared of him because of what he looks like, and they beat him up and bully him. The people telling you he's an alien are my uncles, who the ring leaders behind beating him up and bullying him, and I'm quite upset to find out they've been doing it online for quite some time and I'm only just finding out about it now, because earlier this week, I had 30,000 people in my driveway, trying to catch him while screaming that he was an amphibious alien and EBE. You UFO crazies are insane, and I want you people out of my yard. My uncles are lying to you about me and Etiole and you'll idiots for believing them."

I created an EelKat username EVERYWHERE just so I could post that message to every place my uncles had posted that fucking ass alien abduction shit about me and Etiole. THAT, is why you saw me start to use the EelKat username in 2007, when I was always xavychup everywhere before that.

And that is also why I do NOT have an EelKat email.  I've had the xavychup email since 1994, I still have it. And anyone using an eelkat email to contact you isn't me, because I don't have an eelkat email. It always has been and still is xavychup.

Last I knew aunt B and Bruce and aunt L and Bruce's daughters and David's kids and grandchildren were all still continuing to spread demon and alien lies about me and Etiole and were still putting my real name and address on everything. In 2019 they were putting my old Orchard address my high street address and also my water st address even though I was no longer at water street on thousands of forum posts and Facebook posts. In 2019 they were making several hundred posts daily across all there accounts and I found 27 fake EelKat accounts owned just by Bruce himself alone. They were all things like eeelkat, ee1kat, 33lkat, etc. Slightly spell different to look like it was me, yo someone looking quick and not paying attention.  They are likely still doing it and I assume they are doing the same to my mother as well. 

Also I don't even know what mothers address is. How could I put it anywhere? I didn't even know she moved until last summer and apparently she moved a few years ago. No one ever told me she had moved. 

Just like the saying about me saying she got a car. I didn't know about the white car until she came over in it to see Mickey last may and apparently she had a few cars in between. Last car I knew was the black one. I didn't even know she had a new car, let alone more than one.

No one ever told me those things, not her or any one else so it's utterly stupid for her to think I could put her address or cars online. Only people who knew about her address and cars could put them online.

Don't forget she never even told me when Dickie or Bruce died. Both times I found out from the FBI showing up to investigate accusations that I had murdered them

I'm the bed ridden, crippled by multiple attacks. The November 14, 2013 golf club attack, I was almost healed from, but the June 2016 shopping cart attack re opened the 2013 injury and doctors can't operate this time because of the bone shards severing my spinal column. I'm crippled for the rest of my life and no one in this family ever cared. 

Both attacks the FBI wanted to talk to my parents and they refused to talk to him both times. My baby was murdered in the first attack. I was 8 months pregnant and all any of them would do was gibberish about "rosemary baby" and say there was no baby because it was a demon because it was Etiole's. My parents and the Atwaters hate Etiole that much, that they shun the existence of my baby and act like it was never there. That's how much they hate me. That's how cruel and hate filled they are towards me. They spent the last 50 years calling me demon possessed and them saying that is WHY local people attack me and killed my baby and left me crippled for the rest of my life. 

I am in bed 15 or more hours a day, I can barely sit up, I can barely stand up long enough to cook, I have to wear adult diapers since 2013 because half my organs don't work any more because the nerves from those organs to my spine are cut off. My hands shake so bad that it takes me hours to eat a single meal. I can't go back to college, I can't go back to work. But do they care? No. Not my mother. Not my father. Neither of them give a shit. They are both too damned selfish thinking about their own greed to ever once lift a finger to help me. Daddy treats me like a fucking slave and my mother is so far out of my life shunning me because bishop kenning in Saco ward told her too that she hasn't got a clue how bad things are.

I'm not doing a damned thing to any of them. I mind my own business. I write my novels. I don't contact them. I don't talk to them. I don't talk about them.  Someone is clearly pretending to be me online and is slandering me and getting sick of it. My mother flips out about everything thing under the sun and I never have a clue what she's talking about, because I never did or said any of the things she accuses me of. And my father and the Atwaters do the same thing. Some one is out there pretending to be me to get them worked into a frenzy just to sit back and laugh while watching my mother, my father, and the Atwaters be too damned stupid to think. My mother and my father and the Atwaters are all filled with so much pure hatred for me that it takes nothing to convince them to attack me. And whoever it is posting online pretending to be me, knows that and is taking advantage of it. 

I'm too damned sick and crippled to even attempt to do half the crazy shit my mother and my father are accusing me of. And what's worse, my father is right here in the same apartment with me. He sees me every day, he knows how bad off my health is. 

Look how much I'm bleeding all over the house every day. Massive nose bleeds that last for hours to a time, not bleeding from my nose. Just coming out of my nose. I'm so dizzy I can't sit up for weeks to a time. I faint and blackout when I try to get up to go to the bathroom. The pain in my hip and pelvis and knee and spine is so bad I can't even move my fingers to type my novels. 

And look at what they do. Do they really think I'm physically capable of doing the things they accuse me of? They are so damned self centred and paranoid. It's all I can do just to sit up and eat something, how the hell do they think I can do the stuff they accuse me of? My day is spent focusing on trying to get my leg to move so I can make a meal, I don't even have time to think about them. 

It looks more and like my mother and my father are doing this stuff on purpose to try to kill me. My father knows how bad off my heart and lungs are and how difficult it is for me to breath after just a couple of steps. His mother left that land to me in her will in 1983. He stole it, had it put into his name illegally. He's been pissed ever since her death, because she gave everything to me not him. That's been a big problem for him for the last 40 years. He raves about it alongside his ravings about going to Utah taking him off the fire department. He hates my mother because of Utah, blames her every day for losing his fire department pension. He raves about it all night long every single night. He blames me for his mother disinheriting him. He raves about that all the time too. I was only grandchild That's why she left everything to me. Including the land that he stole and put in his name. That land is rightfully mine, his mother gave it to me, and he can't stand it. He's needling my mother about the land just to spite his mother.

He's only trying to get the land away from me because he is mad that the town didn't take it. His mother wanted it to stay in the family. It had been in her family since 1530. Her family was the original settlement family of old Orchard and my land is that spot that the first house in Old Orchard was built.  My father stopped paying taxes to spite his mother and lose the land. He said so many times. He was angry when I bought the land back from the town. He still is. He wants it out of the family because his mother wanted it in the family. That's why he's trying to turn my mother against me over the land. Because he gates his own mother that much.

Keep in mind the 4 door white truck showed up at my workplace daily. Even though I never knew ahead of time what store I would be working at. I was a retail merchandiser and stocked shelves at dozens of stores all over the state. Walmart's every where, CVS, khols, sometimes local, sometimes as far as Freeport and once in Vermont and once in Massachusetts.  I got the notice of which store to be at 15 minutes before I left. So the only person who ever knew where I was going was my father. 

And yet the 4 door white truck would also arrive ahead of me and be waiting. They didn't follow me, they got their first.

And the police caught the truck and the driver in 2017. Kathy BR owned the truck. Her son was the driver.

The smith's are my parents friends. My mother's visiting and home teachers for years.

Kathy was the district emergency dispatch for all the towns in the area, not just old Orchard. That's why none of the 911 calls went through during the attacks by the 4 door white truck. He only attacked while she was on duty. She never forwarded any of the calls so officers never were told to come help me.

That includes the November 14, 2013 golf club attack in South Portland. But the college security officer made a report even though the police never arrived. That big black officer who was head of security was on duty and him and 2 student officers from the police academy made the report.

And FBI found the data from the calls, that never got forwarded to police, that's why Kathy BR lost her job. Because she's the one who tampered with the 911 call files.

Tim and Kathy BR both, not together, individually, arriving separately, both arrived at my tent multiple times throughout the entire year of 2013, saying they were coming to speak to me on behalf of someone who wanted to remain anonymous. So I never knew who sent them. Each time they arrived all they would say was that I had to tear down "the little yellow house" as they called the shop. 

August 8, 2013 the backhoe drove over the shop while I was at work on the food truck down by the pier.

I never saw Tim or Kathy again after that. Not once. And these were people who stopped by to visit my parents daily for over 40 years. Since August 8, 2013 and the backhoe attack on my house, Kathy and Tim have gone to alarming extreme levels to avoid running into me. They just down the street, on one of the private drives, so it's difficult to avoid running into me, and we used to see them a few times a week at local grocery stores. They both, if they see me in a store, literally throw whatever they are carrying across the store and run out of the store like they have a pack of rabid wolves on their heels. It's pretty fascinating thing to see.

My cousin and next door neighbour Tim Murphy was murdered that same week, a few days before the backhoe. His body was left at the cascade Ross road crossroad. 14 days later his head was left at the Portland Ave Ross road crossroad road. His mother put up the big white cross a month later. 

The 4 door white truck showed up a few days later. 

Tim Murphy had an identical truck. The police and FBI initially thought it was his, but his truck was later found.

Tim Murphy owned Etiole's swamp and was the one buying most of the food and supplies for Etiole. 

Tim Murphy was with me and Micheal the day we tried to catch Helen pearly white monkey and found Etiole. 

The FBI believes that Tim Murphy was killed by someone trying to frame Etiole and believes the murder was a retaliation over Tim Murphy refusing to sell the swamp land behind me. 

At the time the FBI was looking at DF Feeney as a suspect but DF Feeney's family was killed in a murder suicide and he too is now seen as someone who was being framed.

The swamp, sandpit, and pond behind me, the Murphys own that, and 3 people in their family have now died horrifically violent deaths because they, like me were protecting Etiole from the people who would kill him because they believed Bruce's demon and alien lies about Etiole. 

Look at what is being done to me. They drove a backhoe over my house and they murdered my baby and they crippled me, all days apart.

Look at what is being done to the Murphys. And they're massacring the Murphy family. Tim's death the same time as the attack on me.

And look at who screams the loudest hate for Etiole. Look WHO calls him a demon.

And look at WHO the FBI's number one suspect in all of this is.

My family laughs and jokes about this whole thing like they think it's a fucking game. People are dying and the FBI is not laughing. 

Look at WHO keeps attacking my car. Look at WHO keeps cutting the wires off the apartment. Vandalism. Harassment. Bullying. Threats. Evil people Evil things. By their fruits yea shall no them, for no good thing springs from dead wood. Those are small petty crimes, but they are still crimes. But it's far beyond petty crimes. The list of people who have been murdered is quite long now. 13 died just at the Boston marathon bombing. I'm crippled for the rest of my life, and so far, I'm the only person who was attacked who lived through an attack. Every one else they've attacked is dead. Most of them beheaded or killed in a bomb. 7 different bombs, including one in my classroom at college in 2013, two in my workplace in 2015 and 2016, the house in Old Orchard in 2006, and my doctor on Saco Ave in 2003 where the doctor the nurses and 21 patients were killed. And the FBI was on site for every one of them, and my family thinks it's funny to laugh and make jokes about all of it. Because that's they do since the day me and Micheal and Tim Murphy found Etiole

Do you realize for all the shit my parents have pulled,  they've never once apologized for anything. And you know why? Because they aren't sorry. They feel no guilt. They feel no shame. They feel no remorse. Why? Because they hate me. They always have. From the time I was old enough to walk both of them reminded me daily that I was supposed to be a boy to replace the baby boy that was born before me. That's why Grammy Helen was the one who was always with me until I was 8. And after that it was Grammy Eva. And then BW. 

Do you know how I found out Santa wasn't real? Grammy Helen died when I was 8. That year for Christmas there were no Christmas presents. There was just my parents arguing over which one of them should have lowered themselves to buy a gift for the mistake that committed the sin of not being born a boy. I remember that Christmas better than any other. Because that's when found out exactly how much my parents hated me and thought I was worthless because I was a girl.

Look at my MRI scans at the damage the foundation nail through my hip did. The mutilated bones that were shattered when I was 6 years old and no one took me to the hospital. I've walked on a broken leg for almost 50 years. 

Look at the jaw surgery I had to have when I was 42 to repair an injury done to me with a brick when I was 14. 

Look at the Gremlin, 1974 orange, obliterated by a sledgehammer. 

Look at what happened when I was awarded phi theta kappa. No one went to the award ceremony. My mother said it was stupid. My father spent the day raving calling me an educated damned fool. BW was at the temple with Rick. And people with golf clubs were waiting at my car.

Do you realize if just one single person had cared enough to be at the phi theta kappa awards my baby might not have been murdered and I might not be crippled now. 

Grammy Helen would beat my dad's ass for the shit he does to me. And Grammy Eva would be ashamed of the stuff my mother does. Neither Helen or Eva would have let them get away with the constant abuse and harassment.

As for what happened to my car March 9, 2022 - KRA vandalized my car and tried to make it look like my brother did it. KRA stuffed the tailpipe full of McDonald's ketchup packets, which is what caused the fuel line to blow up. I could have died. He tried to kill me and make it look like my brother who works at McDonald's did it so my brother would be blamed.

KRA did the same thing in November, because of some guy named Todd who I supposedly convinced to kill himself via may painting a "suicide demon" on my car. There is a picture of Etiole on my car, that is what they are calling "a suicide demon"



UPDATE: February 27, 2022:

Do not underestimate either my willingness or how far I will go to protect my murdered son's grave from being destroyed by the bastards who are the @FBI s number one suspects in having killed him. The ONLY reason that bitch is hell bent on digging up my farm is because she wants to destroy the evidence of my baby having been murdered by golf clubs.

I'm sick of my mother and my mothers shit head Atwater relatives. They won't stop focusing on the cats. They are lost in a delusional refusal to face reality and that is impeding the fbi investigation of the murder of my baby and the crippling of my spine, because all either of them will do is say there was no baby and tell everyone lies about me and I don't like it. My baby is dead and that has nothing to do with the cats and I'm sick of my mother and her filthy Atwater thugs both ignoring what happened at the college 2 years before the cat event happened AND daily arriving to bully me and say it was “RoseMary’s Baby” and not a real baby because it was a demon, because Etiole was a from.

 

Etiole is not a demon, my baby with him was not a demon, you murdered my fucking baby because you are retarded religion crazed jackasses. Get the fuck out of my life and go burn were evil people like you belong!

 

I'm tired of every time I mention the baby that was murdered November 14, 2013 at Southern Maine Community College,  they wave their hand in my face and say, "no you're just upset about the cats". The cats happened May 14, 2015 and those cats were not mine, they were my mother's cats, that she hid in my motorhome because her landlord Nick didn’t know she had 13 cats in her Birch St apartment. And he evicted her a year later when he found out the cats were hers.

That's why SHE is the one making a fuss about them, not me. I'm not the one running around yapping about the cats constantly,  she is. I'm talking about my son. 

 

My baby boy that was murdered by 3 attackers wielding golf clubs in the SMCC parking lot. A blond woman whom the redhaired woman called Claire, a redhaired woman who the blond woman called Kendra, both in their 60sish, and a bald man in his 30ish.

 

I'm not talking about my mother's cats, I'm talking about my child. What the fuck is wrong with these people? 

 

As for my car … did you all forget when and why I painted it? May 12, 2014. Mother's day. The first mother day after my baby was murdered. I painted my Volo on mother's day to divert my mind from killing myself. That's why I painted my car 9 years ago and you all know that, I've said as much hundreds of times.

Ty Mother and the Atwaters are refusing to acknowledge the baby because also refuse to acknowledge Etiole, a local homeless Jewish man who is the baby's father. 

My Mother and the Atwaters are so damned bigoted and religion crazed that all they’ve ever done is call Etiole a demon or an alien, since the first day they ever saw him: September 23, 1978.

It’s been almost 50fucking years that they’ve harassed him because of what he looks like and harassed me because I won’t let them beat him to death. 

They fully 100% believe he is not human and they run around slandering him every chance they can get and they’ve been doing it for 50 fucking years now. 

And THAT is the ONLY reason, they are doing what they are doing right now. 

 

They have NO RIGHT to be on my land. They are fucking trespassing.

Because they are so damned brainwashed by their fucking religions, that they can’t stop believing anyone who is physically deformed MUST be a Demon.

 

And they’ve spent the last 9 years daily hounding me and whooping and cheering joyous celebration over “killing the demon” as they refer to my baby.

 

In you hadn’t watched the local news - January 2022 - there was a massive FBI raid on Main Street and Cutts Street Biddeford, Maine. 8 of the men who have been roaming Southern Maine beating up pregnant women with golf clubs, were arrested and are now in jail where they belong, soon to be moved to federal prison.

And THAT is what has got the Atwaters in a frenzy now, digging up my land in Old Orchard Beach. They are desperately trying to find my dead baby’s unmarked grave, because they know his gold club shattered skull is very damning evidence for them, now that the FBI made a move and started arresting a bunch of their thugs.

 

And those arrested that just happened, they happened because the FBI phone number was painted on my car and locals in Biddeford, came forward with witness testimony of the attacks.

 

What my mother and the Atwaters are doing is cruel and evil and hateful, and I’m sick of it.

They don’t care about or my life, and my baby or his life. As can be seen by the fact of how he died.

The FBI is still trying to ID the bond Claire woman and the redhaired Kendra woman. They caught the bald man with the 4 door white pick up truck, we now know who he is - the son of the Old Orchard Beach police dispatch woman, the woman who would never let any 911 calls begging for help while these attacks were happening, go through.

Don't be surprised if you see the signs - all 144 of them - go back up in my driveway. Because I'm fucking sick of being harassed, and the agreement to keep the signs down, specified that EVERYONE in Old Orchard Beach - ALL RESIDENTS would NEVER HARASS ME again. You people have broken your agreement. I'm painting new signs as we speak.

EVERYONE - includes real estate agents, developers, contractors, construction workers, and any Atwater bitch who thinks they have the right to daily show up at my Biddeford apartment to say: "What are we going to do about Wendy, she can't keep that land, I need a downpayment on a house, she is going to sell her land and give me the money or else!"

Burn in hell you fucking bitch, and take all your fucking Atwater shitheads with you.

There are more then 500 graves on my farm - more than half of them Native American, some of them buried as far back as the 1400s. I WILL NOT let you touch those graves. I take my job as the guardian of these graves VERY SERIOUSLY. And you WILL have an all out war on your hands if you dare touch them.

Now she's threatening to dig up the graves on my land.

My dead baby means a hell of a lot more to me, then her fucking house. She never gave a damn when my baby died, but look at what she did when the cats died. Her priorities are fucked up.

My dead baby means a hell of a lot more to me, then her fucking house. She never gave a damn when my baby was murdered. But look at what she did when the murderers returned and killed the cats!

Look at what she is STILL doing about the fucking cats!

That's all she cares about. Those damned dead cats and her glut lust to have a mansion in KennebunkPort.

Her priorities are fucked up.

She doesn't give a damn about Human life.

And you know what's worse, the FBI thinks she, her sister Barbara, her brother Bruce, and their friends Claire and Kendra, where the people wearing the fake KuKluxKlan robes and hoods on November 14, 2013, when they used golf clubs to beat my baby to death and break my spine leaving me crippled for the rest of my life. 

Her, Barbara, Bruce, Claire, and Kendra - those are the FBI’s #1 suspects in the murder of my baby, November 14, 2013.

And what the hell is with people mixing up me and my mother? 

I'm NOT the one hell bent on a house. I have been willfully homeless for decades I have no desire for the confines of a house. The one running around yapping hysterics about a house IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one talking about cats. The one running around yapping hysterics about cats IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one talking about Todd, I don't even know who Todd is! I don't know any one named Todd! The one running around yapping hysterics about Todd IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one talking about Mark and Dan and Watson, I don't even know who Mark and Dan and Watson are! I don't know anyone named Mark or Watson and the only Dan I know is my cousin and it's clearly not him she's talking about. The one running around yapping hysterics about Mark and Dan and Watson IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one putting curses on people. I don't believe in curses. The one running around yapping hysterics about curses and claiming she's casting death spells on people IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one talking about demons. I don't believe in demons. The one running around yapping hysterics about demons and calling Etiole a demon IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one calling Etiole a demons. I don't believe in demons. Etiole is a local homeless man and Etiole isn't even his name, I don't use his real name online to protect his identity. I'm not the one who calls him Etiole either. Etiole is the name the Atwaters call him. The one running around yapping hysterics about demons and calling Etiole a demon IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one talking about aliens or UFOs or alien abduction. I don't believe in aliens or UFOs or alien abduction. The one running around yapping hysterics about aliens or UFOs or alien abduction IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one calling Etiole an alien. I don't believe in aliens and besides that, Etiole is a local homeless man. The one running around yapping hysterics and calling Etiole an alien IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one talking about Voodoo dolls and Voodoo curses. Voodoo has nothing to do with Voodoo dolls and curses. Voodoo dolls and curses are mumbo-jumbo made up by Hollywood movies and have nothing to do with the Voodoo religion at all. Voodoo is a branch of the Catholic Church. Look it up. Voodoo is a Christian religion. A Voodoo Priest is a type of Catholic Monk. A Voodoo Priestess is a type of Catholic Nun. Voodoo does not cast curses or use voodoo dolls. The one running around yapping hysterics about Voodoo dolls and Voodoo curses IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

Open your eyes people. Me and my mother don't look that much alike. You should be able to tell the difference between me and her.

Stop showing up in my yard to to attack me because of some fucking shit you argued with my mother about.

If you've got a problem with my mother, take it up with her not me.

Her, Barbara, Bruce, Claire, and Kendra - those are the FBI’s #1 suspects in the murder of my baby, November 14, 2013.

No, I have no updates on Etiole.

He was shot, by a local lunatic.

No, he's not okay.

And I am getting sick of this fucking ass rumour of Etiole being an alien or a demon.

The fact of Etiole being an alien is a stupid urban myth started by some crazy ass locals.

The fact of Etiole being a demon is a stupid urban legend created by some religion crazed nuts.

Etiole is an old man covered with acid burns. His skin is white and face disfigured from acid burns. He's not an alien and he's not a demon. And you people who call him an alien and call him a demon, you're all fucking crazy. 

Etiole is a homeless Jewish man who has no skin because he was tortured in a Nazi concentration camp in France during WW2. He came to Maine in 1953 with a bunch of other refugees, He has post traumatic stress disorder really bad and he's terrified of people. He can't function in normal society, so hides in the forests. He's not an alien, he's not a demon, he's not a cryptid. He's a disfigured old man, now in late 90s. He barely get around. He doesn't you people harassing him like this. Why can't you people leave him alone? Why are you all so damned desperate to believe in aliens or demons that you have to harass a helpless old man? Leave him alone. Why can't you leave him alone? What is wrong with you people?

Read The Amphibious Aliens article, https://www.eelkat.com/AmphibiousAliens.html where way back in 2007, I DEBUNKED every one of you stupid ass alien, cryptic, demon, and haunted car rumours. Amphibious Aliens The Story of Etiole and The World's Most Haunted Car, goes over every event from the 1970s, that started the fucking rumour, and lists off how every alien, demon, and haunted car rumour was proven to be nothing but a hoax started by my mother's brother  Mervin Bruce Atwater. Every single one of those rumours was started by that one man, and were proven to ALL be hoaxes he perpetrated to try to get money out of Dr Larochelle, the man who hit Mervin's younger sister with a car. They tried to convince the old doctor his car had a demon living in it and they scammed the doctor out of $20,000 back in the 1970s. THAT is how and why the demon car rumour got started. I bought the car in 1975. Etiole started living in it in 1978. And that is how me and Etiole got dragged into the fucking ass rumours about a demon car.

The article Amphibious Aliens The Story of Etiole and The World's Most Haunted Car DEBUNKS ALL of the alien, cryptid, demon, and haunted car rumours. Every last one of them.

The car is not haunted and Etiole is not a demon.

You people who believe my car is haunted or think that Etiole is a demon, you are all fucking retarded.

You are slandering me!

You are slandering Etiole!

You are slandering my cars!

I'm sick of it!

Grow up and go get a damned fucking brain!

I'm sick of you people harassing me and Etiole over stupid shit started by brain dead idiots.

If you are having problems with my mother, tell FBI agent Andy Drewer about it not me. Have information, call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322

Have information about the murder of my baby, call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322

Have information about any of the attacks on my family, call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322

Have information about the people who shot Etiole, call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322

If you have information about anything, call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322 and give it to him, not me.

https://www.eelkat.com/AmphibiousAliens.html





UPDATE March 8, 2022

One sign is back up. 

How many more go up, is dependent upon YOU.

From now on, every time one of you Old Orchard Beach, Pine Point, or Biddeford shitheads decides to harass me, I'm going to put up another sign.

If you want no more, then you better make dammed sure you keep your friends and family and neighbors out of my yard and out of my life. I'm not selling my land, and I'll not let you dig up those graves.

Burn in hell.

No means no.

And I'm tired of saying no.

Just like rapist, you refuse to take no for an answer.

No. I'm not selling my land and giving you the money so you can buy a house in Kennebunk.

I've said no to you every single week since August 2021. And your current threats to dig up the graves on my land and move them to your land, is why the signs are going back up.

I'm tired of you bullying me.

I'm tired of your threats.

I'm tired of your gaslighting.

I'm tired of your lies.

You keep saying "After all I've done for you!" What have you done for me? When I was 8 years old you locked me in a racoon trap and left me there for 27 years, only letting me out on Sundays so you could parade me around in the Cape Elizabeth and Saco Ward Mormon churches to pedophile priests who paid you so they could rape me. That's why you never had a job until 5 years ago, because you made plenty selling your pre-teen daughter for sex to dirty old men.

You drove a foundation nail through my hip when I was 6 years old.

From the tie I was 14 until I was 42 years old I was near mute, because you broke my jaw with a brick. I was 42 when I had surgery to rebuild my jaw, that's why I can talk today.

You never allowed me or my bothers to go to school or doctors.

YOU took a sledge hammer to my 1974 AMC Gremlin, my 1976 AMC Gremlin, my 1976 AMC Hornet, my Olds station wagon, and you took a chain saw to my 1964 Dodge 330 the worlds most haunted car, the real Christine. YOU did that.

Since 1978 you have harassed me and me boyfriend, the one you call Etiole, because YOU believe he's a demon because of his skin deformities. You and your sister and your brothers contacted MUFON and told them lies about me and Etiole both. You called him the amphibious alien and claimed he had abducted me. Your alien abduction hoax, almost got him killed in 1997 and again in 2007 when ufo crazies arrived in my yard calling him an EBE and trying to shoot him "for science". An elderly man, a French, Jewish Nazis concentration camp survivor who lives in the forest because his PTSD and fear of people is so bad. A man who is scarred with acid burns from being tortured in WW2 and is neither a demon nor an alien and who deeply traumatized by YOUR endless harassment.

It was YOUR friends who drove a backhoe over my house August 8, 2013 because YOU paid them $600 to do so. Because you thought without a house I would sell my land. But I wasn't the one living in that house. My dad lived there. All you did was put him in a Biddeford apartment. I was already living in the tent since May 9, 2006, and I had the Biddeford apartment since February 13, 2007. 

It was YOUR friends who attacked me with golf clubs at Southern Maine Community College, November 14, 2013, while I was 8 months pregnant with Etiole's baby. That they murdered, on YOUR orders, because as YOU put it "It's RoseMary's Baby" while you gibbered about some horror movie about demon babies.

That was YOUR own grandchild that YOU hired those people to kill.

April 10, 2015, YOU broke into my motorhome, put YOUR 13 cats in it, them then brought YOUR friends to attack my family.

We now know the owner of the 4-door white truck, was YOUR visiting teach, Kathy, the driver who tried to kill me, was her son, and the reason the 911 calls didn't go through during each attack, was because she was the 911 dispatcher and her son, driving her 4door white pick up truck, only attacked me she was on duty. They were YOUR friends from the Saco Ward church, YOUR church, attacking YOUR daughter on YOUR orders.

Since August 2021, you arrive at my apartment 3 times a week, to tell me I need to put curses on people at your workplace, citing that I have to, because you're my mother and I'm demon possessed and I should be putting my demons to good use by helping you kill three people you don't like at work.

I'm sick of you calling me demon possessed.

I'm sick of you demanding curses.

You have a severe mental problem and you need psychiatric help.

I'm sick of you spreading slanderous lies about me telling every one around town I cast curses and death spells, when I've never done either.

November 19, 2021, YOU friend Todd commit suicide and YOU told YOUR friends, that me and Etiole used suicide demons to drive him in front of a train.

YOUR friend Todd, who I did NOT know and had never heard of until 6 of YOUR friends showed up at Rotary Park November 21, 2021 to gun down Etiole while screaming that they were "killing the suicide demon", while we were walking my dog.

Something YOU now brag that YOU tricked YOUR friends into do, because you needed to get Etiole off my land in order to convince me to sell it and give YOU the money for a down payment on a house in Kennebunk.

Christmas Eve 2021, you arrived at MY apartment in Biddeford, STOLE my father's psychiatric medicine, medicine he needs to keep him NOT violent, because he has extremely violent schizophrenia and one hell of a criminal record that requires him to never be in the same room with a gun, let alone never have one. He was committed to a mental ward in 2007, and they ONLY let him out because he came to Biddeford to live with ME in MY apartment, and I was monitoring his meds.

After YOU stole his medicine, you took him with you daily to Kennebunk, to a mansion by Bush's house, to daily tell him, you would give him that house if he forced me to sell my land and give you the money from my land to buy that Kennebunk house.

Tell, me, what of THOSE things, is YOU doing anything FOR me?

No, means, no.

I'm done saying NO to you.

You are nothing but a land rapist.

Just like a rapist you refuse to accept No for an answer.

Every week since August 2021, I've said no to you.

No, I will not sell my land and hand you the money so you can buy a house in Kennebunk.

No, means no.

And no, I'm not happy with the fact that because I won't sell my land and give you the money, you are now threatening to dig up the graves on my land and move them to your land.

No, I'm not happy with you saying "You don't need the land, you don't use it, I need a house in Kennebunk, you ought to want to sell your land and give me the money!"

Yes, I do use my land.

Yes, I did see the car YOU dumped behind my motorhome. You have till the end of summer to get it off my land or the police are taking it.

What I do with my land is none of your damned business.

And for your information, my land is where I write my novels. I sit on the hill, and I write every day, all summer long. The only reason I didn't in 2021 is because I had Covid for 3 months.

No, telling me that my grandmother's evil spirit is haunting my land. also does not inspire me to want to sell it.

YOU are an evil, hate fill, mean, cruel, sadistic, child abusing, vindictive sociopath.

Get psychiatric help.

You need it.

What you are doing is wrong and you know it. You won't be so upset about what is painted on my car, if you didn't know it.

You can't hide from the truth forever. 

You can't hide your sins, your crimes, your cruelties forever.

Good things will never come to you, until you stop doing evil things to those around you.


Don't forget, my camera runs 24/7 and it's a simple matter of my uploading the video footage of you doing and saying things thing. Plus a lot of it, you said and did while I was livestreaming so people online have already seen and heard you say and do these things.

Yes, I even have video footage of the 4 bicycle brats who chased the homeless man into the train November 2021.

EVERYTHING, I have said here I have video footage of. That is WHY the FBI have been able to arrest so many people these past few months, in Biddeford.

Cutting the wires off our house November 2021 - you did on a livestream. People saw you do it WHILE you were doing it. 

All 2 of the FedEx workers you demanded death curses for - you did on a livestream.

Stealing my dad's meds - you did on a livestream.

Saying "What are we going to do about Wendy, she can't keep that land, I need a house" - you did on a livestream.

Threatening to dig up the graves on my land - you did on a livestream.

All that n-word stuff you said about the black men at your workplace - you did on a livestream.

People been seeing and hearing you live. They've already seen and heard a lot.

How do you plan to explain away all the hundreds of hours of video footage I have of you breaking into my bedroom during a live stream to threaten me, my family, my land?












To the people who asked about weird emails that you claim you got from someone claiming to be me, here are a few things to consider:

#1: I DO NOT use email and I NEVER have. if you get a letter from me it is going to be written in ink on paper, and in a stamped envelope the mail truck delivered to your mailbox at the end of your driveway. Since 1997 my aunt Barbara has been sending emails out to people CLAIMING they were from me, so in all likelihood whatever you got was actually from her. Her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater did the same thing throughout the early 2000s. And 57 of their children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren have done it at well. No, I’m not special. They do this to THOUSANDS of people. They run a medical scam and pretend to be LOTS of big name famous authors, hoping you’ll click whatever link they put in the email, because the link is going to open a .exe phishing program to steal your credit card data and medical records. The FBI is currently investigating their medical fraud, email fraud, scam operation, so if you ARE getting emails claiming to be from me, PLEASE print up the email ad take it to the FBI office on Middle Street in Portland, Maine. FBI Agent Andy Drewer is in charge of not only the investigation of the 2015 murder of my family, but he is also in charge of the email impersonation fraud, and the stalker doing the email fraud.

#2: As you have stated, the topic of the emails is Etiole... do know that I have NEVER talked about Etiole, with ANYONE, online or offline. Unlike my mother, and her sister, my aunt Barbara and her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater, I happen to respect people’s privacy. As I have said before: Etiole is a Jewish, French, Nazi concentration camp refugee who came to Maine in 1953 with a boatload of about 300 other concentration camp survivors. He is covered with acid burns, so his skin looks ghastly white and horrifically disfigured, which is why he lives in the swamps around the Saco River. he is now in his 90s and is still as homeless as he was in the 1950s. He has severe posttraumatic stress disorder, can not speak/is mute, does not have the mental capacity to function in normal society on any level what so ever, and me and a few others have been taking care of him, giving him food and clothing and supplies and medical attention since 1978. There is nothing else you need to know. You do not need to know where he is or how to find him. If you want to see him, go to y livestream/video archive and watch the VOD where I visited him on livestream so you could see what he looked liked and how crippling his metal condition really is.

#3: I feel I shouldn’t have to say this, but apparently I do NEED to say this: Etiole is NOT an alien, nor is he a demon. The article Amphibious Aliens is free to read online. It goes over all the details of both the alien rumours and the demon rumours and debunks them all, while proving all the proof, including medical records and documentation of the people behind the rumour.

#4: The ONLY person who ever claimed I was abducted by aliens was my uncle Mervin Bruce Atwater, who was the leader of the Mane division of Heaven’s Gate for over 40 years. Heaven’s Gate if you do not know, was the UFO suicide cult who murdered 39 people with poisoned Kool-Aid in California in 1997, because Comet HaleBop flew over that night.

#5: I found out about my so-called alien abduction in 2007, when a MUFON tour group showed up in my yard asking to interview me. They carried with them more than a dozen books by various UFO/alien experts and over 100 newspaper articles, all featuring interviews with my aunt Barbara and her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater, interviews all from the 1970s, 1980s, and 1990s, all of them telling of how I was supposedly a demon possessed child, whose best friend was an alien named Etiole. It was 2007, and it was the first time I had ever heard the term “alien abduction” I didn’t even know what it was. The MUFON group - a group of 30,000 people - standing in my driveway 2007 all wanted to interview me as they pointed out NONE of the 30+ years of several hundred interviews with my aunts and uncles, not ONE of the interviews was WITH ME. This was the source of the April 2007 article titled Amphibious Aliens, where I shocked the MUFON world with the revelation that I was NOT an alien abductee, nor had I ever claimed to be one. It also infuriated me to find out that my aunt Barbara and her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater had been running around telling people about Etiole, as I had never told ANYONE - NOT EVEN THEM - about Etiole. It turns out my aunt Barbara and her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater go their alien and demon stories about Etiole from my mother and THIS is WHY I disowned my mother, shun her, and have had nothing to do with her, or her sister my aunt Barbara and her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater, since 2007. The slanderous alien and demon, gossip, rumours, and lies my mother and her sister my aunt Barbara and her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater spread about me and Etiole are deplorable and I HATE my mother and her sister my aunt Barbara and her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater, and I hope they burn in hell for the alien and demon shit they pulled on me and my homeless boyfriend.

#6: That same Amphibious Aliens article ALSO debunks the stupid ass haunted car rumours. My 1964 Dodge 330 is NOT haunted and we fucking proved that. And AGAIN, the haunted car rumour, is sourced to my aunt Barbara and her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater. That car ran over my aunt Barbara when she was 2 years old. At the time, the car belonged to Dr. Larochelle of Ocean Ave Old Orchard Beach, Maine. My than 2-year-old aunt Barbara almost died and her older brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater, came up with a haunted car/demon possession hoax to scam that elderly doctor out of $20,000, which my grandmother Eva Viola Atwater spent on a 3 year trip to Hawaii in 1973. The Atwaters scammed and terrorized the doctor so badly, that he sold the car to me in 1975 for $5 because he was convinced it was attacking people. The car became famous in 1983 when my then neighbour Stephen King used the demon possession story of my car as the basis for his book Christine. He named the car Christine because Christine is my real name and I owned the actual car. Stephen King returned 10 years later in 1994 to film the Thinner movie in my yard, because I’m the real world “Gypsy Witch” (priestess) that he based his fictional Gypsy Witch in Thinner off of. The movies Christine and Thinner are what in turn made ME famous, and started locals accusing me of being a witch with a demon car.

And as for the fucking Thinner movie - those bastards were trespassers. They just showed up unannounced, barged in, set up filming, without permits or licenses or contracts or permission or even telling us ahead of time that they were coming. No one in Stephen King’s crew acted legally, we are not in that movie willingly, they were not on our farm legally, no one ever received a penny for any of it, and to make things worse, Steven King had no right or permission to go o late night television and tell people my home address and tel his fucking fans to “go visit the Thinner Gypsies of Saco Maine”. They had no right to be on my farm, they had no right to be filming my family. They just dropped in one day. We had no clue who they were or why they were there and it took us fucking 5 hours to chase those trespassing bastards and their film crew off our farm.

In short: I don’t use email, so you NEVER got an email from me. I’m not a witch. My car isn’t haunted. Etiole is not a demon. Etiole is also not an alien. And I was never abducted by aliens.

Also, I don’t know what you are talking about with the house stuff. I’m NOT trying to build a house, I’ve NEVER tried to build a house, I have never applied for a house permit, I’ve never been denied for a house permit because I’ve never even tried to get one. You clearly have me mixed up with someone else.

I’m at 146 Portland Ave. I have 2 neighbours who are building a house: 144 Portland Ave next door to me and 139 Portland Ave across the street from me. I think you mean one of them. My neighbour at 144, has been trying to build a house for 17 years and the town hall has been giving them the runaround. I think SHE at 144 Portland Ave is the one you mean, not me at 146. You seem to have us mixed up somehow.

SHE at 144 is the one putting in a septic system, not me at 146. I’m the one with the pink motorhome and the 35-year-old black Volvo. she’s the one with the brand new big black car and the log cabin house.

You have seriously mixed the two of us up big time.

Understandable considering it was HER family at 144 fighting with the Cyr Clan over a septic tank in 2014, and the Cyr Clan hired a hitman who accidentally murdered MY children, ten of them and nailed their heads to my motorhome door, at 146 than the white-haired man with the green pick-up truck has spent the last 7 years TELLING YOU via running up the street knocking on doors, tell you that it was EelKat trying to build a house, ONLY telling you that to try to cover his ass for mixing up my children at 146 when it was my neighbours children at 144 that was the ACTUAL target.

This is not speculation, the FBI have 100% positive proof that she and her children, not me and my children were the intended target because her family was having a fight with some Connecticut based heroin drug gang that calls itself the Cyr Clan over the septic tank. The hit men the Cyr Clan hire got the wrong house when they murdered my family. And now the Cyr Clan’s trying to convince you that I was the one building a house. I have no interest in a house. Why would I? I’m a Gypsy, I’ve never lived in a house. I’ve always lived in cars and tents my whole life. I have no interest in a house on any level whatsoever. I don’t NEED one, I never have. And you local people should know that. When my health is bad, I rent apartments in Biddeford. I’ve done this for 50 years now. You know that. You ALL know that. I’ve owned 146 Portland Ave since 1975. You people know me. Why are you pretending you don’t?

I’m the feral child who lived in a cage in a woodshed from the time I was 8 until I was 31. Did you all forget that? Etiole was the local homeless man who used to break into the woodshed and break the lock off the cage and take me out into the swamp to hide me from my bastard uncles. Did you forget that too? The ONLY reason any of you spread your fucking rumours and lies about me and Etiole, calling me a witch and Etiole a demon or alien, and spreading lies about me building houses, is because my Uncle Bruce and his Heaven’s Gate friends, told you those lies.

Did you forget what Heaven’s Gate is, what they fucking did? They are an UFO Alien Cult, who murdered 39 people with poisoned koolaid, because they comet Hale Bop was God’s fucking mother ship. They see fucking aliens EVERYWHERE. In everything. And THEY are the ones who started the stupid ass rumour of Etiole being an alien.

Look at the SOURCE of the alien abduction rumour. My Uncle Mervin Bruce Atwater. One of George Applewhite’s thugs. George Applewhite, a follower of Jim Jones, that’s WHY they killed everyone with kool-aid, because they were fans of Jim Jones, and they wanted to jump onboard God’s mothership like Jonestown did! Did you forget that? THAT fucking lunatic, a fan of Jim Jones, who worked for George Applewhite, called Etiole an alien, because Bruce CALLED EVERYONE aliens.

Bruce locked me in a cage, and Etiole broke me out of it and hide me in the swamps, and THAT is what Bruce called an alien abduction. But Etiole is no alien. He’s just a local homeless man. Etiole’s not even his name. I don’t tell anyone his name to protect him from you fucking jackasses who are too stupid to believe he’s just a normal man. My uncle Buce is a fucking lunatic who spends 24 hours a day gibbering madness and nonsense about aliens and demons.

As for the garbage that keeps being dumped on my land… you have all SEEN the big green dump truck with the black and silver striped nose, that illegally trespasses on my land and dumps that fucking garbage.

Open your eyes and look around. You can SEE the truth. The house being built is at 144 Portland Ave NOT 146. You can SEE that, now that the house is up.

Like I’ve been saying right along, it is NOT me building a house. It NEVER has been. I don’t know why you let that idiot try to gaslight you with lies about me building a house, when you can SEE the house is NOT going up on MY land. It’s going up on my NEIGHBOUR’S land.

I know you people are NOT THAT stupid. The white-haired man with the green pickup truck is LYING to you, and you can SEE that for yourselves, just by looking at WHICH property the house is being built on.

Look around... does it LOOK like there is a house being built at 146 Portland Ave where the pink motorhome is? Use your brain and open your eyes. See the truth. The truth will set you free.

Now look next door to 144, you CAN SEE that THEY NOT ME are the one building a house, now that it’s almost finished.

I’d say the white-haired man in the green pickup truck has a lot of explaining to do, like explaining WHY h’s hell bent on trying to convince the town I’m the one putting up a house, when I’ve never even applied for a building permit. Building permits are public record. Go look at the town hall for yourself.

Also, please explain to me HOW the white-haired man with the green pick truck has such very detailed info about the murder of my family, when the records are sealed, not public access, and about 90% of the details were withheld from the public and are know ONLY to myself, the murderer, the police, and FBI? There is ZERO public access to the stuff h is saying happened on April 10, 2015... you know that, right? So HOW did he get the info he has? Explain THAT.

please report any future such emails you receive to FBI agent Andy Drewer 207-774-9322

>>>I’m just more cowardly than they are and I’m afraid of the truth and criticism. In your opinion, what makes someone mean?

When I think of mean, I think of my uncles. 3 in particular. My mother had 12 older brothers and 3 of them all claimed to be “king” (we are Gypsies, Gypsy Kings are a thing). And they fought over it badly. They ended up jointly ruling over the clan, each competing with each other to out-king the other, each doing progressively meaner things to the clan members, especially the female children.

Things they did, just to me, included:

When I was 4 Uncle Bruce stabbed me with a foundation nail - an iron rod over 2 feet long - he drove into my hip, through my pelvis and out my other thigh. I have been crippled and walked with a cane since I was a toddler, because of it. His reason? I was unable to memorize the entirety of chapter 1 of the book of Genesis.

When I was 8 years old, same uncle locked me in a cage that was made for trapping raccoons. He gave me 1 salted herring fish to eat once every 12 days. He let me out only on Sundays to go to church. I lived in that cage for 27 years, until the Heaven’s Gate FBI raid shut down Heaven’s Gate in 1997, after they killed 39 people with Kool-aid. Yes, I am THAT EelKat, the child who lived in a cage, the feral child you see pictures of in almost every college Psychology book. I am the child who survived Heaven’s Gate because I was locked in a cage in a woodshed when they drank their kool aid under the shadow of comet HaleBop. I was 31 years old when the FBI raid rescued me from that cage.

When I was 14 years old, because I was unable to recite from memory the entire book, all chapters of Ecclesiastes, that same uncle beat me in the face with a cinder block brick, breaking my jaw, and cause me to be “mute” until had surgery to fix my jaw when I was 42 years old. From the time I was 14 until 42, I was unable to speak due to the damage of my jaw.

In those 27 years from age 8 to age 31, I was let out of the cage every Sunday to be taken to church and sold or $12k to the priests, who raped me repeatedly, weekly, for 27 years.

While my uncle helped Applewhite to run Heaven’s Gate, he fled the night of Hale Bop. He did not kill himself with everyone else.

Social workers took me after the FBI raid. It took them years to teach me how to not be terrified by the sight of Humans. They say I suffer from having no outward sign of emotions, and that it was caused by my never having experienced a single good event in my early life.

At the time of the FBI raid at 144, 146, and 148 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine, I was one of more than 120 girls the FBI rescued out of cages. All of whom had been raped hundreds of times by priests from Cape Elizabeth, Saco, and Sanford wards of the LDS/Mormon church. Including 16 bishops, an OOB town manager, and several OOB motel owners, all of whom were in the habit of paying $12k to rape girls under the age of 10 years old.

The man with the green truck, who likes to spread rumours about me and Etiole and my house, was one of Bruce’s top customers. He had a thing for numbers and raped 7-year-olds, 14-year-olds, and 21-year-olds because he was obsessed with doing everything in 7s.

After years of social workers teaching me how to live with normal, not abusive Humans. I was 37 when I got my GED and while I was at the high school doing that, those uncles built a grease fryer bomb burned my house down to punish me for getting a GED.

2 years later, while I was in college taking classes to learn grammar and writing, three of them, that same uncle and 2 women I had never seen before, arrived at the college armed with golf clubs and attacked me when I was coming out of the college. I was 8 months pregnant at the time. They killed my baby, broke my spine, broke my hip, broke my pelvis, broke my knees. I was paralyzed for 5 months. It took me 18 months to get out of the wheelchair and relearn to walk, and to this day I am still crippled.

That’s the price I paid to learn how to read and write, in a culture that believes it is okay to execute women who commit the sin of learning how to write.

August 8, 2013, that same uncle paid a local construction worker $600 to drive a backhoe over my house.

April 10, 2015, that same uncle and a group of 74 members of the new reorganized Heaven’s Gate, attacked my farm. 14 men held me down with guns to my head, while the others used hand band saws to kill and behead 10 of my 12 children and then nailed their heads to my door.

And it’s very easy to Google the news reports and photos of all of it.

That is what I think of when I hear the word “mean”. My uncle Bruce was a very mean person.

My uncle Bruce Mervin Atwater is a monster. And he calls EVERYONE an alien abductee or a demon. Did you fucking forget that?

No, I have no updates on Etiole.

He was shot by a local lunatic.

No, he’s not okay.

And I am getting sick of this fucking ass rumour of Etiole being an alien or a demon.

The fact of Etiole being an alien is a stupid urban myth started by some crazy ass locals.

The fact of Etiole being a demon is a stupid urban legend created by some religion crazed nuts.

Etiole is an old man covered with acid burns. His skin is white and face disfigured from acid burns. He’s not an alien, and he’s not a demon. And you people who call him an alien and call him a demon, you’re all fucking crazy.

Etiole is a homeless Jewish man who has no skin because they tortured him in a Nazi concentration camp in France during WW2. He came to Maine in 1953 with a bunch of other refugees. He has posttraumatic stress disorder really bad and he’s terrified of people. He can’t function in normal society, so hides in the forests. He’s not an alien, he’s not a demon, he’s not a cryptid. He’s a disfigured old man, now in late 90s. He barely get around. He doesn’t you people harassing him like this. Why can’t you people leave him alone? Why are you all so damned desperate to believe in aliens or demons that you have to harass a helpless old man? Leave him alone. Why can’t you leave him alone? What is wrong with you people?

Read The Amphibious Aliens article, where back in 2007, I DEBUNKED every one of you stupid ass alien, cryptic, demon, and haunted car rumours. Amphibious Aliens The Story of Etiole and The World’s Most Haunted Car, goes over every even from the 1970s, that started the fucking rumour, and lists off how every alien, demon, and haunted car rumour was proven to be nothing but a hoax started by Mervin Bruce Atwater. Every single one of those rumours was started by that one man, and were proven to ALL be hoaxes he perpetrated to try to get money out of Dr Larochelle, the man who hit Mervin’s younger sister with a car. They tried to convince the old doctor his car had a demon living in it and they scammed the doctor out of $20,000 back in the 1970s. THAT is how and why the demon car rumour got started. I bought the car in 1975. Etiole started living in it in 1978. And that is how me and Etiole got dragged into the fucking ass rumours about a demon car.

The article Amphibious Aliens The Story of Etiole and The World’s Most Haunted Car DEBUNKS ALL of the alien, cryptid, demon, and haunted car rumours. Every last one of them.

The car is not haunted and Etiole is not a demon.

You people who believe my car is haunted or think that Etiole is a demon, you are all fucking retarded.

You are slandering me!

You are slandering Etiole!

You are slandering my cars!

I’m sick of it!

Grow up and go get a damned fucking brain!

I’m sick of you people harassing me and Etiole over stupid shit started by brain dead idiots.

And the same goes for the so-called World’s Most Haunted Car. That rumour was started by the same person. That car was proved years ago, to have a mechanical issue that caused it to start and drive ahead until it hit something. No one ever thought to look at the starter. I’m the 3rd owner of the car. I changed the malfunctioning starter and a so called ‘haunted” stuff the car did, went away. It was a problem with the starter, only that and nothing more.

And these people in Biddeford right now, getting you all worked up - if you hadn’t noticed they ARE Mervin Bruce Atwater’s family.

So it’s STILL the same one fucking person running around getting things stirred up. The Atwaters. My fucking uncles. Like usual.

Yesterday at Rotary Park, Biddeford, Maine, a group of people armed with rifles, went down the track team trail behind the soccer field and started shooting... scared the crap out of the 50 or so children and their 100+ parents, got the 30+ dogs in the dog park howling... the sky filled with thousands of Canadian geese, and the park goers assumed the group was hunting geese and started commenting on the fact that hunting was not allowed in Rotary Park.

A few minutes later, a grey/white haired, bearded man, who looks a lot like Kenny Rogers, but not as fat, with a black dog of a German Shepard-Lab mix look, and a woman with pageboy greyish-blond hair, both about late 60s, marched up to me in the park, bragged they had killed Etiole, stating that he has caused their son whom they called “Todd” to jump in front of a train 3 days earlier.

You know what, I knew that homeless man and HE never mentioned it.

You people are just looking for someone to blame, and think because I’m not white, I wear a hijab, and I have a mural painting on my car, you think you are justified on pointing blame at me for something I had no part in.

That homeless man was obsessed with the fact that his dog and son had been taken away from him.

It’s NOT the evil eye as they called it. It’s The eye of The Grigori Archangels aka The Watchers, from the Apocrypha in the Bible. It’s the blue wings of the Seraphim Archangels aka The Watchers. The Watchers are my Guardian angels. I paint them on everything, I sew it on tapestries, it’s on my car, my motorhome, I embroider it on pillows and clothes, paint it on mirrors, paint canvases art for art galleries with it. It’s the blue eyes wings of the archangels as described in the Bible. I’m not sure why they were calling it the Evil Eye.

It’s the Eye of God, the hamsa. A Jewish protection symbol. Etiole’s Jewish, he draws it on everything, so that’s why I do as well.

I’m sick of you jackasses spreading you wild ass rumours about me.

You’re nothing but a bunch of trouble making busy bodies who can’t mind your own fucking business.

I’m not bothering a single damned one of you, so why the fuck are you bothering me?

Why can’t you stupid ass people leave me alone?

There is no reason for a damned one of you to be in my yard.

There is no reason for a damned one of you to be chasing down Etiole.

There is no reason for a damned one of you to be having psychotic meltdowns over my car!

What is wrong with you people?

Fucking brain dead herd mentality that’s all this is.

One of you ran around screaming like a lunatic and rest of you all decided to join in.

But I also ask... WHY would you be scared of me or Etiole? It makes me ask who has been feeding you lies about me? Who has been feeding you lies about Etiole?

I am a crippled elderly woman. I can barely stand up. I’ve been paralyzed and bedridden since the golf club attack November 14, 2013. I’m only just now in 2021 just starting to walk again, and I can barely do that. I have no grip strength so I struggle to even hold me cane. The golf clubs damaged my spine, my nerves, most of my organs don’t function because of the nerve damage to my spine. I struggle to even breath, just sitting up in bed is enough to collapse my lungs. I have no bladder or bowel movement control, I have to wear diapers. What exactly is it you think I can even do?

And Etiole? The old hermit Nazi concentration camp survivor? He’s over 100 years old now, he hasn’t been able to walk, or sit up, or eat on his own, in almost 20 years. He’s dying. What exactly are you expecting him to do?

Etiole is NOT an alien.

Etiole is not a demon.

I am not a witch.

None of my cars are haunted.

I’ve been saying it for years. Why won’t you listen to me?

You are slandering me!

You are slandering Etiole!

You are slandering my cars!

I’m sick of it!

Grow up and go get a damned fucking brain!

I’m sick of you calling Etiole a demon.

I’m sick of you calling Etiole an alien.

I’m sick of you calling me a witch.

I’m sick of you saying one car after another is haunted.

This whole thing boils down to your fucking white privilege. You know that right?

Your white ass can’t stand the fact that we non-white Gypsies live here, so you have to make up stupid ass supernatural spooky shit about us.

You don’t like that I wear the traditional dress of my people instead of dressing like an American, so you feel justified in calling me a witch and making up spook occult lies about me.

I wear hijab and veils and caftan and silk and it bother’s you that I’m not scum diving in trashy t shirts and jeans like the rest of you.

I paint my cars, same as we painted our wagons and vardos for centuries, and it bothers you because it looks different.

Etiole is a Jew, and your anti-Semite white privilege kicks in to hate him for being born Jewish.

Etiole has scars, so you’re scared of him

I’m different.

Etiole’s different.

My cars are different.

And when you get right down to it, that’s ALL any of this is about.

Me, Etiole, and my cars don’t fit in with your fucking ass white privileged ideas of “normal” and that makes you uncomfortable and you try to make the uncomfortable go away by dehumanizing us with your stupid ass rumours.

There are no witches.

There are no aliens.

There are no demons.

There are just a bunch of whinny ass white privileged brats running around making trouble for anyone who’s not white enough for them.

Grow the fuck up!

Noses, Penis Piercings, And Rapunzel Hair
aka
Flamboyant Nipples & Wizard Testicles
Writing Character Descriptions
A Very Detailed Look At How I Write The
(Very X-Rated & Often Controversial)
Character Descriptions of The Quaraun Series


(This page is NSFW)

(It contains info and novel excepts on how to describe penises, nipples, and scrotums)

Yes, this IS the page that Inspired Tom Addams To Create His Infamous WebSite:

Flamboyant Nipples & Wizard Testicles

Consider Yourself Warned




Noses, Penis Piercings, And Rapunzel Hair
aka
Flamboyant Nipples & Wizard Testicles
Writing Character Descriptions
A Very Detailed Look At How I Write The
(Very X-Rated & Often Controversial)
Character Descriptions of The Quaraun Series

I found a question, that I thought would make for good inspiration for writing an article on how I write the character descriptions (or rather the distinctive lack there of) in the Quaraun series.

Do keep in mind that there are MANY ways to go about describing your characters, and I do not feel any one way is better than any other way, and in different series, I describe characters differently. I try to match character description techniques with the tone of the novel or short story in question, and this article, is here to take an in depth look at how I do it with the Quaraun series.

If you are a fan of the Quaraun series,  you'll get to see how these characters get brought to life on the page and what goes into their creation.

If you are a writer looking for help on how to describe your own characters, know,  that I do not say this is the CORRECT way to describe character, nor do I say it is the ONLY way to describe characters. This is simply how I describe MY characters, and it is what works for me in the series in question. You may find something here to help you figure out how to describe your characters or not.

Noses, Penis Piercings, And Rapunzel Hair 
Writing Character Descriptions

I drive my readers batty with this. I keep getting emails asking "So, what exactly does Quaraun look like?"

All it ever says in the books is that he has silver-white hair that sweeps the floor, hypnotic blue eyes, he's shorter than most women, has the angelic features of an enthral beauty, and is mistaken for female, until he speaks and had a deep, distinctly male voice. I let the readers take it from there. However it is they envision an "enthral beauty" that's what he looks like. :P

And than, you get 7 to 10 pages of way to much detail of his clothes and his *couch* scars *cough*.

I sometimes think my scariest fans are the ones whom have reread the scenes of Quaraun's scars enough to the point they can describe them in detail... if you don't know, Quaraun's an unwilling eunuch, his genitals badly mutilated, and we're describing any part of him in detail, it's ALWAYS going to be because we are writing him monologue himself into a pity-party over his mutilated penis, and testicles, which is something he talks about constantly to and anyone and everyone who will listen, to him, while his sits in a tavern, drinking Absinthe (Green Fairy Wine) with LSD laced sugar cubes burned into it, washed down with Poppy Tea, while he smokes a hashish hookah.

Quaraun is the highest of the High Elves, and I'm far more likely to describe his emotions and feelings and sensory overloads, than I am to describe what he physically looks like.


Are there scenes that describe Quaraun's nose?

I can't think of any.

There are however scenes that mention his nose. Quite frequently actually, and if you know the series, you know why.

If you don't know the series well... Quaraun has 12 inch long, thin, pointed ears, which, normally are held down against his back, like a lop eared rabbit, hidden under his hair, and not noticeable.

Quaraun's ears are highly animated, and like fingers, he has quite a bit of control over moving them. You can tell his emotions by his ears. If he's calm and relaxed. his ears are not noticeable at all.

When startled, his ears go straight up over his head. When he's listening intently, his ears face forward. When scared, his ears face backward, and at a downward angle. When he feels threatened and starts growling and showing his sharp teeth, his ears go back at an angle.

Quaraun has an amazing sense of hearing, and can pick up on sounds up to a mile away. He can hear conversations spoken in houses down the street. Quaraun often prefers to live in isolated areas far from civilization, due to simply wanting peace and quiet.

Yes, I know, I'm talking about his ears, but this leads to his nose...

There are frequent descriptions of his ears changing movement as, this alerts the other characters to various dangers. Other character know to look to Quaraun's ears. And they don't have to see his hears to know they changed, they only have to listen...

Quaraun's nose.

Perhaps it is best, to just let you read a scene in which Quaraun's nose is in fact mentioned...

"Maybe map say we supposed to spend night in ruins?"

"Spend a night in ruins?"

"Aye."

"Let's keep walking," Quaraun said as he stood up, and went back to the road.

Unicorn followed him.

"Why for not stay in ruins?"

"Fresh ruins. With soot and ash..."

"Aye. Me forgetsing, me Elf can'na get dust on him perfectly pristine self."

“Why did you make this map?”

“Sos I never gets lost.”

“It never tells us anything useful.”

“Than why ya uses it?”

“I don't know, I...” Quaraun suddenly stopped walking. 

Unicorn slammed into him.

"I wish ya would no stops like dat. Give me some warning before ya does dat."

"I heard something," Quaraun said nervously.

The Elf's eyes grew wide with fear, his long pointed ears pricked high and alert.

"Ya always hearing t'ings. Ya can hear a mile away wid those rabbit ears o'yars."

"No. I heard something."

"Dair ain't no t'ing out dair."

"There's always something out there."

"Aye. Frogs in trees. Birds in water. Fish in sky. Dair always be t'ings out dair. We does no have to panic over every one of dem, eh?"

"Yes we do."

"No we do'na."

"There's dangers around every corner."

"Aye. Un scared rabbity eared Elves waiting to runs from every one of dems."

Quaraun's long ears laid back fearfully.

"What was that?" He whispered.

"What were what?"

"Shut up."

Quaraun clamped his hand over Unicorn's mouth and perked up his long pointed ears to listen.

"I heard something."

Quaraun climbed up onto a log and continued to listen. His thin, pointed foot long ears twitched, nervously causing the chains connected back to his nose to shake and tinkle.

"Someone's hurt."

~From "The Summoner of Darkness" (Volume 11 of The Quaraun Series)

Quaraun has 24 earrings in each ear.

Quaraun has 3 nose rings, 1 in the center, and one in each side.

Each ring in his ear, has a tiny linked, delicate chain in it. Each chain, connects back to one of the rings in his nose.

Every few links of the chain has tiny pink watermelon tourmaline crystal points hanging from it.

Keeping in mind here that Quaraun is a priest and wears very distinctive robes and jewelry that are a part of his religion.

Quaraun is Persian and a transvestite. meaning he's dressed, not as a priest, but rather as a priestess. He wears very Muslim inspired clothes, including the fact that he wears a hijab style veil.

Quaraun is the only Elf member of his religion.

Quaraun's long ears make it difficult for him to wear the hijab style veiling properly. Thus you see him wearing these elaborate network of rings and chains, as a way to keep his face covered.

The jewelry acts as a veil.

MOST of Quaraun's face is obscured from view by of this massive network of jewelry. The chains act like veiling, with only his eyes and lips visible. The action of his ears constantly moving with his emotional, causes the crystal points and chains to make tinkling sounds when he moves his ears, thus this sound alerts his travelling companions to the fact that danger is near.

And thus you see the extent of descriptions of Quaraun's face, and why there are no descriptions of his face or his nose, seeing how neither can be seen.

But back to the OP we are answering...

We are being told, by someone who admits both to not being a reader and not being a writer, as well as being someone with no published books... we are being told by this person not to describe noses.

But as I stated in the beginning of this...I drive my readers batty with this. I keep getting emails asking "So, what exactly does Quaraun look like?"

These readers obviously DO want a description, otherwise wy would they ask for it?

This leaves me to wonder though...your advice to NOT describe... is it REALLY what readers want?

I mean, you are not a published author, so do you even know what readers want? You clearly are not telling us what YOUR readers want? You don't know from experience of writing for readers, what readers are looking for, soooo...

You know, this falls under the category of non-writers giving bad advice.

My question is:

What creditably do you have to be giving advice on how to describe a character?

You can't even give us examples of how you describe your own characters.

Look at the answers you've gotten here. Answers from writers. But not answers from either authors or readers. Have you checked te profiles of the people giving you these 100+ responses? Read their other comments and post throughout Reddit?

I did. And I recommend you do as well. Might be pretty eye opening.

A large percentage of the writers here (more than two thirds of them) openly admit several key factors:

  • they've never published anything
  • they never plan to publish anything
  • having a goal to publish is arrogant and self serving and to be avoided
  • they hated English class in school
  • writing is dull and boring
  • reading is dull and boring
  • no one in their right mind reads books these days
  • they are writing only because they saw a movie and wanted to write a similar story
  • they have never willingly read a book, nor would they

And yet, here you have those very same people, who said those things, here telling you what you should or should not be doing when you write.

Do you REALLY want to take the advice of people who openly admitted elsewhere that they hate English classes, don't read, and think that the goal of publishing a book is stupid?

Think about it.

A lot of the advice being given on this sub is very bad and coming from people who are neither authors nor readers and are just trolling to see if they can get newbie writers who don't know any better to take their advice - some of them have said as much on other subs they are on.

Go look at their profiles and read the comments they made on other subs. 

While there are writers here, most of them are unpublished, are not seeking publishing, and are taking out their ass when they give writing advice, most of it just something they heard someone else say and not anything they ever tried or tested for themselves.

  • they've never published anything

This is not that bad. We all start somewhere. But if you've never published that, you don't know how to write a story that is good enough to be published, so you shouldn't be giving advice on writing, when you're NOT qualified to.

  • they never plan to publish anything

Again, not a bad thing. Not everyone writers to become published. The problem here is again, giving advice one is not qualified to give.

  • having a goal to publish is arrogant and self serving and to be avoided

Okay, this one is just stupid. There is nothing wrong with publishing your work. There is nothing wrong with not publishing your work.

  • they hated English class in school

Uhm... oooo kaaaay... so why exactly are you on a writing forum giving writing advice when you hate writing?

  • writing is dull and boring

Again... why are you on a writing forum giving writing advice when you hate writing?

  • reading is dull and boring

I'm just gonna keep asking... why are you on a writing forum giving writing advice when you hate writing?

  • no one in their right mind reads books these days

Yep... still asking... why are you on a writing forum giving writing advice when you hate writing?

  • they are writing only because they saw a movie and wanted to write a similar story

Well, okay. That's fine, but it doesn't mean you have a clue how to teach writing.

  • they have never willingly read a book, nor would they

And so you are teaching people to write books, why?

Not being published, means they also have no readers for their work, so they also have no clue what readers want.

Now sure every reader wants something different, but readers also tend to fall into groups. One genre will attract this type of reader while another genre attracts that other type of reader, and so on.

The goal is to find out what do YOUR readers want. And you can't do that until you know who your readers are, which until you are published and actually have readers, you'll never know.

Which means, any advice on "what readers want", that is given by any unpublished person, is null and void and should be completely ignored, unless that person is an avid reader telling "here's what I want to see more of and less of".

The problem with the bulk of the answers on this sub, is that many of it's most active members are neither readers nor writers and are just here to toss jokes around without giving any real or helpful advice. And I'm sorry to say, the trolls were out in full force on your thread tonight, which is why there are so very many answers on this thread, when most threads struggle to get even 4 or 5 answers. So I caution you to read the comments on this thread with a grain of salt as most of the comments were made by people who neither read nor write. 

But back to your describe or don't describe point...

I say it depends on the genre and what readers want. 

Different people like different things.

Some readers WANT the long descriptions.

Some readers want ZERO descriptions.

Some writers like writing descriptions over dialogue.

Some writers want to write only dialogue and no descriptions.

I say write what YOU WANT to read.

There is an audience for everything so it doesn't matter what you write or how you write it, there is going to be someone out there who wants it.

I have things I like to write. They are usually the same things I enjoy reading.

Some readers want lots of descriptions and others want no descriptions so that they can imagine the details themselves. And neither way is wrong. Each simply caters to a different audience is all.

Like I said at the beginning here, for most things, I drive my readers batty with the lack of detail. I write Epic Length Grimdark High Fantasy Bizarro Yaoi Absurdism in a Literary Slice of Life Style, using the Ernest Hemingway format. Which means the stories are:

  • heavy on dialogue
  • low on description
  • heavy on relationship drama
  • low on action
  • high on sexual tension
  • low on battlefront action
  • heavy on the blood spatter, guts, and gorn
  • low on logic
  • heavy on scenes for entertainment
  • low of a reason for anything to be happening
  • heavily character driven
  • with no plots to be seen anywhere

That's why I keep getting emails asking "So, what exactly does Quaraun look like?"

All it ever says in the books is that he has silver-white hair that sweeps the floor, hypnotic blue eyes, and the angelic features of an enthral beauty. I let the readers take it from there. However it is they envision an "enthral beauty" that's what he looks like. :P

The funny thing is, the stuff I do describe, I go overboard with... GhoulSpawn's legs for example.

Raise your hand if you ever read a Quaraun novel and wanted me to stop describing GhoulSpawn's legs but the description infodump over his legs just kept going and going and going and going and... 10 or 12 pages later you were wondering when the story was going to start back up and when the author was going to stop gushing fangirl love over men with 8 inch long Cotswold sheep wool growing on their cloven hooved legs.

And if you didn't know GhoulSpawn was a sheep, well, what the hell were you reading when you thought you were reading the Quaraun series?

I mean, there IS a scene of Quaraun sheering GhoulSpawn and spinning his wool into thread, so he can embroider pink silk with GhoulSpawn's soft white wool.

Yeah.

Two of the only 4 books to feature a picture of Quaraun on the cover.

Though he is the main character of the series, this is one of only 4 covers to feature a picture of Quaraun himself.

Every time Quaraun walks into a new town, a new tavern, a new place, he's greeted by people in shock and awe over what he looks like. Readers know immediately that this guy stands out. He doesn't look like your average Joe.

People stop and stare when he walks by.

Every one, men and women alike want to bed with him. There are scenes where women literally throw themselves at his feet while saying: "You are the most beautiful man I've ever seen, I want to have your baby."

Quaraun is described as being the single most beautiful man on the planet.

But beyond telling you he has blue eyes and insanely long silvery-white hair that in later novels drags on the ground, you are not told what exactly he looks like.

This was done deliberately to allow readers to very simply imagine him in whatever what they imaging the ultimate beauty to look like.

Every reader has a different idea of what a hypnotically beautiful man looks like.

Quaraun is also a man, who is difficult to live with, and most people who meet him, are soon greeted with his sharp tongue, rude manners, his arrogant ego, and his overbearing vanity.

Few can tolerate his company, or his whiny hissy fits and bitch fests.

He is selfish, crude, lewd, and expects everyone to wait on him hand and foot.

Quaraun has a beautiful body and an ugly personality.

He's also a serial killer.

The woman who was throwing herself at his feet begging to have his baby? He'll just as easily fuck her on one page then cut her head off on the next. Keep in mind, he is asexual and normally won't have sex with anyone, but piss him off and he won't think twice about raping you. Why? Because he hates sex and sees sex and the worst thing you can do to a person. He views sex as worse than death penalty, so he'll use sex to punish you. 

When you get to know Quaraun, you realize, he is a dark, twisted person and his beauty is only skin deep.

I find it more effective, to simply describe him as being beautiful beyond belief, no physical description, show the townsfolk reacting to seeing him, let the reader draw their own conclusions as to what defines beauty on that level, and then let the reader see his personality, his bitterness, his bad attitude, his hostility, his uncaringly nature.

To me, his personality is far more important then describing his physical features. So you get LOTS of descriptions of his bitchy personality. Likewise with candy maker BoomFuzzy, you get lots of descriptions of the scents that waft around him and his perverted nature, but other than his claws and his dreadlocks, very few physical descriptions of him.

Here is the scene that introduces BoomFuzzy. Which also introduces Quaraun, as you will see, by interweaving Quaraun's actions and thoughts, with him total unawareness of his surroundings, because of being too aware of one thing: his wet shoes.

The scene that introduces BoomFuzzy for the first time, as King Gwallmaic:

He could not remember dates or histories or equations or calculations. Philosophies, theologies, and politics were too deep for him to understand. He complained that music hurt his ears.

The Di'Jinn tried as best they could to teach Quaraun, everything they knew, but none of it stuck in Quaraun's dim, slow witted little brain.

After decades of fruitless effort to teach Quaraun the knowledge that wise old sages, mages, and wizards were supposed to know, they finally gave up, and concluded that Quaraun was just too stupid to be taught. Something was desperately wrong with his brain.

Quaraun was savant. He had things could do, and those things, he did very well. But everything, moved through his brain like water in a sieve. He retained nothing and forgot everything.

But, he could embroider beautifully.

And so the Di'Jinn worked with what they had. And they taught Quaraun to use magic, not through mathematics, star charts, planetary movements, words written on scrolls, numbers, or science - instead, they taught Quaraun, magic through sigils, veve, runes, hieroglyphs, and picture art. Things Quaraun could draw with yellow chalk on his handwoven pink silks, than embroider into the cloth.

They later discovered the young Elf had a talent for glasswork as well. He took to making his own glass beads, so they taught him, colour magic, and the magic of prayer beads.

Before long, Quaraun progressed from making tiny color blown glass beads, to also making tiny colour blown glass bottles. And these, the Di'Jinn taught Quaraun how to capture Gennie's and trap them in bottles and force them to grant wishes.

The Di'Jinn lost hope of Quaraun ever becoming the powerful wizard they had hoped he could be, until the day, they all died and realized the error of what they had done.

Without mathematics, without science, without star charts, without calculations, armed only with coloured glass bottles for of wish granting genies and wearing carnation pink silk, embroidered with colourful magic bead sigils, Quaraun became the most powerful being the world had ever known.

And this had attracted the attention of the world's other most powerful wizard.

Quaraun with his fractured skull and damaged brain, was prone to forget things.

And so he forgot, that he had killed the Di'Jinn, and he forgot, the laws of the Moon Elves, and he forgot how truly evil his father really was.

And thus he now trended through the icy cold snow on the Eastern shores of Lake Gitchigumi, leaning heavily on a wooden staff, in search of the only town in the region with a name: Ivujivik.

He was prone to forget many things.

He often forgot things only a few hours after they had happened.

It had been at least 70 years since he had last been to Ivujivik, Quebec, the town where he had been born. A town that sat on top of the Earth, devoid of anything but ice and snow.

And more ice and snow,

And harbour seals.

And polar bears.

And snow.

And ice.

And blustery winds.

And snow.

And ice.

And more snow.

"Why is there so much snow?"

There was no one to answer him, nor did he actually want an answer.

Quaraun was just frustrated by how wet his dress was and cold his feet were.

He had forgotten about the snow.

Or rather he had forgotten how much snow there was.

And he had forgotten how cold the snow was.

And wet.

Snow was wet.

Quaraun had forgotten snow was wet.

"Why is snow wet?" Quaraun asked himself as he stared down as his wet shocking pink silks. "I'm cold and wet and I hate it."

Quaraun sighed a deep sigh and stood up to his knees in snow and wondering if he was even going the right way. Ivujivik was North. He could remember that much. But it wasn't on any map. No place around here was. In fact, this entire country wasn't on the map, simply because Humans in Europe refused to believe anything existed on the West side of the Atlantic Ocean.

Quaraun had been born in Ivujivik.

He had family there.

His father.

His father's brother.

His older sisters.

This much he could remember.

But Quaraun had been 9 years old when they sent him away to live with the Di'Jinn in Persia on the other side of the planet.

Quaraun could not remember exactly where Ivujivik was.

He also could not remember his father's name.

Or his uncle's name.

Or the names of any of his sisters.

He couldn't remember how many sisters he had.

Or his mother's name.

She was dead.

He missed his mother.

She had loved him.

His father had hated him.

Quaraun dreaded going back home to see his father, but a glimmer of hope that maybe his father had changed, drove him onward through the snow, in search of Ivujivik.

Ivujivik was the furthest North one could go, by going straight up and slightly West from Saco Bay. Which is what Quaraun was doing. He'd arrived at Saco Bay a month ago. Was it a month ago? Quaraun wasn't sure. He wasn't good with dates and times or even numbers in general. He wasn't even sure what year it was or how old he was.

He had calculated it would take somewhere between 1 to 3 months from Saco Bay to Ivujivik, if he walked the entire way. Shorter if weather was good - it was not. Weather was very bad. Longer if weather was bad - which it was. There were other issues besides weather, slowing him down. Namely his hair.

He pulled a brush out of his bag, and nervously brushed his hair.

Quaraun got great satisfaction from brushing his hair.

It soothed him. Relaxed him. Calmed him. Excited him.

Quaraun's love for his hair, bordered on being a fetish.

He brushed his hair when he was upset to sooth his anger.

He brushed his hair when he was aroused, to quell his erecting. Most would have found the sexual pleasure Quaraun took from brushing his hair as deeply disturbing, had they known just how much satisfaction Quaraun got out of simply running his fingers through his long silken hair.

To say that Quaraun was in love with his hair, was an understatement. And the hours he spent each day, doing nothing but brushing and stroking his hair, had often left the Di'Jinn at their wit's end, for once Quaraun began brushing his hair, he would sit for hours and do nothing but and no one could bring him out of the self induced erotic state he put himself into while brushing his hair.

Quaraun had never had a lover. He'd never had need for one. The affair he had with his own hair, was more than enough.

He brushed his hair whenever he was nervous, as a way to calm his nerves and ease his nauseated stomach.

Brushing his hair, however, was not an easy feat.

With hair like Rapunzel, it took more than one person to brush Quaraun's hair.

Quaraun's white hair was over five feet long and dragged on the ground.

Back in Persia,

Quaraun had had servants to brush his hair for him.

It took them 3 hours every morning to brush the Elf's mind-bogglingly long hair.

"My hair is wet," Quaraun sputtered as he put his silver brush away. It was pointless to try to brush it while the lower 3 feet of it was dragging in the snow. He knew if he tried to brush his hair while it was wet and caked with snow and ice, he would damage it. Split ends were enough of an issue as it was without doing more damage.

Quaraun's fetish for hair, led Quaraun to have strange thoughts about strange things. Like Cotswold Sheep and their long luxuriant ivory wool, which he often spun into thread for his embroidery. Quaraun was prone to sit for hours, half buried in piles of fresh sheered Cotswold Sheep wool, touching it and rubbing in his hair.

Quaraun was an Elf of strange habits and his fetish for long hair was perhaps his strangest. His fetish for long hair, is what had led to his most alarming obsession of all: his inexplicable lust for The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley.

Quaraun grumbled and complained to himself about all the reasons the snow was messing with his hair, and took comfort in cursing the snow as he was currently unable to take comfort in brushing his hair.

A more logical person would have cut their hair to a more manageable length while travelling, but Quaraun was neither a smart nor logical person. He was very vain and very superstituise.

He was in love with the beauty of himself, spent endless hours fussing over the glory that was his silver hair, and, had read in several tomes that the world's most powerful wizards, were powerful because they never cut their hair. In fact, Quaraun had only become a wizard so that he could have an excuse for why his hair was so long.

It was easier to say: "I'm a wizard. We wizards don't cut our hair" than it was to try to explain the unhealthy obsessive love affair Quaraun had with his own hair.

Plus, being a wizard gave Quaraun an excuse to be close to other men who had incredibly long hair. Quaraun had joined The Guild of Wizardry grudgingly. He had no interest in sitting a stuffy meetings listening to rules and regulations being made about magic.

However, it only took one Guild meeting to change his mind. The Guild was filled with hundreds of beautiful men, all with long luxuriant hair. Quaraun took to attending every Guild meeting just so he sit in a room full of gorgeous long haired men and lust after them.

Lusting after long haired men or every race and species had become a bad habit for Quaraun.

Elves.

Dwarves.

Humans.

Gnomes.

Demons.

Faeries.

Merrow.

Trolls.

Goblins.

Merfolk.

Ursiug.

Diontites.

Ptarmagins.

Pixies.

"God I hate Pixies," Quaraun muttered. "Why am I thinking about Pixies?"

Quaraun looked down at the paper in his hand.

How long had he been holding it?

He didn't know.

He could not remember taking it out of his bag.

Quaraun had absent-mindedly pulled out a scroll and, had been writing down a list of names of every race he could think of, whom, had hair that he liked. He put the scroll back in his bag.

Quaraun didn't care what they were, so long as they were males with long gorgeous hair.

"Ursiug have beautiful hair. Probably the most beautiful hair of any one. I have never met an Ursiug. I wish I knew an Ursiug. It would be nice to meet one someday, just to see their hair in person."

Ursiug where sheep people. A type of chaos demon, with the upper body of a humanoid-Elf-like being and the lower body of a Cotswold Sheep. The hair on their heads and the fur on their legs, grew into long ivory ropes of wool. It was luxuriant and soft and Quaraun wanted one for a pet.

Quaraun spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about hair.

His hair.

And every one else's hair.

Quaraun's obsession with hair, defied any sense of logic. And it was his hair fetish is what spurred him into joining the Guild.

The Guild meeting often talked of the topic of long hair.

Many debates there were on the question of: did or did not a wizard get his power from his hair.

Wizards were a superstious lot and the bulk of the wizarding community, did in fact believe that a mage's hair grounded them and the longer their hair, the more powerful they were.

Quaraun had the longest hair of all, so, everyone in the Guild just automatically assumed he must be the most powerful wizard, though, they had never seen him do any magic.

However, there was one wizard who hair longer than Quaraun's. It looked short, because it was dreadlocked. But every knows a brain is only one third the legnth of it's unbraided state. And so the wizard, who was famous for his 4 foot long dreadlocks, was deemed the most powerful mage of all, because unbraided, his hair was over 12 feet long.

But, this wizard with hair longer than Quaraun's, was never in attendance at The Guild meetings. In fact, he wasn't even a member of the Guild at all.

This infuriated Finderu, founder of the Guild, for he had taken it upon himself to make the laws and tell all wizards what they could or could not do. And for a wizard to not obey Finderu's laws, well, that was just completely unthinkable by Finderu's mind.

And so up went the wanted posters.

Wanted, Dead or Alive: The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley.

Finderu wanted The Elf Eater's head.

Quaraun wanted The Elf Eater's hair.

Quaraun, was mesmerized by the drawings of The Elf Eater on the wanted posters.

Quaraun, had never met the Elf Eater.

Few had.

He was an Illusionist, and a shape shifter.

But one look at his wanted poster, and Quaraun could see, The Elf Eater had beautiful hair.

Wild hair.

Unkept.

Unbrushed.

A long tangled mess.

Exotic in it's pure feralness.

Huge masses of untamed dreadlocks.

Quaraun's lust for The Elf Eater burned uncontrollable, from the from the first time he laid on the dreadlocks he saw in the wanted poster.

That The Elf Eater was a serial killer, a rapist, a murderer, and a practitioner of the darkest arts, mattered not to Quaraun, for all he could think about was his burning desire to meet the Elf Eater and run his finger through the woolly dreadlocks.

Indeed every famous and very powerful wizard had a glorious head of hair and those who grew beards, had matching beards that they often tripped over.

The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley, most famous wizard the world had ever known, was often used as an example, in wizarding textbooks as why a wizard should never cut their hair.

King Gwallmaiic, for this was The Elf Eater's name, was said to be well over 2,000 years old, and had never cut his hair a day in his life. All who claimed to see him, could never describe his face or his body or how he dressed, because they were always too mesmerized by his massive woolen dreadlocks. Huge dreadlocks that reached nearly to the ground, and were woven full if bones nd cluotie ribbons.

Of course, those who saw him, never lived to tell the tale, as he was an evil Necromancer, Blood Sorcerer, Illusionist, and serial killer whom had built and army of undead and marched across the planet mass murdering all who were unfortunate enough to cross his path.

King Gwallmaiic had no royal blood.

He was just a mage, who'd grown very powerful, become undefeatable, and went on a killing spree across the Earth, leaving a mile wide path of blood shed everywhere he went.

He had built himself an army of Liches and crowned himself king of the undead, than later swept through the Realm of Fae, slaughtering every king of every nation, and crowing himself The King of the Faeries.

No beast was more feared than The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley.

Quaraun was fascinated by The Elf Eater.

Fascinated, was probably not a big enough word for it.

Quaraun was obsessed with The Elf Eater.

Like a screaming fan girl, Quaraun grabbed up every book he could find about the mysterious evil wizard.

Quaraun's fascination with The Elf Eater had been very worrisome for the Di'Jinn, for the Di'Jinn were masters of wish granting and had taught Quaraun this art, but, Quaraun, had used it to set about wishing to meet The Elf Eater. Fortunately, he had done this before mastering the art of granting wishes so had never summoned the Elf Eater to the Di'Jinn temple, as he had attempted to do many times.

But those days were gone. For the Di'Jinn were dead.

Dead, because Quaraun had wished it so.

He hadn't meant to kill the Di'Jinn.

It had been a wish spoken out of turn.

Spoken in anger.

Spoken without thinking.

But it was a wish, never the less, and now, all the Di'Jinn were dead. In the blink of an eye, hundreds of mages were turned into ash, to save the life a tiny black Shetland Pony.

A strange black Unicorn, that had appeared mysteriously one night in the desert, while Quaraun was reading a book about The Elf Eater and had mentally, unconsciously wished to meet the famous beast.

"I don't want to go to Ivujivik. I want to find the Elf Eater. I wish I knew where to find him."

Quaraun was brought out of his thoughts of The Elf Eater, the dead Di'Jinn, and his beloved little pony, by a sudden gust of wind, that sent a pine branch full of snow down in front of him.

"You almost hit me!"

Quaraun stared at the broken limb, which now closed off the path ahead of him. He was too busy thinking about the fallen limb to notice he had just uttered a wish, or notice that black clouds were filling the sky all around him.

He was also too preoccupied to notice that he was in the tundra of the deepest depths of the Deep North, where there were no pine trees. It was too cold for pine trees.

Had Quaraun been smarter he would have paid less attention to his wet shoes and more attention to the vast acres of giant pine trees sprouting up around him, like a huge mushroom ring after a thunderstorm.

But Quaraun wasn't noticing the impending arrival of The Forest of No Return, or the tiny black pony standing on the hill watching him.

A little black pony, with gleaming silver horn, and a long black mane, many decades ago braided and left unbrushed, now flowing in wild dreadlocks down to the horse' hooves.

No, Quaraun was too busy looking down as his tickle-me-pink brocade slippers.

"My feet are wet."

Quaraun sat down in the snow.

His hair was wet.

His feet were wet.

He was cold.

He was hungry.

He was lost.

He was tired.

And lonely.

So very lonely.

He didn't know where Ivujivik was.

He didn't want to see his father.

Or his sisters.

He wanted to find out where The Elf Eater lived and go there. A foolish thought, as Quaraun was an Elf and King Gwallmaiic was called The Elf Eater precisly because he ate Elves, But, Quaraun was a bit too stupid to think about that, just like he was too stupid to not keep starting sentances with the deadly phrase: "I wish."

He was only on the road to Ivujivik to visit his father, because everyone else he knew, was dead.

He didn't know where else to go.

He was lonely and wanted to be in a place where people knew him and welcomed him.

 

Quaraun was a Psion capable of hypnotizing entire cities into being his thralls, and thus had been able to take control of every mind if he wanted. But he didn't want. What he wanted was a warm bed to slee in. And The Elf Eater. Quaraun sat in the snow, think how nice it would be, to be The Elf Eater's lover. To feel the warmth of The Elf Eater's body. To touch The Elf Eater's hair. To feel...

Quaraun shook the thoughts from his head.

Quaraun was a virgin.

He had never had sex with anyone.

Had never desired sex with anyone.

He didn't know why he desired sex with The Elfer Eater.

But he did.

It was a thought that plagued his mind daily, for years now.

A deep, dark secret Quaraun shared with no one, was his deep, dark desires, to share his bed with The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley.

A fantasy he kept carefully locked away in his heart, where no one would ever find it.

No one must ever know he felt this way.

Quaraun tried to think of something else.

As the sky grew darker, the clouds grew heavier, the trees grew taller, and the army of undead grew greater, Quaraun sat in the snow, shivering. Cold. Too cold. He had to take his mind off the snow. Off the cold. He was freezing to death, sitting in the snow, too cold to see the Faeries moving in gathering around him.

There were many, many, MANY advantages of being a wizard who flagrantly flaunted his lack of obeying the law.

Quaraun needed to rest. He need to get warm again. He folded his hands over hs chest, closed his eyes and drifted off into a lulled meditative state of just listening to the endless silence of snow.

He tried to think happy thoughts.

Warm thoughts.

A peaceful, contented serenity that Quaraun rarely felt these days, swept over him, filing his mind with soft, warm, comforting thoughts.

The crisp, clean smell of the fresh icy snow.

The alpine air, floral of scents of lovely pink orchids and lush evergreens.

The minty fragrance of checker berries and wintergreen leaves.

The warm earthiness of sphagnum moss, peat, and leaf mold.

The cool late spring breeze wafting down the mountain, chilling the air and awakening the nodding yellow headed daffodils.

The warmth of the sun, melting the muddy slush of winter and filling creeks, brooks, and rivers full of glorious, brown mud, cascading into the ocean estuary.

To be at one with nature.

To hear the birds chirp.

The tadpoles sing.

The warm embrace of mother's ever loving tentacles.

Warm, slithering, slimy, squishy thoughts of swimming in primordial goo.

Tadpoles, swimming in one mass herd, filling the slimy muck, with endless black wriggling specks, each competing for a host.

The chilled cold of dark caves.

Desperate.

Devouring.

Fighting,

Killing.

The massaquere of millions.

The fight to survive.

Quaraun opened his eyes.

That wasn't right.

Where had those slithering, squishy, gooey, slimy, thoughts come from?

He hadn't thought them.

He was certain of it.

He had been thinking Elven thoughts.

Thoughts of nature.

Thoughts of spring.

And suddenly, thoughts warm comfortingiing thoughts were encroached upon by madness.

Pure, glorious madness.

He crazed it.

He lusted for it.

And the fight to survive against all odds. The lust for brains. The supsouse, juicy goodness, the delicate flavour...

Quaraun stood up suddenly. His foot long ears alert, high over his head, stiff with fear. His eyes darting quickly to and for, glancing around the darkness of night, in search of the source of these thoughts.

The Moon Elves had other reasons for requesting Quaraun's return. Reasons which they had chosen not to tell him about, for fear he'd remember how they'd treated him and not help them.

A thousand years ago or more, no one really knew the date, there had risen up a King.

An evil, murderous, bloodthirsty, monster, who set out to killing every King across the globe.

One by one the monstrous beast had slaughtered every King of the Realm of Fae, declaring himself King of all the Faeries.

The creature was a bitter, angry Phooka.

An evil trickster Faerie who thought there was nothing more delight some then to watch his victims die horrible death at the expense of his often bloody, practical jokes.

King Gwallmaiic hailed from Fire Mountain of Pepper Valley, and he had an insatiable lust for eating Elves, and thus he became known as The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley.

But after a thousand years of terror, the evil King vanished without a trace.

Only to rise up again a few hundred years later as a Lich, unlike any Lich the world had ever known.

He was not dead.

No one could explain it.

He was not fully a Lich and yet he had very Lich-like traits and powers.

 

The horrors King Gwallmaiic had rained on Elven villages in his lifetime was nothing compared to the nightmares his reign of strange-near-undeath had brought.

Millions of Elves fell in his wake and rumours said that he ate the flesh of every one of them.

The Elves of the Deep North had long thought themselves safe from this monstrous terror. The Elven villagers of the South became extinct. The Phookan King and his army of undead minions moved farther north. The aristocratic High Elves of the Deep North shuddered in terror. For the undead Phookan army marched ever closer to their snow capped mountains.

The Moon Elves hated their frail, transvestite prince. But, in his 70 year absence he had gained a reputation.

A reputation as the most powerful and most deadly Wizard since the Elf Eater himself.

Rumours said Quaraun was one of the few beings to ever meet a Lich face to face and live to tell the tale.

Supposedly.

Quaraun, also supposedly, had a skill for getting close to Liches and killing them.

Permanently.

Supposedly.

Liches are immortal.

They can not be killed.

A Lich once killed, will reawaken 100 years from it's so-called death.

Quaraun had killed the Di'Jinn - the masters of making Liches. So people assumed that he must know how to kill a Lich.

A difficult feat, as Liches were eternal beasts who could regenerate indefinably.

In truth, Quaraun had never killed a Lich. He had once met a Lich, he had been unaware the Lich was a Lich, so had no knowledge of his having encountered said Lich.

But, people will believe gossip, lies, slander, and rumors, long before they will believe the truth. No matter how many times Quaraun said he was not a Lich hunter and had never met or killed a Lich, people refused to believe otherwise.

It was the hope of the Moon Elves, that by having Quaraun back in their village, he would kill the Elf Eater of Pepper Valley. Save all Elves everywhere or at least, save the only important ones: The Moon Elves.

Quaraun's life was nowhere near perfect. 

After having run most of the past several months, he was glad to be back home. 

The problem was that he couldn't remember who he was running from or why. 

He had no memory of the events of his last few weeks with the Di'Jinn and he didn't know why. 

Something horrible had happened, his mind kept telling him. 

But he couldn't remember what. 

He was running from something, that much he knew. 

He also knew someone was following him. 

Who and why, he did not know.

Quaraun was still a few days out from the village. 

His stomach rumbled, reminding him how hungry he was, as he looked up and focused on the main road, trying to determine which way was North. 

The road was vacant of houses. 

No buildings of any kind. 

All he could see for miles were snow covered fields and dense snow laden pine forests. 

Pine forests.

No.

That's not right.

There are no pine trees in the tundra.

Quaraun had finally noticed the trees, but dim witted that he was, the fact of the trees, still had not fully set in.

It had been a while since he had last seen a house and several days since the last village. 

In places the snow was seven feet deep, it was difficult travelling. 

In his years living in the desert he had forgotten how cold and wet snow was. His wet silks stuck to his skin making it difficult to walk. And the further north he went, the deeper the snows got. 

The sun had sunk below the treeline and Quaraun knew he had to find somewhere to bed down soon, and try to find something to eat.  He sat back down. He had tent with him, in his bad of holding. A tent and bedroll. But he was just too cold to set them up.

So cold.

Why was it so cold.

It shouldn't be this cold.

This cold is unnatural.

It's the cold of death.

The cold of Liches.

A Lich's frost.

No.

There were no Liches here.

It would be too cold to travel once the sun had set. The frigid cold of the dead icy filled nights could kill any creature caught outside after dark.

And so, Quaraun sat, in the snow, thinking these thoughts, staring at his cerise pink silk shoes, muttering how wet they were, and, not noticing that he was now surrounded by hundreds of acres of ancient pine trees in the treeless tundra, while the little black pony had morphed and changed, and was now a very evil looking sorcerer sitting on the back of a massive Friesian stallion.

And from behind the trees, were appearing more and more ponies, each of them morphing into various undead creatures as The Elf Eater's Army completely surrounded Quaraun.

As Quaraun pondered where to set up camp for the night, his thoughts were broken by a herd of horses, with Phookan and Dark Elf riders galloped past him. His long silver hair whipped around his face and shoulders along with the ice crystals and chunks of snow that was kicked up from the speeding hooves. 

Quaraun watched the evil army of the Elf Eater as they passed. They were not long gone before he heard them stop, on come riding back. 

The army was lead by a creature unlike anything Quaraun had ever seen before, simultaneously hideous yet exotically beautiful at the same time. 

The beast was monstrous, every inch of it covered in long shaggy matted black fur. 

On it's hands were huge claws, sharp enough to lop off a man's head in a single swipe. 

It's teeth were fearsome, protruding like razors out of it's mouth, and long gazelle-like horns on it's head. 

A Phooka. 

Looking like Krampus.

But not Krampus.

Not here.

In spite of the cold, this was too far South to be Krampus.

Krampus rarely left his home in the deepest depths of the deepest Deep North. 

The creature rode on a black stallion, with a gleaming silver horn growing from it's head, but as the creature approached, the horse and the beast both melted away, leaving behind only a small dark skinned man, now somewhat Human looking, and barely five feet tall, with a massive crowing glory of wild dreadlocks.

The shape shifter had a wild grin on his face and a devilish gleam in his sparkling black eyes, as he slunk close to Quaraun, close enough to lick the Elf's ear.

"Ah! My saviour! We meet again!"

"Again? Have we meet before."

"I was horse wid no name who wandered desert of Di'Jinn un ya did save me. I am indebted to thee, oh pretty Elf."

"I... I don't understand."

Quaraun could hardly think.

The scent of the beast’s breath, hair, and body was intoxicating.

Molasses.

Anise.

Clove.

Vanilla.

Licorice.

Horehound.

Peppermint.

Wormwood.

Gingerbread.

Cake.

Honey.

Sandalwood.

Patchouli.

Frankincense.

Myrrh.

Hashish.

Opium.

Poppies.

It was like being in a candy shop, next to a bakery, beside an opium house. Quaraun wanted to melt away in the glorious delights of the creature’s enticing fragrances.

“Ya be Quaraun, evil lil Moon Elf, murderer of de Di'Jinn.” 

“I have killed no one.”

“Ah. Aye. Ya secret be safe wid me. I shall tell no one what ya has done.”

“What do you want?”

“To touch ya."

"I don't like being touched." 

"Not just touch ya. Feel ya. Taste ya. Bed ya. Bite ya. Drink ya blood. See what it like. Yis a strange beast."

"I'm not a beast. I'm an Elf."

"Haha! Ya believes it, aye? Lovely. Yis perfect. Exactly what I needs."

"Perfect for what?"

"Ya be so innocent, so sensual, so lustful, so sweet, yet so evil. Ya yin and yan meld toget'er so fabulously.”

“My what?”

“Magic ya knows not of, but ya has. Good and evil exist in ya side by side. Pure grey. Not black. Not white. Chaos. Pure chaotic evil mixed with pure chaotic good. It sends shivers down me spine. The thought of it. I can feels it. Ya be destined for great t'ings.”

The Phooka reached out and touched Quaraun's face.

“Kill him and be done with it,” said a Dark Elf who now road up beside them.

“Back off Gibedon. Never interfere wid me work,” the Phooka growled, hissing like a wildcat. "This ones special. This ones mine. This one I keep. My lil toy, for when yis not around."

“Gibedon?” Quaraun asked. “The Necromancer?”

“Aye, me apprentice, but de job be open for anot'er iffy ya wants it. I will gladly pass it to yis. Ye far more powerful than Gibedon will ever be. And a thousand times more beautiful. Such a lovely Elf.”

“You are King Gwallmaiic.”

“Aye. I am." The Phooka whispered seductively while it licked Quaraun's face.  "Ya wished for me.”

“Elf Eater of Pepper Valley."

"Aye. Here to grant ya wee lil wish. Warm ya wee lil bed." 

"Murderer of millions.”

“Ya knows who I be yet ya be no afeared of me."

"Should I be?" 

"Yis an Elf. I eat Elves. Yis should be terrified."

"I see nothing terrifying here."

"I like dat.”

“Why would I be scared of you? You're nothing but a Faerie.”

"Ooooh. Got balls do we?" Gwallmaiic reached up Quaraun's legs and squeezed his scrotum as he said this. Quaraun yelped and pulled away from the evil wizard.

Quaraun knew that he was facing the infamous black hearted King of the Faeries, himself, and were Quaraun any other Elf, he would have been trembling in fear, but Quaraun had a bad habit of being scared of things he had no reason to fear, and not fearing the things he should.

“I can rarely get dis close to ya.”

“Implying you've been close to me before?”

“Mony times,” the Phooka breathed as he moved close to the Elf, getting up on his toes and kissed Quaraun's face. “And so lovely ya be. Dis do be closest I has ever been to ya. I has wanted to touch ya for so mony years. Ya has never let me get dis close before.”

“I've never seen you before.”

The creature slid it's clawed fingers down Quaraun chest.

“Oh ya hae. Ya just do'na knows it. I be shape shifter."

"You're a Phooka." 

"Aye. I be anyt'ing. Anyone. Any thing yis wanting. What does da Scared Pink JellyFish want? Whatever it is I will be it."

"You want to be, what I want?"

"Aye."

"Why?"

"I tell ya, already. I want to be close to ya. Yar power. Yis got a power I never done seen before. I can feel it. Wid training, ya'll be more powerful dan me. Ya does na know what ya be. But I do. I knows exactly what ya are. And I want it. I always get what I want. What do ye want?"

"Right now? Warmth and food. And a place to sleep. I'm cold and hungry. And wet and tired. I forgot how cold and wet snow is. My hair is wet and my shoes are wet."

"Shoes?" The Phooka stepped back and looked down at Quaraun's feet.  "Eh? Not quite dressed for de weather is we? Silly lil Elf. Yis worried about shoes. Eh? Take dem off and slide into bed wid me."

"Bed?" 

Quaraun gasped when he felt Gwallmaiic forcefully shove his  hand inside of Quaraun's kimono and wrap his sharp clawed fingers around Quaraun's flaccid cock.

"Yis always welcome in me bed. I will keep ya bonny arse warm. I has lots o way to warm up a pretty lil ting like ye."

"You're a male. As am I."

"Does that matter? I can become female if you like? I can be anyone. Male or female. Whatever ya want. That I will be."

"Why?"

"I already answered that."

"But I don't understand your answer."

"No? I lust for ya. As much as ya lust for me." The Phooka was so close to Quaraun now, their bodies were touching. The warmth of the Phooka's body felt good. The air was so cold, and his body s warm. "And ya lust for me quite a lot. Unlike any one else ever has."

"No, I don't."

"Aye ya does. I has heard ya words. Ya wishes. Wishes in the desert. Wishes for the warm embrace of King Gwallmaiic."

The Phooka pushed Quaraun back against a tree, pressed tight against him, and kissed him. Quaraun made no move to resit, though, he was uncertain why. The Phooka pulled away from him and stared into the Elf's clear cornflower blue eyes.

"And yar lust for me now. That why I be here."

"I don't."

"Ya does. Ya just scared to admit it. My lust has burned for you for 2,000 years."

"I'm not that old."

"The skin ya wear, no, the Elf not that old. But the Thullid inside, is ancient. I has waited so long to meet ya. I try so often to reach you. Touch you. Kiss you. Love you. Fuck you like a whore."

"I don't know you."

"No. But I want to change that. Make ya me lover."

"You are a stranger. Why would I be your lover?"

"Have ya a reason why ya would not be?"

"The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley eats Elves and I'm an Elf."

"Well, there is that."

"How would I know, your offer is nothing more than a trap, to kill me and eat me?"

"Because I does no want to eats ya. I wants to fuck ya."

"That's not something I want."

"Are ya sure?"

"Yes."

"Who do yis wants fucking ya than? I will be dem instead. I will be any. Who ever ye want. That I will be. Whatever it take to get in ya bed. But I tinking, this one does it for ya. Ya never let me get dis close before."

"Have you been many?"

"I be mony. I try for years to get close to ya, but ya be skittish un run away, every time.”

Are you going to kill me?”

If I were gonna kills ya, I would already has done it.”

Quaraun did not know why, but he felt no threat from the creature and so made no move to get away, as the little Faerie pressed it's warm body close against him.

Though Quaraun was a very short Elf, the Faerie was even shorter than he was and stood on the Elf's feet, then rose up on his toes to be eye level with the Elf.

The Phooka was pushing his hard erection between the Elf's legs and it was arousing Quaraun, much more then he wanted to admit. Quaraun's eyes glazed with lust. His mind wandered, wanting to touch Gwallmaiic just as badly as Gwallmaiic wanted to touch him and his cock was already pressing against his thin silks.

Gwallmaiic's hands gently slid down Quaraun's belly, gliding along his hips before squeezeing and fondling one of his ass cheeks.

Quaraun gasped. Cold air snagged in Quaraun's throat. He could not believe his good fortune, being groped by the very object of his darkest desires. Gwallmaiic continued to fondle Quaraun and Quaraun continued to do nothing and just let this happen.

Quaraun closed his eyes and let the Phooka kiss his neck, while pressed his hips harder again Quaraun. His hand still gripping him, Gwallmaiic begin to stroke Quaraun's cock up and down along the shaft at a steady pace while his other hand went back to squeezing and massaging Quaraun's ass cheeks but this time from the inside Quaraun's dress, which at some point Gwallmaiic had lifted up without Quaraun noticing he'd done it.

"This is..."

"Shh...sweet lil Elf, let me take care of ya."

Gingerly, Quaraun put his hands on the Phooka's chest and pushed him back a few inches.

"Please don't do that."

"Why not? Ya likes it."

Quaraun did like it and he completely wanted to ignore that fact. He couldn't let himself enjoy Gwallmaiic's touch, because he also knew the stories. The Rumors. King Gwallmaiic had a reputation for seducing Elves, than raping them to death, eating their flesh, drinking their blood, and grinding their bones into flour to make drugged gingerbread. All the stories said so. It was why he was called The Elf Eater.

How do you know me?”

I has hunted ya for years. Could ne'er catch ya. Then one dae I were wounded un ya saved me life.”

I do not remember that.”

And I will never forget it. Nor will I forget how ya saved what were left o me army.”

Your army?” Quaraun looked around at the motley crew of various Dark Fae, Dark Elves, Blood Elves, Beasts, Monsters, and undead creatures, which were gathering to watch what their leader would do to the young Moon Elf. “I have never seen your army before.”

Ya did. In de desert of de Di'Jinn. Ya saw us. Ya fed us. And de Di'Jinn unleashed deir terror upon us, ya unleashed ya terror upon dem. We be indebted to ya. We'd all be dead now, were not for ya. Our hero. Our saviour. The Scared Pink JellyFish. Our Goddess. We worship her, so we worship you.

The Phooka bowed before Quaraun, than stood and clutched his talons around the Elf's throat.

I don't know what your talking about.”

Ya's an Elf after me own 'eart. Some dae ya will remember what ya did un when ya does, I'll be waiting for ya. Come Gibedon, we leave.”

The Phooka let go of Quaraun and walked back to his horse.

The mesmerizingly beautiful black haired, black eyed Phookan leader turned and whistled at Quaraun, then grasped his privates in a lewd gesture.

Ya're a pretty one," the Scottish hell beast said to Quaraun. “I woulds love to fuck ya wee lil bahookie."

Quaraun swore at him in Thullid, with a disgusted grimace, which made the Phookan leader laugh. He blew Quaraun a kiss as they road away, and Quaraun hoped he'd never see them again.

No.

That wasn't right.

Quaraun desperately wanted to see him again.

King Gwallmaiic.

Quaraun had lusted after King Gwallmaiic for years.

A deep dark secret, that Quaraun kept hidden away. He knew if anyone found out, he'd be cast out of Elven society.

So much was wrong with Quaraun's lust for King Gwallmaiic.

They were both male for starters.

Plus Gwallmaiic wasn't an Elf.

And than there was the fact that King Gwallmaiic was evil. Plain and simple. A murderous, blood-thirsty villain.

Quaraun shivered.

The Phooka had been correct. Quaraun had wished many times to meet the evil Dark Lord, King Gwallmaiic, Elf Eater of Pepper Valley.

For years.

Decades.

Quaraun had longed to meet him.

And now that he had, Quaraun's raging desires for the evil Faerie King were stronger than ever before.

Quaraun hated Faeries.

Yes. He did. He told himself this over and over again, while wishing silently for the Phooka to return. Silently wishing to bed with the Phooka.

No.

Quaraun knew he must put such thoughts out of his head.

No good ever came from associating with Faeries.

Especially not Phookas.

Worst Faeries of all.

And this was no meer Phooka.

This was King Gwallmaiic.

The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley.

Quaraun veered off the main road, into the forest to try to find a spot to set up his tent for the night. Quaraun wondered at seeing Phookas this far North.

Phookas were southern beasts, normally inhabiting tropical cloud forests, jungles, and rain forests. Warm tropics were their home lands, not these frigid high altitude arctic mountain ranges.

Quaraun also wondered at seeing trees this far North.

There were no trees in the tundra, and yet, here they were. Acres and acres and acres of huge, massive trees.

Quaraun lay down on his bedroll and fell asleep thinking about trees and polar bears and Phookas and Gwallmaiic and gingerbread scented dreadlocks. He drifted off into sleep dreaming about King Gwallmaiic and wishing he'd let the Phooka finish what he'd started.

That night, Quaraun woke to find himself being dragged from his bedroll. Loud cheers and taunts enveloped him as his clothes were ripped from his body. He fought his attackers but they stripped him naked as they held him face down shoving his face into the snow.

Someone forced his legs open and someone else knelt between his thighs.

A rough, heavy hand was placed in the small of his back.

A surge of wild untamed fear came over him and he fought harder with his assaulters. He was so busy trying to fight off the men holding his wrists and ankles that he neglected to notice the man standing over him until he straddled him.

Quaraun screamed and yelled and thrashed and kicked, but none of this did any good as any one of the men holding him down was stronger than he was, so all of them together left him completely helpless.

The Elf's scream hung in the cold night air when he was penetrated hard, by who he didn't know. His body went rigid and trembled with the pain and humiliation of his predicament. His rapist made no attempt to go easy on him. Quaraun screamed as he felt his rapist pump into his ass.

"Shhhh..." a familiar voice whispered into Quaraun's long pointed ear. It was King Gwallmaiic who was on top of him, raping him. The Phooka leaned forward, hugging Quaraun, pressing his chest against the Elf's back, and licking Quaraun ear with his long snake-like tongue as he spoke. "I is not going to hurt, Quaraun. Relax. Let it happen. It'll be better for both of us if ya doe. Though I does na mind iffy ya don't. I like it rough. And I can makes it hurt a lot if ya fight me."

"Let me go," Quaraun whimpered.

While Quaraun deeply lusted for The Elf Eater's touch, he was also terrified The Elf Eater would kill him when he got done raping him.

"No, no, no. Quiet. Shhhh. Tis alright. I'll not hurt ya. Relax. Yas a wish ya want fulfilled. I is here to grant ya wish. Shhhhh. Don't be frightened. It'll be over soon and ya'll be glad it happened."

There were too many of the King's men holding him down while the King raped him. With no choice but to wait until this was over Quaraun learned to take the Phooka's entire cock until he could feel the Faerie King's thick balls slapping against his butt cheeks. After a few minutes of agonizing pain his body became used to this new sensation and it started to feel good.

Really good.

And that scared him even more.

He didn't want to enjoy what was happening to him.

The feeling of pain started to subside and Quaraun focused on how good another man's cock felt while it was deep in his ass.

After a few moments Quaraun stopped struggling.

Having anal sex with a complete stranger wasn't like him at all, in fact, Quaraun had never had sex with anyone at all, male or female.

Quaraun was a virgin.

Quaraun hated sex.

He said so often.

Quaraun was scared of sex.

Quaraun was scared of a love of things.

But sex was very high on his list of the most terrifying things on the planet.

Yes. Quaraun kept a list of things that scared him.

He started trying to think of what was on the list.

He wanted to think of anything other than how much he was enjoying the fucking he was receiving.

But he simply could not ignore how much he was enjoying this.

Quaraun tried not to think about the fact that the creature assaulting him was known for raping Elves, moments before killing them and eating their flesh but the thought could not escape him as fear built up in the pit of his stomach.

Quaraun knew better then to give in to this, he knew he should fight, he knew he would soon be slaughtered by this gang of violent criminals, but it felt too good to try to stop them. His mind's objection to this horribly risky scenario was being overruled by his body's craving for more cock up his ass. He held his ass high in the air letting the Phooka fuck him.

 

Seeing that the Elf had stopped putting up a fight, the Faerie King pushed his men aside, and now no one was holding the Quaraun down as the Phooka continued to ride him.

Quaraun, it seemed, was a total anal slut, something he hadn't realized he would ever be. And the Phooka loved it. Both men cried out in pleasure as they enjoyed the sensations of one another's bodies.

Quaraun gripped his hands to the ground and pushed back hard as Gwallmaiic fucked him.

Quaraun gritted his teeth and moaned. He had never experienced anything like this before. He hadn't known he could. He knew he didn't like sex with females, but the thought that he could enjoy sex with another male had never crossed his mind.

Quaraun could feel his own large balls slapping up against his body as Gwallmaiic drilled deeper and harder into his bowels.

With another hard, deep thrust, the Phooka above him came down on all fours. He could feel the creature's warm seed flowing inside him.

As another load of the Phooka's sperm filled his bowels, Quaraun found himself shaking.

Quaraun was so close to cumming. His ass hole was wrecked from the harsh treatment and leaking cum and his orgasm that was building was turning into a painful blueballs.

Quaraun needed to cum so badly, but what the Phooka did next, suddenly brought Quaraun back to his senses as he remembered who was doing this to him and the great danger he was in of being murdered the moment the Phooka finished fucking him.

Ya likes dat pretty t'ing." The Elf Eater whispered in Quaraun's ear, then took hold of the Elf's pointed ear with his teeth, tearing his earrings out and drawing blood.

Blood gushed from the wound, running down his neck and staining the snow red. The Phooka licked the blood off his neck, then began sucking more blood from the wound.

Mmm... ya tastes sooo good, pretty Sugar Pie," the Phooka laughed.

Quaraun was shivering.

Is ya cold or frightened? Or both? What scares ya more Quaraun? That I is a monster? Or that ya wished for this? Wishes grated. Pretty llil Elf. Is not wishes ya specialty? Ye should more careful what ya wish for, eh?

"How do you get inside my head?"

"I told ya before. Ya no ordinary Elf. Yis a Thullid in Elf skin. And psion brain of yars is powerful. Powerful enough that I can feel yar desires for me. Ya wishes for me. Ya wanted me here in yar bed. Now here I am. Lusty lil Elf. Ye should be more careful with ya wishes."

"Implying I should not like this?"

"Aye. But ya does. Eh?"

The Phooka pulled the Elf's cloths back on his trembling body.

This action confused Quaraun.

He became even more confused, when the Phooka once again bit him, this time on the neck, again drawing blood. Terrified that the Elf Eater was about to eat him, Quaraun once again began to struggle against his attackers.

Please let me go,” he cried out

Quaraun struggled to get up, but the Phooka had a hugging grip on him and pushed him down to the ground..

Ya wants dis.”

No!" Quaraun answered with a desperate scream.

Ya knows ya do," the Phooka answered.

No! Stop!" Quaraun begged. “Please.”

I is no gonna hurt ya, Quaraun. I knows that what ya t’inking. Ya did'na start to fight me until I drew blood.”

"Please." Tears were streaming down Quaraun's face. His heart was pounding hard in his chest. He felt dizzy. The world was spinning.

The Phooka continued to molest and fondle him, but Quaraun's mind was reeling now. Terror had seized him and he was now far to scared to enjoy the sensations any longer. Quaraun began to scream and scream and scream.

"Oh, why yis so frightened?"

Gwallmaiic put his hand on Quaraun's chest. He could feel the Elf's heart pondering uncontrollably. Gwallmaiic leaned back off the Elf. Quaraun was hyperventilating, his mind no longer registering what was going on around him.

The Phooka lifted the Elf up into his arms and hugged him, rocking, trying to calm Quaraun back down out of the mindless fit of terror his was now in. Gwallmaiic had seen Quaraun kill the Di'Jinn. He knew how dangerous this Elf really was. He knew how little control Quaraun had over his powers when he was upset or frightened.

Gwallmaiic waved his hand and a lead crystal glass full of a bright emerald green liquid appeared in his hand. He held the glass to Quaraun's lips.

"Here. Drink dis. It'll help. Shhhhh. Tis okay. I will no hurt ya. Yis no need to be afeared of me. I am a friend. We are no enemies."

In spite of Quaraun's frantic flailing, the Phooka managed to get the Elf to drink the Absinthe. After a few moments Quaraun relaxed somewhat, as the wormwood infused wine lulled him into a calmer drugged state.

The Phooka continued to hug Quaraun.

Let me go,” the frightened Moon Elf wailed. “Please let me go.”

Shhhhh! Tis alright. Lay back down un I will fuck ya again.”

No! No please! Please let me go. Please.”

The Phooka kissed Quaraun's face.

Do no be so frightened. I likes ya. I does no seek to harm ya. I wants ya to join me un me army. Ya has great potential. I can feels it. Ya be already a great Wizard, but ya lack training. I can help ya wid dat. And ya can be me lover un share me bed. Ya'll like dat, I can tell by how ya was acting just now whilst I was in ya. Ya a right a lil slut ya are.”

Seeing that the Elf was struggling against their King, the men once again took hold of Quaraun. Loud voices yelled obscenities over him, and harsh hands griped at his wrists and legs.

They hurt.

Quaraun kicked them, not knowing who he had kicked. But someone else quickly grabbed his leg, restraining him again.

With sudden strength, Quaraun pushed the Phooka off him.

Someone let go of a leg, which he used to kick as hard as he could, dislodging the second person that held his other leg.

He jerked his arm free, tuned and belted the person holding his wrist.

Then Quaraun scrambled to his feet and ran.

You fucking son of a bitch faced whore! He broke my frigging nose!" Quaraun heard behind him scream, but he didn't slow down or give it a second thought.

Let him go," Quaraun heard the Phookan leader say. “I do no want him hurt. I found out what I wanted to knows. He can not control his powers. He is very dangerous. But we need him. I gots other plans for him. He needs training. Wildfire with no control - he'll kill us us with nothing but a wish.

"Than we should kill him now, whil..."

"NO! I wants him alive. Yi will no touch him. None of ya. Not now. Not ever. Ya does na knows what he is."


~o0o~


Quaraun made it back to his village without further incident, but when he arrived, his father was less then happy to see his son dressed in a dress and looking like a daughter instead of a son and immediately began arguing with him, and thus Quaraun never got a chance to mention his encounter with the Phookas or inform the village that the Elf Eater's army was travelling only two days outside from the village.

Quaraun had forgotten how much contempt his father and the villagers had for him and quickly regretted coming back. Quaraun had intended to tell them that the Elf Eater's army was only hours outside the village, but Quaraun was a scattered brained Elf and forgot things easily when distracted or nervous. And he was more scared of his father then he had been the beast that had raped him.

Outside the village, a pair of dark eyes watched as the others scolded, yelled at, and mercilessly teased to poor little Elf. Quaraun fled from the Moon Elves and ran crying to his old room at the top of the tower, locking himself in for several days.

Poor Little Elf, so innocent, so pure, so easily corruptible," the Phookan King said to himself. Gwallmaiic then turned to his followers. “I will'na be needing ya for a while. Go South, raid de other Elven villages, but do'na touch dese Moon Elves, not yet, not till I says so."

What is your plan, sire," asked de Dark Elf who stayed close to the King.

I want him in me army.”

The pink sissy?”

Aye.”

That Elf's no fighter.”

Dat dere, not be Elf.”

He looks like an Elf.”

I can looks like an Elf too.” Upon saying this the Phooka shifted and changed into the form of a Moon Elf. “Judge not what lifes inside, by what de outside looks like, Have ya learned not'ing from me Gibedon?”

If that is not an Elf, then what is it?”

Look at de clothes.”

I am, he looks ridiculous. No self respecting Elf would parade around dressed like that.”

Exactly me point. That not an Elf.”

Then what is he?”

Ya seen creatures dress like dat before.”

Those squid headed monsters dress like that.”

Mmmmm. And dat does no strike ya as odd?”

The crown prince is eccentric.”

The crown prince is eccentric,” the Phooka mocked the Dark Elf, than slapped him in the head. “Unlike him, ya has brain Gibedon. How come for dontcha use it, before ya lose it de same way him gone un lost his?”

You're not being clear, Sire.”

Not being clear,” the Phooka muttered under his breath. “It a good t'ing yar good in bed un good at fighting for me, or I'd've eaten ya by now. Ya so damned stupid.”

Forgive my ignorance, Sire, but I am only an Elf.”

All Elves is stupid. Were dey smarter I'd no be able to eat so many of dem. Him has'na got any brains in him head un him smarter den ya bes. Where dids we just follow him from?”

The forest.”

The Phooka punched the Elf in the head.

We just followed him half way around de world from de Desert of de Di'Jinn ya dolt.”

So?”

So? Him were living wid Thullids. Ya ever seen a Thullid not kill an Elf?”

Not unless it was a Spawnling waiting to hatch... aaah. I see. That's why he wears Thullid clothes. He's not an Elf.”

Aye. That dere be a Thullid Spawnling, masquerading as an Elf. There ain't no brain in him head. Was eet up long time ago by dat pink Jellyfish dat living in dat hollowed out skull of his.”

Thullids are dangerous. They can't be trusted.”

They be more chaotic evil dan a Chaos Demon, aye. And dis one be unstable, but dere be rumours among de Thullid dat de Grand High Emperor of de Triple Planets has been implanted in a host body and walks among us. And wid de way de Di'Jinn practically worshipped Quaraun, I does be guessing deir leader be living in de head of dat yon Elf.”

You need more then a hunch.”

I got more den a hunch. I saw what he did to de Di'Jinn un I got a taste of his blood."

"That's why you bit him?"

"Aye. That why I bit him. Dat Thullid blood him taste of. Not Elf. That is no Elf. The Elf him was, died lang time past. That dair be a Thullid wearing an Elf skin."

"So? What do you want with a Thullid?"

"That be a Thullid and dere be a strong magic in dis one. As a Wizard, he be more powerful den Yis, Gibedon. I does no t’inks he knows it. Him be raging volcano of destruction waiting to explode. And I want him on my side when he goes off."

 From: BoomFuzzy

And in the next chapter, introduces him again, as BoomFuzzy:


 “Because your father wants you to get married to one of the girls in your family, preferably all of your sisters, all at the same time, and sire lots of incestuous, inbred, pure blooded little Moon Elf babies and you are out here sitting on the front steps of the palace moping about it. That's why."

Well, I'd like to get my mind off of my father and his plans for my life, so could you please, change the subject?"

Okay. Let's see... Oh! I know. This'll cheer you up. You the one that's crazy ga-ga over candy right?"

"What?"

"You like candy, yes?"

Yeah. I guess."

Did you know there is a new shop in town?"

Of course I don't. I rarely ever get into town. My father never let's me leave the palace, I might get infected with some non-Moon Elf friends and breath in some non-Moon Elf air. Or I might fall into bed with a non-Moon Elf and accidently create some evil half-Elves. You know what my father is like."

"Uhm... how do you fall into bed and accidently create evil half-Elves? You do know there's more to sex than that right?"

"I know how sex works BeaLuna. I just don't want to do it."

Well, if you want to skip out on your father and come to town with me, I'll show you it. It's a real humdinger of a place. It's a candy shop. The freaking building is made out of gingerbread."

Gingerbread?"

Yep. It fell out of the sky one night....”

Fell out of the sky?”

Yeah, landed on somebody. Killed them."

"Somebody was killed by a gingerbread house falling out of the sky?"

"Yeah. Cool, huh?"

"Uhm... BeaLuna, are you feeling okay?"

"Right as peachy rain."

"You kind of ain't been acting yourself. Less so now. It's not like you to be joyful over death."

"It's the damned gingerbread. I've been eating it all morning. It makes my head feel weird, but than after it's like, watch out!"

"BeaLuna. Faeries use gingerbread to drug people."

"Cool!"

"No. It's not. Where is this gingerbread house?"

"Out by the edge of the forest."

 “BeaLuna? What forest? There is no forest. This is Ivujivik. Its Arctic Tundra. We’re only a few miles south of the North Pole. There’re no trees around here for hundreds of miles.”

Well, whatever. The gingerbread house is directly outside the forest. Right on the threshold of it. The guy lives in a damned gingerbread house.”

You mean like a cake?”

Yeah. Exactly it’s a ginormous cake.”

Who erects a shop out of cake?”

He calls himself BoomFuzzy. Your father would love him. Would loathe the guts off him. He’s loony as hell. He’s a half-Elf. I don’t recognize what the other half of him is. Crazy as a fricking loon. Well, what do you expect from a guy who lives in a freaking cake? The guy’s a nut job fruitcake. Just like you. You should hear him talk. He’s got this bizarre frigging accent. He’s like someone from up North or something...”

North of here? What’s North of the Deep North? We’re even further North than Santa Claus.”

I see him out there every day, icing his roof or planting gumdrops in the flowerpots. He’s stark bonking mad. The guy’s crazy as heck. You’ll love him, he’s as nutty as you are. He throws caution to the wind. Says to hell with standard Elven conventions. He’s only been in town for a few days. Your father is going to have a royal fit when he finds out a half-Elf has moved into the village. I don’t know who’s more irresponsible, you or him. You’d love him. Come on, I’ll take you out there. You’ll love this guy, he’s as nutty as you are.”

Minutes later, Quaraun stood on the other side of the village. He was standing on the outskirts of the Frozen Forest. Standing in front of a house made of gingerbread.

The walls were made of soft, spongy, coppery brown gingerbread loaves, iced with light, fluffy, ivory coloured vanilla buttercream.

The windows formed of fragile, paper-thin, golden yellow honey comb sugar barley.

The door of brittle bittersweet peanut butter brickle.

The front path was dark chocolate-covered cherry pebbles, sprinkled with nonpareils.

The trees and bushes made of rainbow coloured lollipops and pink and blue cotton candy.

The scent was intoxicating.

Molasses. Anise. Clove. Vanilla.

Licorice. Horehound. Peppermint. Wormwood.

Quaraun saw what everybody else saw. He smelled what every one else smelled.

The sugar crystals sparkling in the dusky evening sunlight.

The glistening, shimmering glaze.

The fluffy whipped cream.

Quaraun closed his eyes. He remembered these scents. Not so very long ago. One the road to Ivujivik.

King Gwallmaiic.

The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley.

Quaraun could hardly think.

The scent of the beast’s breath, hair, and body was intoxicating.

Molasses.

Anise.

Clove.

Cinnamon.

Vanilla.

Licorice.

Horehound.

Peppermint.

Wormwood.

Gingerbread.

Cake.

Honey.

Sandalwood.

Patchouli.

Frankincense.

Myrrh.

Hashish.

Opium.

Poppies.

It was like being in a candy shop, next to a bakery, beside an opium house. Quaraun wanted to melt away in the glorious delights of the creature’s enticing fragrances.

Quaraun opened his eyes.

He was here.

King Gwallmaiic.

In the village.

The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley had invaded Ivujivik.

 

And no one had noticed.

They couldn’t see what he’d done.

The cake, the food, the candy, the gingerbread… it was drugged.

The whole village was drugged.

Drugs plagued the entire city.

Caught.

Trapped.

Decieved.

Imprisoned.

Ensnared by The Elf Eater.

He perceived what they were experiencing.

But he could also see the truth behind the lie.

The cakes and candies flickered and shimmered, twist and turn, the horrible, spectral shadow, over a dark, grim, wicked, gloomy, terrible, terrible reality. Like ghost shadows, they twinkleed and glowed in a dark.

Creepy shadows.

Scary cakes.

Fluffy cream.

It’s not real,” Quaraun said the BeaLuna.

What do you mean it’s not real?”

It’s not real.”

No? Looks real.”

No, you are deceived, entrapped, ensnared.”

Tastes real too.”

Tastes?”

Yeah.”

You haven’t eaten any of it, have you?” Quaraun looked scared and sounded horrified.

Of course. Why?”

It’s drugged.”

No, it’s not.”

It is.”

You’re being paranoid again, Quaraun.”

You can’t eat it.”

Yeah, kind of too late for that. Almost everybody in the village has taken a bite out of his house. I did too.”

Why?”

It’s made out of gingerbread.”

No, it’s not.”

Yes, it is.”

It’s not it’s... it’s ghastly... it’s horrible... it’s made out of...”

It’s gingerbread. It’s meant to be eaten. What else do you do with a gingerbread house?”

Do you see a gingerbread house?”

Yes, don’t you?”

I... no... It’s not...”

Quaraun was very disturbed. Greatly troubled, by what he saw. And what BeaLuna and the rest of the villagers could not see. What he smelt verses what they could smell.

The others saw a gingerbread house. Quaraun saw the ruined remains of an ancient castle, long ago destroyed, and rebuilt out of bones.

Piles of crumbling ash grey stones, were littered around the edges.

All around the decadent dwelling, BeaLuna and the others saw trees exuding with lollipops. Quaraun saw monstrous dead oak trees, heavy laden with poison apricots. Dripping red with oozing blood. These were definitely not large plants enclosed in bark and shedding leaves. These were monsters in disguise.

The trees were not trees, but Fae beasts with brick red eyes and sharp white fangs.

All around the ruins, grew dead roses and bramble vines, thick with thorns, also oozing blood.

The chocolate stones were the heads and skulls of hundreds of dead Elves, their eyes gouged out.

Every bit of the house dripped in fresh blood.

The bone structure was lashed together with entrails.

A purplish black miasma mist hovered like a thick, dense, impenetrable, fog all around the evil place.

Quaraun knew immediately that the mist was toxic and had drugged the others.

Powerful dark ceremonial magic was controlling this strange place that had appeared at the edge of their village.

He looked back into the village.

The mist was wafting low along the streets, drifting into shops and houses.

Everyone was infected.

Quaraun reached out to pick an apricot from the nearest tree.

A chill swept through him as he touched the frozen fruit.

Liches.

The tree was a Lich.

 “He's not a candy maker. He's Necromancer," Quaraun muttered under his breath. He reached out to touch one of the bloody apricots. “Apricots don't grow on oak trees... or bleed Elf blood."

Quaraun quickly withdrew his hand from the bloody apricot.

It was cold.

Colder than cold.

Chilled, cool, crisp, frosty, cold.

Bitter, bleak, inhospitable, cold of death.

Death.

That’s what this was.

So much death.

Impenetrable doom.

Grim, dark, cold, deadly, airless death.

Dejected, depressed, deliberate, penetrating, glacial, cold.

Acrimonious, desolate, resentful, hostile, bleakness of the afterlife.

Afterlife. Immortality. Eternity. Undeath.

That’s what this breathed of.

So much death.

Impervious dread.

Death.

Bereavement of cessation.

Grisly, deep, bleak, bloody, stifling death.

Dim, fuzzy, dark, destructive, brutal death.

Cruel, cloudy, cold, destructive, smothering death.

Ghastly ominous, brusque, corpse-like, unstirring death.

Gruesome, sinister, inhospitable, deadly, oppressive death.

Horrid, heavy, desolate, dreary, murderous, suffocating death.

Death hung heavy in the air.

Liches.

Cold, icy, death.

The icy void of death wafted from the gingerbread house..

Ice crystals grew up from the dirt below his feet.

It’s a Lich’s frost. There’s a Lich here.”

BeaLuna was still yapping happily about scrumptious gingerbread and tasty candy. She loved gingerbread and candy.

Several young Elflings from the village gathered around the gingerbread house, breaking pieces off of it and eating it. Blood dribbled from their smiling mouths as they gobbled down what to them looked like wonderful whipped cream cheese frosting.

Quaraun felt sick.

He tried very hard not to faint.

Or vomit. He could taste it in the back of his throat.

He silently told himself he must not faint.

He could see the reality behind the illusion. 

He knew that what they were eating was not gingerbread.

It was not the soft, moist, decedent, chewy, ooey, gooey goodness of warm, fragrant, heavy homemade spice cake that they were all convinced it was.

He knew that powerful dark magic was entrancing the villagers.

“Faeries,” Quaraun whispered to himself. This time out loud.

“What?” BeaLuna asked.

“Faeries.”

“Where?”

“Here!” Quaraun pointed to the horrific bloody building, but all BeaLuna saw was gingerbread. Like the others, she too had already eaten a piece of the house and was caught up in the spell.

“It’s an illusion. You’re all drugged by Fae food.”

“You’re talking crazy Quaraun.” 

“Think about it. It’s gingerbread. It fell out of the sky. It’s impossible. You can’t build a real house out of gingerbread.”

“Quaraun, I hate to disagree with you, but there it is. Big as life. A real live gingerbread house.”

“When did it get here?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“Weeks? You said a few days ago before.” 

“It just showed up one night. Kind of just fell out of the sky and landed here. Not long after you arrived, actually. In fact, the next day I think.”

“And you don’t think that’s strange?”

“No. Why should I?” 

“Houses don’t fall out of the sky.”

“Well, we did think it a little strange, at first, but I don’t know. It kind of grows on you.”

“But it’s not real.”

“No?” It was not BeaLuna who answered. “Is not no real, eh? Pray do tell me how me house is no be real,” asked a heavily accented Scottish voice behind him. “How does one tell iffy house be real or no, eh?”

 “I’m a Wizard,” Quaraun said, not looking to see who had spoken. He was too busy staring at the impossible cake dwelling, trying to determine what type of Faerie could cause such a potent spell that it had overtaken everyone in the village.

No mony Wizards be able to see dat which can no be detected, taste dat which can no perceive, feels dat which has no ting to touch, sniffs dat which smell not as it is, what hears tings can no be heard, eh? Not even der great and powerful Wizards can do what is ya does. How does de pretty pink jelly brain Elf do it?”

I have the gift of Faerie Sight...that’s not a real gingerbread house, it’s a Faerie glimm...”

 “Yis be de Moon Elf’s powerful Wizard, eh?”

Yes,” Quaraun continued, staring at the house, and still not looking at its owner. “I’m the only Wizard around here. Wizardry is illegal in these parts. Finderu made laws to ban it.”

Did he now?”

Yes. Too many Moon Elves going off on greed infested, power trips and getting into Dark Arts and Blood Magic, so now no Moon Elf may use magic at all. Safer that way, he says.”

Says who?”

Finderu the Masked. He created The Guild of Wizardry. If you’re not a Guild member, they’ll hang you or behead you or both. Terribly regulated. Exceedingly coordinated. Dreadfully dominated.”

Does ye be Guild member?”

I am. But their meetings are boring. They talk about thing I don’t understand.”

What does ya no understanding?”

Mathematics. Science. Equations. Star charts. Planetary movements. Religion. Philosophy. Theology. They write up rules ad vote on laws. It’s all dreadfully dull and boring. I can’t understand how to use numbers. I don’t the meanings of half the stuff they say. The whole thing confuses me. Gives me time to embroider while they argue. I only go to look at their hair.”

Look at hair? What for ya do dat?”

I like long hair. The Wizards all have long hair.”

Yis seem to has lost yars.”

Yes.”

Quaraun nervously fluttered his fingers through his short hair. He wanted to cry. He’d been crying most of the morning.

Quaraun felt naked without his long hair. He had not cut it since he was born.

Never.

Not once.

Not ever.

Quaraun began trembling. The current lack of his hair was extremely upsetting for him.

Had BeaLuna not brought Quaraun to see the gingerbread house, he’d likely be in the tower slicing his wrists, right now. A common pastime for Quaraun, when he could not brush his hair.

Quaraun had a developed a dangerous habit of self harm since his arrival in the Moon Elf village. Quaraun’s mind was already a frail thing, but now depression sunk in on top of the original mental deficits.

Quaraun was not smart, and he was painfully aware of this. The other Moon Elves took great delight in rubbing this fact in his face. Since his return back to Ivujivik, what little self esteem he possessed, had plummeted. He was teased, beaten, bullied, and belittled daily, hourly, nightly, at every turn by every Elf. But most especially by his father.

My father cut it off. I’m not happy about it.” Quaraun chocked back the tears as he said this. He had even greater trouble chocking back the desire to strangle his father to death. Rage burned in Quaraun’s heart, over his father’s chopping off his lovely mega long silvery hair.

Why him do dat?”

He said I’m supposed to be his son, not his daughter. He also says Wizards are evil and I’m not allowed to be one. I’m just waiting for him to drop dead so I can go back to living my own life as I choose.”

Ah. How be it ya come to live with Di’Jinn, then?”

My uncle. The King. He sent me there. My mother wanted me to be a Wizard. So he hired a Di’Jinn to come here and train me...”

De King did?”

Yes. But my father killed her...” Quaraun’s voice seethed with rage as he thought of the day his mother died. The more he thought of his father, the more he wanted to kill him. Quaraun’s fists clenched.

Who him kill? Ya mother or de priest?”

"My mother. The priest was a Thullid. And was going to kill me and the Di'Jinn priest as well. So the King sent me away with the priest and he took me back to his temple in Persia. I grew up in Persia with the Di'Jinn. I'm kind of having trouble getting along with the Moon Elves. I was taught how to live like an Elf. I spent most of my time with Humans when not with Thullids. The Thullids raised me. But they lived in a heavily populated area between several large Human cities. I get along with Humans better than Elves. I've only been back here a few weeks and I've not been getting along well with them. They are very strict here. They like conformity. Individual expression is not well looked up. I'm radical and free spirited according to most every one in the village."

"What ya doing here wid Elves than?"

"The King is old and ill. They think he'll die in a few more years, and so they decided it was time for me to learn how to be an Elf, before he he dies."

"What King dying to do wid ya?"

"I'm heir to the throne."

"Is ya not the younger brother's son?"

"Yes. But the King has no sons. So, I'm next in line."

"So yi'll be King soon?"

"Yes. But I don't want to be. I don't like it here. It's cold. And they won't let me wear pink and they cut my hair and I'm not allowed to be a wizard and embroidery is sinful..."

"Embroidery is sinful?"

"Yes. It's not allowed. Only abstract designs. Swirls. Paisley. I sew designs from live on dresses. Birds. Hearts. JellyFish..."

"JellyFish?"

"Yes."

"Why JellyFish?"

"I like JellyFish. They are my favorite animals. So beautiful. And pink. Lovely tentacles, that look like long hair flowing behind them as they swim. I miss having tentacles. It's why I have ling hair. It's like having tentacles again. I hate that he cut my hair. I miss swimming with them."

"Swimming wid dem?"

"Yes."

"Wid de Pink JellyFish?"

"Yes."

"Dey no from dis planet. From planet much far away."

"I know. I miss them. The planet is gone. It was destroyed. Our sun blew up and took the planet with it. I'm the last one."

"De last Pink JellyFish."

"Yes. I'm trapped in this Elf. I don't mind being him. Not if I can wear pink and grow my hair long to flow in the wind, like swimming in the ocean."

"Ya miss being free, outside of ya host."

"Yes."

"I see."

"Why ya go to Guild meetings iffy ya no allowed to do magic?"

"The King let's me be a Wizard. Finderu says I'm the only Moon Elf allowed to be a Wizard."

"Why?"

"My father’s the younger brother of the King. It’s the only reason they allow it with me. It’s the only thing I’m good at.”

"Magic?"

"Yes."

Magic, only ting yis good at, eh?”

Yes.”

Be dat ya own lack of self-confidence talking or is it dey bully ya to tinks dat?”

Both.”

Ah! Is ya not de one what weave de silk und blow de glass?”

I am, but they don’t allow it here.”

No?”

I weave Thullid silk.”

So?”

It’s pink.”

Und dis problem, aye?”

Yes. In case you hadn’t noticed, pink clothes are forbidden around here.”

Aye. I had noticed ya were no wearing ya pretty petal pink frocks today. Never seen ya in de bleary blue before.”

Blue is the only colour anyone is allowed to wear.”

De Gnome, she no wear blue.”

BeaLuna? She doesn’t live here. Visits from Kuujjuaraapik, the next town over, sort of. It’s South of here. By the Great Whale River. Near where the Cree set camp.”

What for Flower Gnome doth way up here where dair be no blooms grow?”

I don’t know. Her family lives up here.”

 “I’m an Orchid Gnome,” BeaLuna said between mouthfuls of saltwater taffy. “Squaw Flowers are everywhere up here. Only part of the world they grow in. Lady Slipper Orchids are nearing extinction. It’s our job to make them not go extinct. They are one of the few flowers that can grow up here in the Arctic Tundra. It is very rare. We help them grow.”

Ah! Pussy Flowers.”

What?”

Pink pussies, growing on a delicate green cock stem.”

You’re vulgar, aren’t you?”

Always. Ya like me house?”

There is no house, it’s nothing but...”

Quaraun turned to see a strange looking half-Elf standing incredibly uncomfortably close to him.

Dreadfully close.

Too close.

Much too close.

He had no sense of the concept of personal space whatsoever.

It was very un-Elf-like of him.

Had the creature been a little taller, they would have hit noses.

The incredible closeness with which the creature had come to him, without his realizing he was there, caught Quaraun off guard.

No one was able to get close to him.

No, except for King Gwallmaiic, back there on the road to Ivujivik... that night... Quaraun shivered. He longed to be back on the road that night.

Back in the tent.

Back in King Gwallmaiic’s arms.

Back in King Gwallmaiic’s bed.

He needed King Gwallmaiic.

He wanted King Gwallmaiic.

Quaraun shook himself out of his lustful thoughts for the evil Faerie King. He needed to clear his head of his lust for the Phooka. Stay in the here and now of the mysterious gingerbread house. And it’s owner who was standing uncomfortably too close to him.

He picked up on anyone entering his personal space, before they could get within several feet of him.

A feeling of dread ran through Quaraun, as he realized, only an extremely powerful Wizard could have broken through his barrier undetected like this.

Quaraun took several steps back. He stared at the creature, trying to see through it's glimmer spell, but the magic around the creature was too strong, and Quaraun saw partly what the creature wanted him to see and partly what he really was.

What Quaraun saw looked like a pure white albino Moon Elf, with massive frizzy clouds of snow white afro dreadlocks, small thin black almond shaped eyes with no colour and no whites, several dozen rows of long pointy piranha-like fangs protruding over his lips, and fearsome razor sharp gleaming black eagle talons 4 inches long on the tip of every finger. He was dressed in a long chocolate brown velvet cassock with tiny red buttons resembling red hot candies, down the front, and white piped trim around the edges. He looked like a tiny snow monster wearing a gingerbread man costume.

"Who are you?"

"BoomFuzzy. Candy maker. Pastry Chef. I cook Elves."

"You mean you cook for Elves?"

"No. I cook Elves. Elves is delicious. Lovely served with gingerbread stuffing."

It's worse then Faeries."

We does be worse den Fae? What be?" BoomFuzzy asked.

You're a trickster."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"What make ya says it?"

"I can sense it."

"Can ya now?"

"I know you."

"Aye. Better than most."

"Why are you here?"

If wishes were horses we'd'll ride."

What?"

Ye wished for horny horse."

No I didn't."

Aye, ya did. For here We does be."

I did not wish for you.”

Yis a Di'Jinn. Granting wishes be what ya do.”

When did I wish for you?"

Not more den wee lil hour ago. Ye wished for someone to take yar wee lil problem away. And meer seconds ago, ye were wishing to be in me bed, back on the road to Ivujivik."

 “Did you make a wish, Quaraun?" BeaLuna asked.

I..."

You're a Di'Jinn, you know better then to go around wishing for stuff. You make wishes happen, but with consequences."

Quaraun ignored the Gnome and addressed the candy making Necromancer.

I didn't wish for you."

A wish once granted can'na be undoed," BoomFuzzy warned.

I didn't wish for you."

Quaraun, what did you wish for exactly?" BeaLuna asked.

Among od’er tings him did wish for ye to shut ya wee lil trap."

What?"

Does ya remember what ye wished for, me luscious wee lil Elf?"

Quaraun, stood very silent. He couldn't remember what he had said.

What ye exact wurds were? How ye wurded ye wish, dat ye now finds yeself granted wid?"

Quaraun sighed and shook his head. He remembered what he'd wished for and he knew immediately who this was.

Ah, ya remembers, eh?"

What?" BeaLuna looked back and forth between Quaraun and the grinning candy maker.

The soldiers were saying this morning, the Elf Eater of Pepper Valley was seen in the area. I wished they would come here and eat my father and everyone who hurt me."

You what?"

I wasn't thinking."

And that brought a nut with a gingerbread house here?"

It brought a horny nut wid a gingerbread house here. Him wish were longer more den what him did just said.”

The candy maker picked the apricot Quaraun had touched. Blood poured from it's wounded branch. As he ate the fruit, blood gushed from it's broken flesh. But only Quaraun saw this. BeaLuna and the other Elves only saw a fluffy tree heavy laden with pink cotton candy leaves and lollipop fruit.

Are you a chef?”

Aye. Food is sex. Every one likes sex.”

I don't like sex.”

Every one likes food. When We does make me food, We does want to make people feel like dey just had great sex.”

Quaraun looked beyond the village to the valley around it.

It was gone.

The entire valley, the mountains, the green meadows, they were all gone, replaced by vast forests of mega tall pine trees towering hundreds of feet over the village, and stretching out around the valley or miles of every side.

Ya can sees me Forest of No Return, We does sees, eh? Lovely isn't it?" BoomFuzzy gestured towards the trees. “No one goes in and no one goes out."

It's a Faerie Forest."

Aye. We does take it wid me, wherevers We does go."

Horses."

What?" BeaLuna looked out at the edge of the valley. It was still as it always was. She saw nothing different. “What are you looking at?"

A vast herd of little black horses. Thousands of them. They've surrounded the entire valley. Evil black, flesh eating Faerie Horse with gleaming silver horns."

Unicorns?"

Phookas. We've been surrounded by King Gwallmaiic's Army. The Elf Eater's of Pepper Valley. They're here. They followed me. They followed me all the way from Persia. I saw them in the desert of the Di'Jinn too."

You're always seeing unicorns Quaraun. They aren't real you know."

I didn't wish for you."

Yis very pretty, wish granting Di'Jinn," the creature said in Quaraun's jewelled ear, as he once again stepped too close for Quaraun's comfort. “Ya wished for de Moon Elves to die, ya faddah to be eaten, and me to finish what We does started on de road back dere, when we meet up wheen days outside of de village. For me pretty lil' Elf, We does be more den happy to grant ye all t'ree dems wishes."

Quaraun at 5'6" was the shortest of the male Moon Elves, but the owner of the gingerbread house was several inches shorter then Quaraun, and had to stand on tip-toe to try to talk to Quaraun on an even level.

And he did exactly that, but stepped right up onto Quaraun's feet, before doing so. The Faerie was dressed like a Wizard, in dark brown chocolate coloured velvet robes, with a cockscomb hat of the same material perched on his head.

 

At a first glance, BoomFuzzy looked like any other Moon Elf, with his pure white skin and hair that made him blend in with the snow. Until that is, one looked at his eyes.

Moon Elves all had pale icy whitish blue eyes. BoomFuzzy's black eyes had no whites and no iris, and were like staring into two black bottomless pits.

And his hair.

Moon Elves all had stick straight, silken smooth, silvery white hair. But BoomFuzzy had a wild mess of unbrushed frizzy braids and dreadlocks that were stuck full of bones, feathers, beads, ribbons, and twigs.

There was also the issue of his piranha-like fangs, and the huge, fearsomely, sharp black eagle talons which tipped each finger.

A Human, a Gnome, or a Dwarf might have mistaken him for an Elf, even other Elves might have passed him off as a half-Elf, but Quaraun was a Wizard.

A powerful Wizard.

And he could sense strong magic around this un-Elf.

Faerie Glamour.

Quaraun could see behind the spell. He knew what the others saw, but he could see the truth.

BoomFuzzy.

No.

Not BoomFuzzy.

BoomFuzzy wasn't real.

BoomFuzzy was an illusion.

A mask worn by the Faerie King.

This was King Gwallmaiic.

Quaraun was sure of it.

While most Phookas were content to remain in a single form, never changing, King Gwallmaiic, was a shape shifter with many forms, and shifted daily, sometimes hourly changing bodies the way a woman changed dresses. He could and often did look like any one of any race he wanted to be.

In his true form, he was a horse.

A Phooka.

A shape-shifting Kelpie.

An evil, blood-thirsty, brackish water Fae.

An evil black unicorn with a gleaming silver horn.

Quaraun could see this. He could see behind the half-Elf was a black unicorn. Like a holograph he shimmered back and forth between the monster Quaraun had seen on the road, the man whom had raped in the following night, the pony in the desert of the Di'Jinn, and now the albino candy maker.

He was all of them. And Quaraun could see them all. Flickering. Blinking. The body the old shape shifter wore the on the road to Ivujivik, was the one Quaraun recognized from The Guild's wanted posters. He looked like a dark skinned Human, with a wild mess of black unbrushed frizzy braids and dreadlocks that hung to his waist and were stuck full of bones, feathers, beads, ribbons, and twigs.

In each form, the hair was the same. Even the pony's mane had been the same. Quaraun stared, mesmerized at the Phooka’s wild hair. Massive, unbrushed frizzy braids and dreadlocks that hung to his waist and were stuck full of bones, feathers, beads, ribbons, and twigs. All marks of Scottish Hoodoo Cloutie Magic.

Such beautiful hair. This Phooka’s hair stopped Quaraun in his tracks, and left the Elf unable to think or move or even remember why he had come to see the building at all.

Quaraun with his lustful obsessive fetish for hair, was mesmerized by BoomFuzzy's glorious, massive, wild, unruly, ropes and cords of think, woollen locks.

Quaraun suddenly burned with the desire to run his fingers through the Phooka's hair.

He wanted to brush his own hair.

But Quaraun's long hair was gone.

Cut off, by a brutal evil man, who declared long hair a sin.

Brutally cut off while royal guards had held him down.

Quaraun ran his fingers through his short chopped off hair.

He cringed at the feel of it.

Quaraun had not cut his hair in 70 years. And now it was gone.

Anger burned in his chest,

Rage filled his mind.

He wanted nothing more than to kill the man whom had done this. Kill the man whom had cut off his long wonderful hair.

Minus his own long hair, Quaraun now lusted dreadfully for BoomFuzzy's hair. In his heart, he cursed his father and glorified BoomFuzzy.

BoomFuzzy,” the Moon Elf whispered.

The hair was distinctive. While most Faeries were known to have wild, unbrushed hair, Faeries were very obsessive in sticking to rigid rituals. The career of a Fae could be identified by the style of their hair. Items woven into their braids, told the onlooker what their job was. Even a shape shifter would not style their hair differently when looking like someone else.

A Phooka might change form to look like your mother, but you would be able to tell your mom from the Phooka, by the messy hair. You would wonder why your mom had suddenly taken to styling strange plaits of red ribbons in her hair.

No matter the form he took, King Gwallmaiic always kept his hair, exactly the same. The black unicorn. BoomFuzzy the half-Elf candy maker. The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley. Quaraun had seen all three and all three had the exact same hair. Even the little black unicorn, his mane and tail had been King Gwallmaiic’s natural hair.

Quaraun stared at the Phooka sitting before him and recognized the bits of brick a brack in the Phooka's hair as Cloutie Magic immediately. That marked the Phooka as magic user, a wizard of some sort.

A Necromancer.

BoomFuzzy.

BoomFuzzy’s hair.

King Gwallmaiic.

The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley.

The same bones.

The same braids.

Strips of grey and purple wool, woven into the braids to make them bigger, thicker, wilder.

The thing which startled Quaraun, though he refused to admit it, was not the presence of the Phooka, but rather the Phooka's eyes. Those strange haunting pupiless black eyes which Quaraun knew so well.

The little black pony from desert of the Di'Jinn.

My unicorn.

BoomFuzzy.

Quaraun had seen the pony dozens of times throughout his life time. The evil Unicorn had followed him for centuries. Several times Quaraun had tried to catch it, but it always ran away. Timid, skittish, the little black Unicorn had liked to run up behind the Elf, then run away laughing hysterically. In his childhood, Quaraun had grown to think of the Unicorn as his friend. Then one day, the Unicorn came to play, no more. Weeks passed and Quaraun had feared the Unicorn dead. After several months, one day while running errands for the Di'Jinn, Quaraun found himself in a desert marketplace, passing a tent, in which he had heard the mournful cries of a horse being beaten. Inside the tent, he had found his little black Unicorn, crippled and maimed. His horn sawed off, his legs broken, shackled in Faerie Iron, and blood pouring from his gasping mouth.

To capture a Phooka was a difficult task, but this band of Chaos Demons, the Ghoul's men, had set a trap, a virgin locked in a cage made of Faerie Iron, and once they got the pony inside, he was powerless to break free. The evil Unicorn had been tortured and was close to death. A Unicorn's power lay in it's horn. Without his horn, the horse was unable to morph, unable to fight, unable to cast illusions. Quaraun had wasted no time in rescuing the injured pony and setting it free, back out into the desert of the Di'Jinn, but from that day forth, the pony never stopped following him. Every day the pony now stayed outside the temple of the Di'Jinn and waited for the little Elfling to come out and play.

The Thullid, did not understand the Elf's need for companionship. They did not understand, the friendship between the young Elf boy and his horse. And one day, when he went to meet his pony by the river, Quaraun found the Di'Jinn waiting.

The ponies fled in terror but few escaped the wrath of the Di'Jinn and the black Unicorn watched in terror as the Thullids slaughtered his Phookan army.

The young Elf stood over the dead ponies in tears.

With the herd of ponies dead, the Thullids turned upon the little black Unicorn, that led the herd, but didn't live long enough to kill him.

You'll not kill my Unicorn!”

They were the last words the Thullids heard.

The Unicorn watched as every last Di'Jinn withered away and died in horrific agony, their body's bursting into flames, and reduced to ash, under the wrath of their beloved pink Jellyfish living in the body of a very lonely Moon Elf. The Thullids had underestimated the powers of the Jelly-brained Elf, as much as they had underestimated his love for the little black Unicorn.

All life in the desert was gone, save a small Elf wearing pink Thullid silks and a tiny black Unicorn, no bigger then a goat. The dazed and confused Elf turned around and walked out of the desert, and walked clear across the planet, making his way back home to the Moon Elf village of the Deep North, while the Phooka gathered up what little remained of his army and trailed along behind.

BoomFuzzy.

BoomFuzzy was my unicorn.

My little black unicorn, returned to me.

I've found you again.

No matter what form, Gwallmaiic took, two things about him never changed: his massive wave of frizzy dreadlocks filled with Cloutie ribbons and his gleaming, almond shaped black eyes. Regardless of any other racial features, white skin, black skin, tan skin, brown skin, red skin, yellow skin, gold skin, BoomFuzzy's eyes made him look Asian.

As a Moon Elf, BoomFuzzy had resembled more of a Half-Elf, appeared to be half Chinese Human. Mongolian, BoomFuzzy had called it. He had lived in Mongolia for many years, long before Quaraun was born. Quaraun had always found BoomFuzzy's eyes hypnotic.

Quaraun's stunned response to this creature, was the fact that, while it looked nothing like BoomFuzzy, at the same time, it looked everything like BoomFuzzy, had BoomFuzzy's eyes and BoomFuzzy's passion for dreadlocks filled with random items.

BoomFuzzy's black demonic eyes had no whites and no iris, and were like staring into two black bottomless pits. He could have passed for a Moon Elf if not for his eyes, his piranha-like fangs, and the huge, fearsomely, sharp eagle talons which tipped each finger. He was otherwise no different from any other albino white Moon Elf, except that instead of smooth straight silver hair, his white hair had grown in massive clouds of frizz that he kept dreaded with bones and grey and purple wool.

This Phooka, looked so much like BoomFuzzy, except, he looked like a dark skinned Human with black dread locks instead of a white skinned Moon Elf with white dreadlocks. His black eyes had no whites and no iris, and were like staring into two black bottomless pits.

The Phooka could have passed for Human if not for his eyes, his piranha-like fangs, and the huge, fearsomely, sharp eagle talons which tipped each finger. He was dressed head to toe in a miss-matched patchwork of mostly black and dark brown furs, mostly skins in their natural forms with heads and legs still attached.

Quaraun shock himself and stepped back, blinking, looking around.

No.

No. I've lost my unicorn. This is not him.

This is a Phooka.

Phookas can see into your mind.

Read your thoughts.

They know what you think.

They know wat you feel.

They give you whatever you want.

Let you see whatever you want to see.

No.

This wasn't real.

It couldn't be.

It can't be.

It mustn't be.

Quaraun could not trust his eyes.

He could not trust what he saw.

This was a powerful Phooka.

The gingerbread.

Quaraun turned back to the gingerbread house.

It isn't real.

It can't be real.

The castle. The black forest.

He couldn't see them any more.

The gingerbread house had taken full form in his mind.

He could no longer see past the illusion.

BoomFuzzy.

BoomFuzzy. What have you done?

Faerie magic.

What was real? What was not?

He did not know.

He could not tell.

Quaraun was always so sure of everything.

He was Fae Sighted. He could see through a Faerie's spell.

Now he was not.

A Phooka had clouded his mind.

A powerful Phooka.

A lich.

A Necromancer.

King Gwallmaiic.

The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley.

Quaraun felt faint.

Dizzy. And faint.

The world around him spun out of control.

There was no doubt in Quaraun's mind that this was a shape shifting Trickster Fae.

He was caught in a trap.

Caught in a Faerie's spell.

The gingerbread.

It was the gingerbread house.

He had to get away from it.

Faerie magic all around.

Faerie food.

Faerie drugs.

Must focus.

Must break free.

Quaraun pushed the creature off of him and backed away again.

Apricot?"

The Phooka in Elf disguise handed Quaraun an apricot.

I hate Faeries,” Quaraun whispered under his breath.

Who said anyt'ing aboot Faeries?" The tiny Elf-glimmoured Faerie asked.

You are a Faerie."

Quaraun took the fruit without thinking and took a bite out of it.

No one else is be t’inking so."

No one else is Faerie sighted and able to see through Faerie glimmer spells."

Quaraun turned back to the house and tried to see what the others saw. When he finally saw it, he did have to admit he was intrigued by the gingerbread house. Illusion or not it was quite a spectacular feat to have built it.

That is an amazing house."

Yis a beautiful Elf."

BoomFuzzy ran his fingers through Quaraun's hair, stopping to rest on the ear that was still healing from the rings having been torn from it.

That must have hurt."

It did."

What happened?"

A Phooka bit me."

What a fucking shame."

What do you do when it rains? A gingerbread house isn't gonna hold out water."

A moment ago ya did no sees me wee gingerbread shoppie."

The Faerie moved closer to Quaraun again, this time running his fingers down the Elf's face.

Most Elves like candy. Ye like apricots.”

BoomFuzzy handed Quaraun another apricot.

Does ya ever gets much rain up here in de Deep North?"

Sometimes. Not very often. Snow will be a bigger problem. Snow is heavy, it'll collapse the roof."

We does t'oughts ya saids me house was no real?"

I did."

Sos does it not be reasonable to tink rain and snow will no boders it, eh?"

You talk strange."

Does We does? Apricot?"

The Faerie handed him a third apricot. Quaraun took that as well.

You do. You talk very strange. What are you?"

Moment gone passed ya saids We does be Faerie. Ya svá mentioned Phookas and eating ye faddah. Ya Gnome says We does be a Elf. We is BoomFuzzy."

You have claws."

BoomFuzzy looked down at his hands.

Three apricots und ya still sees claws? Yis a powerful Wizard."

You're not from around here are you?"

No, We does comes from de East. We does grews up on de coast. Wid de ocean. And salt water taffy. Does ya like candy?" BoomFuzzy handed Quaraun a box of salt water taffy.

I don't eat Faerie food." Quaraun put his hands behind his back and stepped away from the unElf.

 “No? Apricot? Who says anyt'ing abouts Fae food?"

Quaraun took the forth apricot.

You're a Faerie. One must never take food from Faeries."

Really? Apricot?”

Quaraun took the fifth apricot and kept on talking.

Faeries drug their food."

"Aye. Und who but yis be speak o Fae?"

"It's how they get their spells to work. How they trick people into thinking they are powerful."

"But dey no be powerful, no, eh?"

"No. Fae are not as powerful magically as other beings are, so they use drugs to get into people's heads and make them see things that are not there. Faerie chefs are worst then most, especially candy makers. They make their candy out mushrooms and frogs and poppies.”

We does be Elf.”

You're a Faerie.”

Ah, and how does de pretty one come to dat conclusion?"

I am Faerie Sighted," Quaraun said once again, feeling oddly dizzy and realizing the miasmic fog was having an effect on him.

Are ya now?"

Yes. Fae illusions don't work on me."

What do ya see when ya look at me?"

What do the others see?"

BoomFuzzy turned to BeaLuna. She was busying breaking off pieces of the gingerbread house and eating it.

What does ya see when ya looks at me?"

What do you mean, what do I see?" BeaLuna was confused by the question.

Does We does looks not unlike a Moon Elf to ya?"

Yep. Why?"

BoomFuzzy turned back to Quaraun, bringing his face close to the Elf's and stroking his cheek while he spoke, his lips brushing against Quaraun's face.

But We does no looks like a Moon Elf to ya?"

No. You have claws, like an eagle's talons."

BoomFuzzy held up his hand and looked at his fingers. BeaLuna questioned this action, for his short trimmed, well groomed finger nails looked no different then those of any other Moon Elf.

Does ya see claws on me hands?"

BoomFuzzy ran the tips of his razor sharp claws down Quaraun's face and smiled a wicked, evil grin, as the claws passed over the Elf's throat.

Yes. They are each several inches long."

Quaraun, you're mad," BeaLuna scolded. “He doesn't have any claws."

Yes. He does. Talons, actually. And razor sharp by the feel of them."

Quaraun cringed as the claws traced a line down his throat and across his collarbone.

You'll have to excuse him," BeaLuna said to BoomFuzzy. “He's always doing that. Seeing things that aren't there. He's crazy. We try to ignore it and humour him. It's generally best if you just go along with him and pretend to see whatever it is he's seeing."

Ya often see t'ings dat ain't no dere, Pretty One?" BoomFuzzy asked Quaraun as he began kissing the Elf's cheek, while running his claws down the Elf's chest to his belly.

I... no... I... I'm always seeing things no one else can see. Can you... stop... touching me?"

Yeah," BeaLuna agreed. “He sees all kinds of stuff. Unicorns and stuff too."

Unicorns? Really?" BoomFuzzy smiled. “Does ya like unicorns, Pretty Elf? I shall remember dat. Oh we can has fun wid Unicorns."

BoomFuzzy continued tracing a line down Quaraun with his claws, stopping to trace circles around his genitals.

Yes... No... I like the idea of unicorns. Real unicorns are evil. Faerie horses. They kill people with their horns and eat them, prance around with the skulls on their horns like trophies. Unicorns are pretty though. Please stop touching me."

Ever been fucked by a unicorn?"

What?"

We does loves unicorns. They do be a favourite hobby of mine. Eating dem. They's pretty darned near as tasty as Elves be."

You eat Elves?"

 “We does loves Elves. Especially de aristocratic High Elves. Their pampered, fancy sugary diets of sweets and pastries, all dat candy dey eats, creates a wonderful buttery fat on deir bones. The Christmas Elves are best. Stuffed full of sugar cookies and candy canes. They lack de wild gamy flavor of Wood Elves. Wood Elves for supper and Moon Elves for desert, Christmas Elves served wid hot fudge and French vanilla ice cream, wid luscious baked menagerie topping. Not'ing better."

But you eat Elves?"

If ya ever decides ya wants to be fucked by a Unicorn, We can arrange for dat to happen."

Why would I want to be fucked by a Unicorn?"

Do ya knows how big a stallion's cock be?"

I... what?"

"I can make mine any size I wants it to be. Or has more than one."

"More than one what?"

"Dicks? Nothing like being a double-dicked Unicorn, eh?"

"You are fowl mouthed."

"Am I? I never noticed."

Quaraun was trying to concentrate on what BoomFuzzy was saying, but the effects of the drugged apricots were clouding his mind, and the fact that BoomFuzzy had just slipped his hand inside Quaraun's robe and was running is fingers in circular motions on the Elf's belly, was distracting him.

Of course dere be not'ing like ramming a unicorn horn up ya wee lil ass."

You're insane."

Aye. We does is. Haha!

Yeah, I can tell...

And We does likes unicorns. We would loves to fuck ya wid a unicorn's horn."

I... I..."

And now We does has gone and put dirty images in ya wee lil head. We does can sees ya tinking about what it might feel like to be fucked by a unicorn. Haha! Ya wants to be fucked by a unicorn."

The candy maker slid his hand down between the Elf's legs and had begun fondling Quaraun.

I do not want to be fucked by a unicorn."

Ya cock says ya do."

BoomFuzzy took a tight grip of the Elf's erect cock as he said this.

Quaraun gasped.

He had not expected BoomFuzzy to do that, nor was he certain he wanted BoomFuzzy to stop doing it.

BoomFuzzy let go of Quaraun and turned his attention back to the Gnome.

Does de Gnome want to be fucked by a unicorn?" BoomFuzzy asked BeaLuna.

What? No!" BeaLuna looked horrified by the thought. “Why would you ask that?"

Oh, We does asks everybody dat. We does likes to watch de expressions on deys faces. Ya'd be surprised how mony people actually likes de idea and asks me to find dems a unicorn willing to fuck dem. Which We can alwaies do. Ooooh! Ya can gets all de sex ye wants from unicorns. Watching deir faces whiles de unicorn be fucking dem, dat be even better. Best part of all t'ough be watching deir faces, as de unicorn slices deir heads off wid it's pretty shiny silver horn and den dances in deir entrails, squishing blood all over his purple hooves, den skewering deir heads on me horn and dancing naked in de moonlight."

By the gods! You're mad!" BeaLuna stared at BoomFuzzy, uncertain if he was joking or not. “What kind of a mind thinks thoughts like that?"

What kind of a sick mind gets horny whist listening tos me saysing t'oughts like dat, eh?"

No one normal, that's for sure!"

Well den, ya wee lil Elf friend here, he ain't normal den, because me wurds be making him horny as heck over here. Haha!"

Quaraun, we should go," BeaLuna said. “This guy's loony, and your father will be wondering where you got to and I'm gonna ruin my dinner if I eat any more of this house."

Oh take some house wid ya. We does has plenty more. So mony Elves round here. So much lovely buttery sweet Elf flesh to eat. Melt like butter off the bone. So succulent. Than plenty of bones to grind to flour. Make me more gingerbread. Me never meet an Elf who could resist BoomFuzzy's gingerbread. Elves do love dair drugs. Nothing tastier dan High Elves high on hashish. Gingerbread brownies for the road?

BoomFuzzy handed Quaraun a box of said drugged confections.

I... don't really want to leave yet."

 “What? Why?"

I like BoomFuzzy. He's..."

"Hims having too much fun wid me playing wid him dick," BoomFuzzy said to the Gnome. "Run along BeaLuna, we've a lusty lil Elf to play with."

"Quaraun, let's go."

"No, I like BoomFuzzy. He's very strange. And familiar. Like someone I met on the road to Ivujivik. Wearing a new skin."

"What are you talking about?"

"King Gwallmaiic."

"King Gwallmaiic? The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley?"

"Yes."

"BoomFuzzy reminds you of King Gwallmaiic?"

"Yes. Moon Elf or not, he's breath of fresh air, around all these stuffy, stuck up, arrogant Moon Elves who I really don't like living with."

They lives by de fear dat de devil will chop off dems head."

Elves don't believe in devils."

Wood Elves do. They believe dey be black devils lurking behind every tree waiting to rip out deir entrails and suck de blood from deir dying carcasses."

BoomFuzzy moved closer to Quaraun once again, though Quaraun wondered how that was possible, the Phooka was already so close to him. BoomFuzzy ran his fingers down the Elf's face.

Yis such a pretty Elf. We doeses never seen a Elf as pretty as yis before. We would love to bed wid ya."

BoomFuzzy was close enough now that Quaraun could feel the warmth of the candy maker's erection pressing against him.

I bed with no one."

Really? Not even Faerie kings on the road Ivujivik? Aye. Yis a Di'Jinn. Ya're de Phooka loving, virgin Wizard We does been looking fors."

Yeah," BeaLuna said. “He's a virgin. Joined up wid some group dat believes virginity is power and absolutely refuses to have sex wid any one."

Oh, my! What a fuckingly dreadful life. Dear oh dear oh dear. How does ya stand it?"

I don't like sex."

"That not what We does recall. We recall ya very much enjoying being fucked un wanting more of it.”

I most certainly did not!”

Two days ago.”

It wasn’t two days ago.”

What? De sex ya did no enjoy hasing?”

BoomFuzzy grinned.

Stop confusing me!”

Has ya ever had sex?"

No. I'm a virgin. It means I've never had sex."

Yeah. Yad tink it does does it not? Strange lil brain ya got. Ya does no remember much from one day to de next do ya?”

Quaraun?” BeLuna answered. “He’s absent minded. He’d lose his head if it wasn’t attached.”

Well now. We does no want to be losing t’at now does we, eh?”

He can’t remember things, wicked fierce. Tell him something, 10 minutes later it’s like he never heard you.”

Ya really can’na remember one dae ta da next, eh?”

No,” Quaraun said. “Weird short term memory. I don’t remember a thing I did last week.”

So ya might not be virgin un ya would na knows it, eh?”

Yeah. Something like that.”

How come dat, eh?”

There’s a JellyFish living in my head. It ate my brain.”

Yeeaaah,” BeaLuna said to BoomFuzzy. “About that. He’s kind of crazy. Got drop on his head too many times as a baby.”

Then de great Quaraun de Insane, really is insane, yes?”

I don’t like being called insane.”

What would ya have me call ya den? The village idiot? That suit ye better?”

Why can’t you just call me Quaraun?”

How come for can’na ya just tak wi ya like being fucked by horses?”

I...” Quaraun was caught off guard by that statement and couldn’t think of a response.

The half-Elf reached up to take hold of the collar of Quaraun's coat, then made no secret of staring at the Elf's crotch.

Ha, ha. Then how does ya knows iffy ya likes sex or not, when ya can’na remembers iffy yas had it or not? Hmmm? Ya certainly enjoying de attention ya getting from me right nows.”

I... I don't know."

 

Quaraun was trying to remember through the clouds of apricots that were fogging his brain. Part of him was remembering the pleasure he'd felt when the Phooka had raped him and part of him was losing all of his memories of everything. BoomFuzzy was looking less Phooka and more Elf and the bloody mansion was looking more sugary and colourful, less bloody, more gingerbready. The big pine trees were melting away into pink fluffy cotton candy.

We never gots to see ya up dis close before. It twere sunset when we dids sees ya afore. Never dreamed ya'd be so pretty. Ya can'na knows ya do not likes somet'ing until ya has tried it. Ya should try sex. Ya’d like it."

But then I wouldn't be a virgin."

We simply must cure ya of dat horrible lifestyle ya has."

It's not a horrible lifestyle."

He won't even masturbate," BeaLuna said.

BeaLuna!"

What? You don’t."

How would you know?”

You told me. I asked. Remember?”

Will you stop talking about me like that."

Why?"

I don't like it."

Well it's true."

Is dat true?" BoomFuzzy asked the Elf.

I... you... Yes... but it's not your concern."

It's everyone's concern actually," BeaLuna continued. “See the King doesn't have a son, and he's really old. And his younger brother, he's really old too. Neither of them is gonna live much longer. Well, Quaraun here is the King’s brother's only son, so they've decided Quaraun is gonna be the next King, only the King is expected to have a queen, not be a queen, and he's supposed to sire an heir, but Quaraun here refuses to have sex with anyone, even himself, so the whole kingdom is basically in an uproar over trying to get him to fuck with someone so he can find out how much he actually does like sex, even though he thinks he doesn't like sex, but then, he's got this problem, where he's kind of crazy, you know, like how he thinks you have claws, and keeps talking about JellyFish living in his head, so no she-Elf will get near him anyways, because they all think he’s insane, which he is, thus why everyone calls him Quaraun the Insane..."

I do have a JellyFish living in my head,” Quaraun interrupted her. “And he does have claws. Huge talons. Made for killing and tearing flesh. Fearsome things. You could kill an Elf with a single swipe."

Ha ha! We could. We do. We does. And dat excites ya, Elf." BoomFuzzy's eyes went down to Quaraun's crotch. “Quite a bit. Do ya like being tortured, Elf? In me experience de t'ought of ripping someone's t'roat out do'na often excite a Elf, but it excites ya. Oh! We does likes ya more every time We does see ya. But ya still see me claws? Huh? Even after 5 apricots. My. My. Oh dear oh dear. Ya really are a powerful Wizard. Maybe more powerful den me Gibedon. That do be a problem.”

Each time we meet?”

Aye.”

Do I know you?”

Not like dis ya does no. Ya a Elf wid a dirty mind. We could has fun wid ya. Oh, We would gladly take up de job of teach ya to like sex. We does not tink it would be dat hard considering de erection yis hasing right here un nows."

BoomFuzzy moved closer to Quaraun, which Quaraun had not thought was possible. The tiny Faerie-Elf, stood on top of Quaraun's feet again then went up on tip-toe, hugging his neck, to try to look Quaraun in the eye. Quaraun gasped as he felt the Faerie-Elf press his groin tight against Quaraun's.

We does no t’inks it would be very hard to take ya virginity from ya. AGAIN. We could do it right now and ya'd just stand dere and not stop me. We would do it right now, except We needs ya to keep it a smiggin oov ah wee bit a longer. Got a job for ya. Need a virgin Wizard to dos it for me."

Are you sure I still am?”

A virgin?”

Yes.”

Referencing de last time we meet? Apricot?” BoomFuzzy pressed his lips against the Elf's ear to whisper. “That were rape, just because ya liked it, does no make it count. A ya did like it. We does knows dat.”

Then BoomFuzzy slide his hands down Quaraun's back stopping to grasp a tight grip on his hips, holding the Elf in place while he humped on him like a dog in heat. Quaraun was too flustered to know how to respond. The last thing he had expected was for BoomFuzzy to hump against him like that. BoomFuzzy laughed and let go of Quaraun, then backed away from him.

Ya has such pretty bonny blue eyes. Ha! ha! Yis in shock over me ain't ya."

You... your... very bold."

Un ya very pretty."

What are you?"

I a horny Faerie who wants to fuck a Elf.”

The apricots were having a bigger affect on Quaraun than he wanted to admit. He was starting to realize the Faerie had tricked him into eating it's food and now was fighting to separate the reality of what was with the reality as the Faerie wanted him to see it.

We a shape shifter. We does can be whatevers ya wants me to be. Whatever makes ya horny, We does be it. Anyt'ing dat gets me in ya bed, dat We be."

You don't act like an Elf."

Oh... nooooo! Ha ha!! Ya already saids ya t’ought We is a Faerie. Oh! Does dat boder ya? Here. Have ano’her apricot."

Quaraun took the fruit then placed his hand over his ear. The one the Phooka had bitten. The wound was not yet fully healed. Quaraun started telling himself to remember the wound and not get lost in the illusion. He looked around at the Elves who were sitting around on the ground eating pieces of the cake house.

Apricots.” Quaraun looked down at the fruit in his hand. “What have you done to me?”

Ya was telling me, somet'ing about ne’er taking food from Faeries before. Ha! Ha! Forget dat rule of yars? Bragged ya was ever so careful to never eat Fae food. That dere in ya. That be apricot number seven.”

The King rides ahead of his army,” Quaraun whispered to himself. “Takes the form of an Elf, lives in the village, puts them under a trance and then kills them all.”

Hows dat, eh?”

We meet before.” Quaraun was now trying to keep the real memories alive.

Aye.”

You're the Elf Eater.”

Aye.”

And you admit it?”

No reason not to. Ye de only one in Inuvik what can save dem. They is already eaten me food and yis too pissed at dem to save dem.”

Why are you here?”

Found me an Elf I want to fuck.”

I'm a Wizard of the Di'Jinn order. I fuck no one.”

Ya deeply enjoyed hasing me inside ya. Does ya deny dat, eh?”

No, but it won't happen again.”

No? ha ha! We see about dat.”

And you laugh."

Aye. Do ya not?"

No. Elves don't laugh.” Quaraun was trying to find inconsistency to help him remember what was real and what was illusion.

Does ya claim to be an Elf?”

We have that beaten out of us before we can walk."

Really? Ya poor t'ing. Ya never laugh? Ever?"

We don't laugh. We don't smile. We don't cry. We're not allowed to. To show emotions is weak. We force all emotions as deep below the surface as we can."

Hmm-uh. Yeah. That be not happening for me. We does loves emotions. Emotions is good. Me parents tried dat wid me. It dids no go over well. So dey abaundonit me and left me by me lonesome in de woods. They t'ought it would teach me a lesson."

And did it?"

No. But it dids teach dem a lesson."

How so?"

We does ates dem."

You... Ate.... you ate your parents?"

Aye. And dey never dids bully me again now dids dey? They could'na, not whiles deys was chopped up and inside me belly. Well We does ates me faddah, after he gone done killeds me moder. He ate me moder, so technically, We does only ates him, but dey bo’d ended up in me belly, seeings how he ates her before We does ates him. We is like dat auld woman who swallowed de fly. Never not knows why she did swallowed dat fly, perhaps she die, eh?"

You're insane aren't you?"

Aye. That We is.”

I hate Faeries.”

 “Here, have a chocolate cloustered apricot. It twall do ya good. Loosen up dat stiff auld brainless mind of yas."

One should never accept food from strangers. You never know when it might be enchanted by Faeries."

Wise advice. Yis not as stupid as most of de Elves around here. We does like dat. Here. Apricot."

BoomFuzzy handed Quaraun the same apricot, but from the other hand and that time he took it and ate it and did not seem to notice he had.

The spell that had captured everyone else in the village was slowly enveloping Quaraun, clouding his mind, effecting his judgement and causing him to not fully be aware of his true surroundings any more.

The gingerbread house became more real and the forest and horses faded from his eyes.

The oak trees lot their bloody fruit and cheerful pink cotton candy fluttered in the breeze instead, as reality slipped away and BoomFuzzy's spell sucked Quaraun in.

I'm a Wizard. Unlike most of the idiots in this town, I have an education. I'm not an illiterate dolt who takes candy from strangers who appear out of no where with a gingerbread house, that should have taken weeks to build."

Ahhh. The Wizard of de Moon Elves. Aye. Then ya should be Quaraun. I has heards of ya.”

You keep asking me the same questions over and over.”

Aye. Apricot?”

Why?”

Waiting for apricots to take full effect on yis brain. Ya answers is changing.”

You’re drugging me.”

Yis eating me apricots, any ways, no?”

I am.”

They say Yis de best at what ya do and We does has a job for ya."

What is it, they say I do?"

Ya makes genie-bottles. Ya capture demons and devils and disembodied souls."

That is my specialty, yes."

We does needs one. No. That be not right. We does needs t'irteen of dem in fact."

Thirteen genie-bottles? Why?"

Where We does come from, our village is plagued by t'irteen evil spirits. We has tried everyt'ing. We is at our wits end to get rids of dem. Then we hear tell of an Elf, in de frozen lands of de Deep North, pure and innocent, free of all corruption and sin, and wields power like none other, in a village in a valley of ice and snow, he be de most powerful Wizard de realm has ever knewed, and de t'ing he is knewed for is building items to contain ot'er items in such a way, dey nevers escape. Items dat is endowed wid such strong magic dat no one can ever breaks dem. The bottles he builds is indestructible. We does has seen one. We does dids tested it. Ya has very strong magic, Elf. We does cames here looking fors ya. We does want to order t’irteen of dem."

Most people can't afford even one of my magic items. And you want thirteen? Can you afford them?"

Aye. We does can."

I'm not cheap."

Un We not poor."

I don't accept illusionary payments from Illusionists."

Is dat want ya t’inks We does be?"

You are yourself a Wizard. And a Faerie. You're a trickster and a shape shifter. And I can see through your illusions. I think the others around here, see you and your house different then I do. You are not an Elf. You're not even a half-Elf. They think you are. Your magic strong, and they can't see you for what you are, but my magic is stronger, and I can see that you are a Faerie. And I don't like dealing with Faeries. Faeries are not trustworthy. Faeries lie. And Faeries pay in gold coins that crumble away into feathers and dust. Your kind makes chocolate out of poison mushrooms, and gingerbread out of toadstools.”

And eggnog out of poppies, Here? Eggnog?”

Quaraun took the mug and stared down at it, then continued talking.

It's poppy milk disguised as eggnog. Everyone in the village has been eating your house and are trapped by your spell now. You'll have to pay me, in something that is more real then your house , candies, and nog are, Faerie."

 “We does likes ya. And We does can pay ya in real gold. In de Realm of Fae, We does be King. We does be King Gwallmaiic of Pepper Valley. We does has pet dragon back at home on Fire Mountain and a Leprechaun for a manservant. We does has a lot of gold and jewels. Fat lot of good it does me. We does has no family. No one to love me and love in return. All de gold in de world, can'na buy love. Ya name ya price, ya shall has ya gold. Say ya'll be me lover and We can gives ya de world. We can ya knows. And ya wants dat or ya did a long time ago.”

You’re lying about the thirteen spirits.”

Is we?”

Yes.”

How ya tell?”

Why are you here, really?”

We is building an army of Liches and We am a fait’ful servant of de pretty pink Jellyfish dat wished to rule de world. We does do anyt'ing for her.”

You serve the Sacred Pink JellyFish?”

We does be madly in loves wid her.”

BoomFuzzy took hold of the Elf's hand, in both of his and began to gently stroke Quaraun's soft flesh.

I am de King over every King of Fae. King over nearly all de non-Fae kings. The Grand High Emperor of de Triple Planets is my King. I wish to serve him.”

And you think that is me?”

The candy maker knelt at Quaraun's feet, still holding his hand.

I knows it is ya. I has had me a taste of ya blood. I knows what lifes inside ya. Love me and I will be yar slave.”

I don’t accept Human currency.”

No?”

No.”

What yis take?”

While the Common Elves use whatever currency is used by local Humans, we High Elves use gemstones as currency.”

Gemstones? Like diamonds ub rubies?”

Not just the high end stones like diamonds, rubies, and sapphires, but also the more common stones like quartz, amethyst, obsidian, tourmaline, mica, pyrite, lapis, and jade. High Elves in coastal areas also use sea shells or coral or smooth white beach pebbles. Humans and Common Elves tend to use metals: gold, silver, copper, melted into coins.”

What ya want?”

Tourmalines.”

Tormy-lins?”

Pink ones.”

May I ask but one t'ing?”

What?”

Do no break me spell. The Moon Elves is a haughty lot. Proud arrogant and very bigoted against Faeries. Do ya t’inks I could of walked into ya wee lil village as a Faerie and not been killit deid on sight?"

Quaraun suddenly laughed. He had suddenly gotten a marvellous idea how to annoy his father. The Faerie let go of the Elf's hand uncertain why Quaraun had laughed, fearing the Elf rejected his offer.

I t'ought ye Elves dids no laugh?"

We're not supposed to, but your apricots seem to make me feel...uhm..."

Less inhibited?"

Yes.”

BoomFuzzy stood back up.

How come for does ya laugh?”

You've got nearly the whole village under a spell, don't you?"

Aye."

I don't know why I didn't think of that myself."

Eh?"

Nothing. You caught me on a bad day. Up until yesterday I had long hair and I didn't dress like this."

Meaning?"

Meaning you're right. A Faerie would have been killed on sight. And my father would have given the order. Nothing would spite him more then me helping a Faerie. If you stay in our village, keep people drugged under your Fae Food Glimmer spell, I'll make your genie-bottles."

Ya want me to keep dem drugged?”

Yes.”

What of de rest of me request?”

I'll think about it. I don't keep lovers. We don't reproduce that way. You do excite me. I don't know why.”

 “Ya living in de body of an Elf. No matter what ya Jelly body did before, yis subject to de desires of de Elf body's flesh now and an Elf needs de physical love of a companion. Ya'll not survive long n de body of an Elf dat shuns sex. Elves is very sexual beings. They t'rive on sex. They make bad choices as a host body for Thullids seeking sexlessness. But, Ya has troubles wid ya faddah?”

Yes. He burned my pink dresses and cut my hair and is now demanding I find a sister marry."

Burned ya dresses?"

I don't very much like being a male."

Ya does no like being male? Oh, I t’inks I is gonna like ya a lot."

I've been passing for female for several years. Is that a problem?"

Ohhh, no. No! Not a problem. Not a problem at all. I prefer it actually. I t’inks I likes ya more every minute. So Yis saying dat before today, ya looked like girl."

Yes."

I love it. Yis a rebellious lil Elf ain't ya?"

I am deeply and utterly annoyed by the people of this village."

There be Elves around here ya no like?"

An infinite number of them."

Anyone else in dis town ya does what ta kill?"

What?" Quaraun was taken back by the Fae's question.

The strange unElf, wrapped his arms around Quaraun's neck and stood on tip-toe to whisper into his ear: “There be more den one way I can pays ya. I is an Elf Eater. I eats Elves. I twould gladly get rid of any problem Elves for ya."

Quaraun wasn't really listening to what the Fae-Elf-creature was saying. He was too busy thinking about the erection he was having as the creature was pressed up against him.

Gwallmaiic...”

Call me BoomFuzzy. And ya t'oughts is elsewhere right now ain't dey?" BoomFuzzy ran his hand down Quaraun's chest, across his belly, stopping over his erection. “I can pay ya's like dat too. Haha! Yis a very pretty Elf. I would no mind paying ya's like dat at all. And Yis ready for it right now. Would ya come into me house? Lay in me bed wid me?"

That's rather bold."

Sos this." BoomFuzzy squeezed Quaraun's cock and made him moan. “Yis very ready for it."

I should go."

Oh please do no go. Please come in and let me relieve ya tension. It twall only take wheen minutes."

I can't."

Ya can.”

I... no... I already told you. I am a Wizard of the Di'Jinn order. I've never been with anyone before."

A Di'Jinn? Aye. Yis a virgin. Or at least ya t’inks yis. I keep forgetsing Oh my. I like virgins. But Yis a Di'Jinn. Oh my. Ya was wid me only a week ago, dids ya forget how much ya enjoyed me riding ya. But ya did lifes wid dem. I remembers. No wonder ya wee lil magic is powerful. The Di'Jinn be formidable. That explains de power of yar magic. Ya must not has sex den. I needs de t'irteen genie bottles made to be as powerful as de one I tested. Pity. Yis such a pretty, Elf. I twould love to sink me rod between yar creamy white thighs."

I have to go."

Will ya make de bottles?"

Yes. I will need specific details on what type of spirits they are to hold. I'll come back for those later. When you are less... horny... and I am less drugged.... and wanting you to... I gotta go."

I shall be waiting for ya's to come back." BoomFuzzy continued to fondle the Elf.

I have to go."

Apricot for de road?"

These are drugged."

But ya keep taking dem?"

I know."

How comes dat, eh?"

I don't know."

Well den. Ya trot on back home and clear ya head. Do'na stay away long. Ya knows where I is and me bed is always open for ya."

 From: BoomFuzzy

You can see how the description of BoomFizzy, what he looks like, his personality, his backstory, are woven in both to the narative and the dialogue and is PART OF the story itself, rather than a lone info dump in a single paragraph, as is commonly seen in most novels.

You see it a lot in the Quaraun series where, I don't use physical descriptions to tell you what the character looks like, but rather use character actions, thoughts, and emotions to describe the character's personality instead. In the Quaraun series, it is the characters' emotional states that are more important than what the characters actually look like.

Let's take for example 2 different scenes from Kelim and the Necromancer, where Quaraun is alone. He's not yet been reunited with Unicorn (BoomFuzzy) and he's not yet met GhoulSpawn. This is also when Quaraun is first starting to realize, something is terribly wrong with his health, and he doesn't know what to do about it.

In these 2 scenes, Quaraun is 750 years old, he's lived alone since BoomFuzzy commit suicide 300 years earlier. He's had no trouble living alone and taking care of himself, but, he now has Alzheimer's and in aware he has it, but he is aware something is seriously wrong. 

Quaraun travels to a volcano, seeking a dragon, but when he gets there, while traversing an underground cave, he stops to take a nap, and... here's what happens, when he wakes:(Note, the entire chapter is one long monologue of Quaraun talking to himself, thus the 1st person PoV here, when usually you see 3rd person)

Why am I sprawled on the ground? I am covered in dirt. On my back. Why am I on my back? How did I get here? Staring skyward into the darkness. At the ceiling.

Maybe? Is there a ceiling overhead? I can’t see. It is so exceptionally dark.

I need to sit up. The ground below me is hard and rocklike. It hurts. It hurts so bad.

Stiff.

Uncomfortable.

It is painful to lay on.

Why am I laying on it?

It hurts.

I hurt.

I ache all over.

Where am I?

Why am I on the ground?

Gravel and pebbles are scraping my skin through my clothes. I hate it. It hurts. Abrasive sand is tumbling around my toes, inside my shoes. It hurts my feet. It hurts my toes. I have sand between my toes. I hate it.

Dirt.

A road?

Am I sitting in the middle of the road?

Why am I sitting in the middle of the road?

How did I get in the middle of the road?

What happened? Where am I?

What has transpired? Why don’t I remember?

Why am I outside?

Why is it so dark?

Is it night?

I can’t see anything.

Have I gone blind?

No.

I’ve lost my sight before. Briefly. After being struck on the head. It wasn’t like this. It wasn’t black. It was gray. Foggy. With bursts of colour exploding inside my skull. 

No. This is just darkness. But there are no stars. No moon. Where is my moon? Have I fallen into a hole in the ground? 

Have I been buried alive? Did you bury me alive? Entombed beneath the earth.

I can feel dirt and rocks and dirt and soil and dirt and sediment and dust and dirt. And dirt is everywhere. There is so much dirt. I’m dirty. Where is the edge of the trail? Dust is everywhere.

It’s dirt everywhere. Dirt and dirt and more dirt. I can’t find any anything. Is there anything here? Anything at all. No. I can find nothing. It’s just dirt, dirt, dirt, dirt, dirt. Why is there so much dirt! 

Where is the grass? I can’t see. I have dirt all over my hands. Why can’t I find any grass? Why is it so dark? There is no grass. I can’t feel any grass. Where is the grass? Why is there no grass? I need grass. I have dirt all over my hands. Why is it so messy? Where is the grass? My hands are covered in mud. I need to clean my hands. I need some grass for wipe this mud off my hands.

Feel the dirt, rocks, dirt, dirt, debris, dust and dirt. And everywhere there is just more dirt. Gravel and dirt and dust. There is a lot of dust. I’m dirty. My hands are dirty. My clothes are dirty. My shoes are dirty. I have dirt in my nose.  

Where is the end of the road? Dust is everywhere. It’s dirty, it’s dirty, it’s dirty. Is there something here? No. Nothing. I can’t find anything. Dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty, not dirty. 

Why is everything so messy? Where is the grass? I can’t see. My hands are covered in mud. I need to clean my hands. Why can’t I find any weeds? Why is it so dark and there is no grass? I don’t feel the grass. Where is the grass? Why is there no grass? I need hashish. My hands are in the mud, not in the grass. I didn’t feel the plants at all. Nothing. No plants. I don’t feel the grass. I don’t feel flowers. I can’t feel the trees. Dirty and dirty. And gravel.

It’s not just grass. I can’t feel any plants at all. Nothing. There are no plants. I can’t feel any grass. I can’t feel any flowers. I can’t feel any trees. It’s just dirt and more dirt. And gravel. And I broke a nail. I hate dirt so damned much. Why does there have to be so much damned dirt?

No shrubs grow here. I can’t feel any grass.

No ferns. No hedges. No plants. No foliage. No hedges. No shrubberies. No thickets. No briers. No bushes. No grains. 

There are no forests here. I don’t feel any grass or bushes. No fence. No plants. No leaves. There is no fence. There are no bushes. No thistle. There are no bushes. No grains. No fruit. No fence. No herbs. No vegetation. There is no dike. No weeds. No watercourse. No roses. There are no bushes. No brush. No strawberries, no trees. Neither trees nor seedlings can be found. No seeds. There are no bushes anywhere. Treeless. Treeless. Treeless. Treeless. No trees. No vines. No leaves. There are no banks. 

No berries. No hedgerows. No herbs. No vegetation. No hedges. No underbrush. No brushwood. No roses. No bushes. No brambles. No burs.

No trees. I can’t find any trees.

No saplings. No seedlings. No timbers. No trees. No trees. No trees. No trees. No trees at all. Treeless. Treeless. Treeless. Treeless.

Where did the trees go?

No vines. No leaves. 

I am not indoors either. 

No floors.

No canvases.

No chairs. No tables. No benches. No desks. No floors, towels or chairs. There is no table.

No carpets.

No bed. 

No bookcase. 

No furniture at all. 

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing!

Just dirt.

Just godforsaken dirt.

There is no table. No carpet, no bedding. There are no books. There is no furniture. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing, just dirt, dirt left here by God.

No. 

There is no forest without leaves. Why am I not at home? There is no canvas. There is no chair. Without seats without seating, there is no carpet without an office. Nothing. Nothing! I’m waiting for a dirty... what is this? Do you feel something? What are you? 

Wait. What’s this?

I feel something.

What is this? What are you?

It’s wood. It’s not a tree. It’s square. It’s sharp. It has a corner. And OW! Splinters. Now I have a splinter! Damn you! What are you? 

A beam? 

Leaned on something.

On what?

A wall?

Are you a wall?

Am I inside? Why is there so much dirt inside? It feels like a road, all packed in and traveled on. Busy, busy, like on the highway. No. This is not a highway. I’m not outside. I’m inside. In...am I in...a cave? How did I get into a cave? Am I in a cave? Why am I in a cave? Is this a cave? I can’t tell. 

Where am I? 

How did I get here? 

You’re a vertical surface. You can help me up. I won’t have to crawl around groveling in the dirt anymore. If I hold on to the wall and walk along you, maybe I can find my way out of here and back into sunlight. Why is it so damned dark in here? I can’t see a thing.

Searching.

Probing.

Through the darkness, for anything that might reveal to me where I am. 

Piling. 

Scaffolding. 

Plank. 

Joist. 

Pillar. 

Rough. 

Old. 

Crumbling. 

Decayed. 

Decomposed. 

Moldered. 

Rotted.

It will collapse.

This whole place will fall in on me.

By the feel of the stone and dirt and massive timber beams on the wall, it’s gem mine. A dwarven gem mine. I seem to have found myself in a roughly hewn chamber of some sort. Some sort of cave. Or a tunnel. A sod house, maybe? 

A mine? Oh. It’s a mine isn’t it? A Dwarf mine? No? Yes. It must be. It has to be. What else could it be? How did I get in a Dwarf mine?

The shades of stone, dirt and rot from the huge wooden posts hanging from the walls are my pearls. I need to get out of here.

The beams felt like scaffolding for mine shafts.

I can’t find out for certain in the darkness.

Have I stumbled into a mine shaft?

Did I discover a mine by accident? 

I do not remember.

It concerns me greatly that I can not remember in what way or manner I arrived at this place. Was I abducted? If so, than by who? And why? And where are they? Why would they leave me alone here? Why can't I remember how I got here? Or was it a portal? O! It could have been a portal! Did I fall into a portal? Oh! I could be any where. Any planet. Any dimension. Any time. Oh! How would I know? By what means did I come to be here? And where exactly was here?  

It is dark.  

So very dark.

So very extremely dark.

So very extremely, extraordinarily dark.

Timeworn wooden pilings are leaning against walls. I can feel them. And the walls are made out of stone and collapsing clay. Dry clay. Smooth and silky. It'd be good for my silk. I should take some with me, but I've no way to carry any.

There is a great abundance of noise. And soil dribbling down from the sod ceiling with every vibration.

Distant.

Moaning.

Rumbling.

A mountain that rumbles.

Was this a cavern in...a volcano?

It bore resemblance to a mine shaft.

A tunnel, perhaps?

Under a mountain?

But to do what?

And where?

Where am I?

How did I arrive here?

I simply can not recall.

Why can’t I remember?

And what was that sound?

I'm wandering in blindness.

Inching ahead, ever so slowly.

Deliberately.

Reaching out.

Into the darkness.

Touching the wall.

The dirt on the wall is thick and dry, barren, parched, but not sandy. It's... powdery. Caked. Clumping. Smoothly textured like talc mixed with clay. Heavy. It smells like the rich dark peat clay found under a forest’s leaf carpet. What a wonderful smell. Dirt would be nice if it wasn't so dirt. I love the smell of dirt. I just hate how badly it soils my clothes. Silk is so hard to get clean. This clay smells so nice. If mixed it with water it would feel so nice on my skin.

Using my fingers on the earth wall as a guide, I pursued the passage, hoping to find an exit. Or at the very least, a light. Who knew what was lurking in the darkness with me? Beasts. Monsters. Bandits. There could be dangers lurking all around me. I’d not know to run.

I need to listen. For danger. I must take notice of every sound. Always alert and ready to run. Except run to where? I can’t see a thing. Not one single, solitary thing. If I trip, I'll break my neck. How am I supposed to run from danger wen I can't even see my own hand. Why the hell is this place so dark. This is the darkest, darkness I've ever been in.

OW!

Damn it! What was that? Stubbed my toe. Now it hurts. I was already hurting enough. Now I hurt more. I didn't need more hurt. I needed less hurt. Damn darkness.

Accursed darkness.

Damned accursed darkness.

Stupid blackness everywhere.

Eternal blackness.

Why does it have to be so damned dark in this place?

And I'm alone.

I hate being alone. I'm just always alone. No body cares. No one. Ever. I have no one. BoomFuzzy's dead. He killed himself. Because I killed Gibedon. I shouldn't have killed Gibedon. Why did he have to die? I never should have killed him. BoomFuzzy would still be alive if I hadn't killed Gibedon. He loved Gibedon. BoomFuzzy loved Gibedon.

Why did he love Gibedon?

He hid Gibedon from me. He loved Gibedon and he didn't want me to know. I thought he loved me. I loved him. Why didn't he love me? We were soul bound. I cut my soul in half to be with him. Part of him. Him part of me. I would have loved him forever. I do love him, forever. I'll always love him. Why did he have to die? Why did he kill himself? I don't understand. I miss him. I miss him so much. I feel so alone without him.

There is so much darkness here.

Just everywhere.

There could be monsters all around me and I wouldn't know it. I can't see a thing. And this tunnel just keeps going and going. It doesn't end. And I can't see where I'm going. And it's hot and humid. Dry and muggy. Both at the same time. It makes my lungs hurt. And it makes my head hurt. And my eyes and my throat. It's so hard to breath in here. It's so dark and dirty and I hate it.

 

As you can see, he has completely forgotten that he went there himself AND he has also forgotten that he is carrying a lamp on his belt and so he never light's it.


Elsewhere in the same novel, we see Quaraun, has just killed a woman and has started drinking to try to forget it, but, Elves don't get drunk the same way Humans do, and we see this scene which again, described Quaraun's personality, not what he looks like:


Quaraun stumbled across the apartment. His strides were swift and determined. Or as precipitous and controlled as he could compel them to act. He’d enjoyed a few bottles too much green Fairy wine to drink, and he knew it, but he couldn’t oblige anybody else to notice it. No. He wasn’t supposed to be out drinking this evening. Not tonight. Tomorrow is a considerably important day.

Consistent.

Stable.

Calm.

Steady. He must walk steady. And consistently natural. And calmly stable.

Balanced.

Balanced is more advisable than stable.

Yes.

Balancing was desirable.

And upright.

Upright was important. It would do no good to make attempts to walk if one was not standing upright beforehand.

Quaraun wondered if he was standing upright or not. The determination in his steps became his immediate focus. Quaraun kept an eye on his feet to make certain they were moving in the correct places. He couldn’t discern if they were or not.

Must walk steady. Mustn’t let anyone notice. Must... Must...

Thunder boomed outside.

Lightning flashed.

The momentary manifestation of blinding luminescence infiltrated the room with its purple haze before melting away and surrendering the chamber back into the blackness of night.

Wait...who is that?

The instant burst of light lasted scarcely long enough to imbue the lodging with intense light.

There was a man in the corridor. Standing just outside the door. Looking in. Staring at Quaraun. Watching. Waiting.

How’d he got there?

Wasn’t the door bolted?

Quaraun walked closer to the door.

Cautiously.

Carefully.

Slowly.

Guardedly.

Who are you?” Quaraun called out.

No answer.

Silence.

Quaraun stumbled, but hastily caught himself.

Can’t collapse.

Couldn’t let this fellow think he was drunk, either.

He squinted his eyes. Straining to see through the darkness.

Hoping for the lightning to flash again.

There was a man in the doorway.

A man. Where there shouldn’t be one.

Who are you?” Quaraun called out again.

Nothing.

The man stood in the doorway.

Watching.

Staring.

Silent.

He didn’t move.

He didn't speak.

Might be one of his friends.

No.

They shouldn't be here.

They couldn't be here.

They were dead.

But who knows?

Maybe...

No...

Couldn't be...

Quaraun opened his eyes. A glowing purple unicorn was standing over him. A glittering gold sheep was kneeling beside him. They were both talking but he couldn't hear them. Quaraun's vision blurred and doubled, than went in and out of focus a few times. The muffled sounds of his friends’ voices bounced around like a rubber ball inside his head. He tried to focus on one voice, one sound, straining to hear who was talking and what they said. Finally his vision became clearer and the sounds became less garbled.

"You okay?" the glittering gold sheep asked.

"Who was the man in the doorway?" Quaraun asked, not answering the glittering gold sheep's question.

"What man?"

"That man!" Quaraun sat up and pointed towards the door.

Wait.

He wasn't there.

The man was gone.

Quaraun looked around.

The sun was up. It was daytime.

Night was gone. It had slunk away to the shadows, to hide for another day. Fleeing from the sun's warm embrace. Waiting for sunset to come and free it back into the world again.

"There was a man there," Quaraun said to no one in particular. "Where did he go? Did you see him?"

"No," The glowing purple unicorn answered. "Only thing we seen was you passed out on the floor."

A knocking, rapted quickly.

Than silence.

Waiting.

Than the knocking came again.

Louder.

Again.

Louder still.

Quaraun opened his eyes.

He looked around the room.

"Where am I?"

He was sitting at a large wooden table.

It was a small room.

Quaint.

The glittering gold sheep and the glowing purple unicorn were both gone. They had never been there.

Quaraun nervously twisted his hands around the long thin neck of the green glass wine bottle he was clutching.

"I need to either stop drinking Fairy wine, or drink so much of it I never wake up out of it's embrace. How did I get here?"

Quaraun tried to focus his eyes through the semi-drunk blur, he was still drifting in and out of.

Lots of wooden shelves lined the walls.

Some shelves were jam packed full of ancient leather bound books.

Other shelves were littered for various assorted glass jars, coloured glass bottles, clay pots, and various brick a brack.

Bundles of dried herbs hung from the rafters.

"Ah! The Swamp Hag's house. Forgot I was here." He paused, suddenly remembering why he was here. "Oh dear. I'm running out of leads."

Quaraun glanced down at the dishevelled lifeless body of the Swamp Hag on the floor behind him. Her blood was pooling on the wooden planks.

His attention was brought back to the sound which had awoken hm. The knocking sound thudded, dully through the house again.

He turned back to he front of the building.

"Damn. Someone's at your door. I suppose we should answer it. You certainly can't."

Quaraun pushed his chair back from the table, stood up, picked up the Swamp Hag's head and stuffed it into the pink beaded heart shaped bag of holding on his hip.



>>My characters always start my works by looking in the mirror, studying each feature, and categorizing their features at length. Isn't that what people do in the real world?

LOL! I once had Quaraun do this, just to poke fun at the books who did it. He spends 4 pages, raving and ranting over how his corset won't fit right, then starts describing what he looks like, for no reason at all. Another character, Unicorn, comes over carrying another mirror and starts helping him describe everything. A 3rd character walks in and asks them what the hell they are doing. None of them knows. It's hysterical, because it doesn't fit the rest of the story at all.

It's not in the beginning of the book either, it's 200 pages into a 500 page novel.

I wrote it after a reader pointed out that every few chapters of every novel, Quaraun is constantly pulling his mirror out of his bag and fussing over his hair and make up, but not once in any of the several hundred scenes of Quaraun looking in a mirror does he ever describe himself while doing so, nor does the narrator describe him, and they wondered WHY, when every other author has their character talking to themself and describing what they look like while looking in a mirror.

Well, yeah, Quaraun is vain and arrogant and he puts what he looks like first and foremost over everything, he goes narcissism to the extreme, so he is always in front of a mirror every chance he can get. But, I do try to keep my character realistic, and, think about it, when was the last time YOU stood in front of the mirror and said: "Damn are my blue eyes gorgeous! I love my long this nose..."

I HATE it when authors stand the character in front of the mirror and have them talk about what they look like. No one does that.

Yes, vain people constantly look in the mirror, but they don't describe themselves while doing it. They talk about: "Oh my god! My mascara is smudged! I have to fix it!"

The worst part of authors writing characters describing themselves in the mirror is they do it with EVERY character, even characters who no logical reason to even own a mirror.

A mirror is a large expensive, luxury item, that only a very wealthy person is going to own. They are not common every day items. So it's utterly ridiculous to see every author, of every novel, write every character describing themselves in the mirror. And it's even MORE ridiculous when you write historical fiction that is pre-1920s, when mirrors were only owned by the ultra mega wealthy. Go make to the 1600s when only royalty had mirrors, and it's even more ridiculous.

But the fact remains, even in today's society, mirrors are relatively rare. Most houses have one over the sink in the bathroom and that's it. Wealthy families may have one over a dresser in the bed room. Only the super wealthy can afford to buy a full length mirror. They ain't cheap. And the only time you see a mirror in public is in some fancy law firm or super fancy hotel that caters to millionaires.

No one in real life carries a mirror on them. 

It's so utterly beyond stupid to see every character in every novel, able to find a mirror no matter where they are, just so they can stand there and tell the reader what they look like.

Worst of all, is when it's done by characters who are supposedly meek, humble, or religious. The bulk of Christian religions forbid the owning of mirrors, and it's a red flag when the author says the character is such&such religion, and the reader is that religion, and the author clearly didn't know that religion forbid the owning of mirrors, and now here's the character supposedly a part of that religion and describing themselves while looking in a mirror!

The ONLY time it is logical for a character to be describing themselves in the mirror is if they are and incredibly self centered, mega vain character, who is stopping to look in the mirror multiple times a day.

In Quaraun's case, he IS mega vain and he DOES, look in the mirror every few minutes. And he owns several mirrors because he can afford them. Quaraun is a billionaire. His wealth is something akin to Scrooge McDuck's. He's an Emperor. That fact isn't brought up very often, because he's the last of his kind, his people all died, so he's a king with no kingdom now, but, before his people died he was exhorbantly wealthy and mega pampered. He has a bag of holding that contains EVERYTHING he owned from his palace, so, he's not as poor as he seems to strangers, and in fact he can and does buy anything he wants. Including lots of mirrors because he's mega vain.

But even being vain, wealthy, and looking in a mirror every few pages, you never see Quaraun describe what he looks like.

But when it comes to actually describing Quaraun, it usually is a pretty big info dump, that is written from the point of view of a character whom has never seen him before and is describing him in their mind. As can be seen in Kelim and The Necromancer when Kelim meets Quaraun face to face for the first time:... be warned... it takes an entire chapter to describe Quaraun completely, intermingled with dialogue, so here is, in it's entirety, this very long chapter:

Kelim knew where the house was.

All the kids did.

He’d been here before, many times.

On a dare.

It was something kids did.

Dare one another to go to the Swamp Hag’s house and rip a board of her fence as proof you did it.

There wasn’t a kid in town who didn’t have a piece of the old Hag’s fence.

Kelim began panicking as he thought of the fence.

What if she recognizes me as the one who stole a piece of her fence?”

Kelim stopped walking and sat down on the grass. His head was spinning. He felt he was about to faint. The ground was still cold. The snow was mostly melted. Flowers peeked up through last fall’s dry leaves. Kelim lay on his back in the cool young spring grass and stared up at the tall towering pine trees. A sickly sensation of Vertigo sunk in his stomach as his gaze followed the trees up their 150 feet of height. Little brown birds ran down thick bark, head downwards and peeking under the cracks looking for ants. Kelim wondered how they did not get dizzy or fall off from the blood rushing to their head. He was getting dizzy just thinking about it. Kelim closed his eyes, but that did not make him feel any better so he sat up and looked out across the swamp in stead.

I gotta do this.”

Kelim hated coming out into the swamp alone. The water was black and sickly looking. Not the clean, healthy, clear water anyone would want to drink. It stank too.

Ghirardelli wasn’t Human. She wasn’t a Faerie either. Kelim didn’t know what she was. She was a Hag. But what was a Hag?

What was a Swamp Hag any ways?

A Demon?

He didn’t know.

He didn’t really care.

Hags were not Humans or Faeries or Fairys or Elves or any other such race. They were some sort of Monster race. Something akin to a Demon.

But..

He didn’t know.

And...

He didn’t care.

He just needed to think about something other than that he felt like vomiting right now. Most of him just wanted to run back to town. Kelim looked out at the swamp again. Where the edge water sat still, there was a brown rusty coloured gelatinous foam coating the leaves and sticking to twigs. That icky looking sludge seemed to be the sources of the smell.

Kelim got up and started walking again. He had to hurry if he wanted to talk to the Necromancer and still have time to get back through the woods again before dark. He walked round the edge of the water knowing that the Swamp Hag’s house was around here somewhere. The forest was getting deeper and darker. The trees closer together. The deeper Kelim went into the forest, the cleaner the swamp looked.

The swamp widened significantly now. The water at its centre more like a shallow pond, but still black from the thick peat floating at its surface. Tall grass and prickly spiky vines grew around the water’s edge. Kelim suspected he was coming to the end of the swamp as he could hear the sounds of running water up ahead. He had yet to find the Necromancer’s home.

Did he not live in the swamp after all?

A woodpecker screamed from a rear by hemlock as if to answer.

Don’t be silly,” Kelim scolded himself. “It’s probably all just a stupid rumour, anyway.”

Kelim passed the glade in front of the large thatched roof hovel of Ghirardelli, the swamp hag. A tall stockade fence surrounded the entire place. Kelim stood, counting the missing panels that created gaping holes in the ancient wooden fence.

She’s a Witch, and she has a Necromancer staying with her. Why do I let Witsnot talk me into these things?”

Kelim counted the trees to keep himself from feeling like he was stuck in a nightmare. He tried to convince himself that he was just getting worked up over nothing.

In the far corner of the swamp an old hovel was half hidden in the shadows of tall trees lined up behind it. It was the only sign of any life. So he strolled over, trying to look casual.

He hesitated a second before knocking on the door. There was no answer at first. He knocked again. Still no answer. He knocked louder. Kelim was about to give up and leave when the door swung open so suddenly it made him jump back.

He had expected the Swamp Hag to answer the door. But it wasn’t her who stood before him now.

It was an Elf.

Not a Common Elf.

No.

A High Elf.

Kelim had not expected the Necromancer to be a High Elf.

Nor had he expected the alien creature to be the one who would answer the door.

The door had been answered by a pale skinned Moon Elf with long silken bum length white hair, large brilliant icy pale blue eyes, and dressed head to toe in eye popping bubblegum pink robes, embroidered with huge platinum beads and magenta silk hearts. The Elf's opaline skin stood out in pale evening light, shimmering like moonlight on freshly fallen snow. Kelim had heard rumours that moonlight had this effect on the skin of a Moon Elf, thus their name of Moon Elf, but he'd never before seen it. An eerie prism like glow hovered over the Elf's frosty white flesh, making the Elf look as though it had been carved out of ice. The effect terrified Kelim, who had heard rumours that the High Elves had a deep dislike for every race other than their own.

Kelim had never met an Elf before.

Common Elves were scary enough.

But the High Elves were terrifying.

Ruthless.

Brutal.

Emotionless.

Cannibals.

Predators.

Emotionless predators.

Sharp fanged.

Vampire-like.

Blood thirsty beasts that had fallen from the sky and were trapped on Earth against their will.

Kelim knew the stories.

No blood relation to the Common Elves.

Not Elves at all.

No blood relation to anything Earthly.

Aliens from another time.

Another world.

Another galaxy.

They hated being trapped on this alien planet. They hated all life on Earth. They kept to themselves and shunned all of Earth’s inhabitants.

The High Elves were rare and even more rarely seen.

So rare that rumours deemed them mere figments of over active imaginations.

And yet, here was a High Elf.

 

One of those rare alien vampires, was now standing face to face with Kelim.

Kelim stared at the Necromancer, uncertain what to say.

The Moon Elf was looking at him with an expressionless face.

Kelim had not expected the pale Elf to answer the door.

He was taken by surprise at this.

This was the Swamp Hag’s house after all.

Why would a stranger answer her door?

And while this was clearly an Elf, he was uncertain if it was the Wizard or not.

The unearthly, shimmering prismatic, somewhat phosphorescent skin of the pink robed Elf terrified Kelim. He had heard rumours that the Moon Elves had a deep dislike for every race other than their own, and this Moon Elf was looking at Kelim with an expressionless face.

Kelim may have prided himself in knowing the stories told about the Moon Elves, but the fact was, that Kelim really knew next to nothing about Moon Elves in general, or this the Last Moon Elf in particular.

Had Kelim known the actual history of the Moon Elves, and the truth behind how Quaraun had become the last of his kind, Kelim would have been running scared shitless, to get as far away from The Pink Necromancer as he could.

But Kelim only knew the stories.

The rumours.

Not the history.

Not the facts.

Not the truth.

If he had known the history, and how they had died, he would have known that what he was talking for was in fact NOT a Moon Elf, but rather a Thullid, whom had killed the Moon Elves and was wearing the skin of this Moon Elf, like a coat.

Quaraun had been a Moon Elf, many, many centuries ago. But now Quaraun was dead, and his hollowed out body was the skin of the Thullid living inside of him.

Had Kelim known this, he would have known that the words Quaraun was right now muttering under his breath, were not Elvish, but rather, were Thullid.

The Moon Elves had died out three centuries ago, Quaraun being the last, and with them, their ancient Elven language had died out with them. All Elves were rare these days, and the Moon Elf language had been thought of as a dead language even when there were still Moon Elves alive.

Quaraun had had to learn the many varied languages of the Humans, the lesser Elf races, and other nonElven races in order to communicate with them. There was no one to speak his native tongue.

The Moon Elf language was as dead as Latin which was why the poor Moon Elf had taken up the bad habit of talking to himself, in order to keep from forgetting how to speak his native tongue.

Unfortunately for Quaraun, what he did not realize is that he long ago had stopped speaking the ancient Moon Elf language and was in fact speaking the Thullid language to himself most days.

The Thullid language was not an Earth language, the Thullids being aliens from a far distance galaxy who's ship had crash landed on Earth centuries ago.

The Thullid language was made up of a lot of 'L's, 'T's, 'X's, and 'I's and not many other letters, and consisted of very snake-like, slithering hissing sounds.

The language was spoken very fast and often intermingled with screams, and shrieks, that actually were words, but sounded to Humans like screaming and shrieking.

Quaraun, in his eye-popping pink beaded gowns, walking in circles, screaming and shrieking to himself in a language that sounded nothing like a language at all, terrified most people.

Quaraun was right now, muttering to himself, in a hissing snake-like accent that terrified the little Pixie who stood trembling before him right now.

Quaraun rarely spoke to anyone, as he was often too busy having conversations with himself to notice there was anyone around to talk to.

He did not like being interrupted.

Kelim had interrupted him.

He immediately decided he did not like Kelim.

For no reason, other than Kelim had knocked on the door and woken him up.

Quaraun was out of Green Fairy Wine. He would rather sleep if he had no Green Fairy Wine to drown his depression in. Kelim had woken him up, so he decided he hated Kelim and stood in the doorway contemplating if he should cut off the Pixie's head now or after he had heard what the Pixie had to say.

Most people who came across Quaraun, dressed as he dressed and talking to himself in the Thullid language, heard nothing but a lot of wild rambling gibberish that didn't sound anything like any Earth language they had ever encountered, so most people took Quaraun for a psychotically deranged, gibbering idiot and was very careful to avoid him.

Few realized that Quaraun was no longer an Elf at all, but rather was in fact a Thullid.

Quaraun was a Thullid Spawnling.

The Thullid had killed the Elf.

That's what Thullid do.

They kill Elves and then take over their bodies.

Even they're closet friends won't know they're dead.

The Thullid larvae hollow out their skulls and live inside the Elf's head, fusing their tentacles to the nerves.

Quaraun's icy white blue eyes were cold.

Empty.

Completely devoid of any emotion.

They were not the kind eyes of an Elf, but the empty emotionless eyes of a Thullid.

Quaraun was not an Elf, not any more.

Quaraun was dead.

He'd been dead a long time.

A Thullid had taken up residence in his body.

Possessing him.

Infesting him.

Infecting him.

When Quaraun was just 3 years old, and eventually devouring his brain and replacing it with it's own brain.

Quaraun the Elf had died centuries ago, at the young age of only 9 years old, and all that remained was the empty husk that was reanimated by the tiny pink jellyfish living in the dead Elf's hallowed out, brainless skull.

The Sacred Pink JellyFish had eaten Quaraun's brain, and like a hermit crab was living in his empty skull.

 

Looking into Quaraun's emotionless dead eyes, Kelim knew something was definitly mentally wrong with him.

His eyes looked like those of a squid.

The wall eyed fishy glaze of his eyes, terrified Kelim.

Quaraun was nothing but the long dead corpse of an Elf whose body had become the home of an alien sea creature.

Quaraun had become someone else.

He had become a Thullid.

Had he known he was facing a Thullid, Kelim would have shuddered to think of the horrible agony Quaraun had suffered through upon his death to be captured by a Thullid, to have it hold him down and drill a hole into the back of his head, them implant a larvae into his brain. The weeks and months of agony that would have followed as the larvae feed off the poor Elf's brain, while rooting it's spidering tentacles throughout his body, replacing his nerves with it's own, hollowing out his muscles and refilling them with its own.

The poor Elf had suffered in agony for years while the creature slowly took over his body and learned to replicate his words and actions.

In all the Realms there was no death more horrific or more feared, then to die by Thullid infestation. Quaraun the Elf, only Quaraun the Thullid, meaning the real Quaraun had suffered in agony, alone, with no one there to comfort him. The real Elf had died such a horrendous death.

Quaraun looked like an Elf, he outer body had been born an Elf, but it was the Jellyfish living in his brain, that is who Quaraun was now.

It was this reason, that Quaraun could often be seen, talking to himself, in a language that was filled with squishy, fish-like shrieks and screams that made little sense to the people who met him.

Quaraun spoke in 84 common languages. Quaraun, being the highly educated High Elf that he was, spoke most of the known languages of the region, and thus immediately shifted his own speech to match whatever language was being spoken to him. His ability to speak most every language, could sometimes make talking to him difficult as he could, and often did, change languages mid-sentence and rarely realized he was doing it.

 

Most of his conversation was thus a strange blend of his own native Moon Elf, mixed with Thullid in a bizarre language Quaraun had unknowingly created for himself in his last two hundred years of hermit like solitude.

Kelim unable to speak either Moon Elf and Thullid, was unable to pick up on this difficult self-language Quaraun had made for himself, which annoyed the Moon Elf, forcing him to speak the Pixie's language, which pissed him off.

But none of this mattered right now, for Kelim was unaware he was addressing a Thullid.

In Kelim's mind, this was an Elf. A Moon Elf.

A pale skinned Moon Elf with long silken bum length white hair.

A Moon Elf with large brilliant icy pale blue eyes.

A Moon Elf dressed head to toe in eye popping bubblegum pink robes.

A Moon Elf with elaborately embroidered and beaded designs of hearts, roses, flowers, and jellyfish all over his furisode kimono and corsets gown.

A Moon Elf who right now stood in the doorway staring down at Kelim.

A Moon Elf with opaline skin which glimmered, in pale evening light, shimmering in the moonlight.

After his initial Thullid muttering to himself as he opened the door, the pink-clad Elf didn’t say anything more and stood silently staring down at Kelim.

Kelim wasn't sure who he was addressing. He had come here looking for an evil male Necromancer.

But this was... he wasn't sure. He thought he might be staring into the cold dead eyes of a female prostitute instead.

"Uhm... my name is Kelim?" It came out as a question, more than a statement.

The thin albino Moon Elf just stared down at him and said nothing, which was making Kelim nervous.

"I'm a Toadstool Pixie."

"I can see that."

The Elf sounded bored.

Or tired.

Or maybe both.

Kelim was taken back slightly by the Elf's voice. It was the deep, velvety voice of a male, but he could have sworn the Elf standing before him was a female.

 

It looked like a woman.

Dressed like a woman.

The tightly corseted pink dress, with long flowing furisode sleeves. That was was women's dress.

The Elf's eyes were kholed with black, lips painted blood red, and fingertips glistening with pink jewel encrusted gold claw tips. Fresh blood dripped from the tips.

Sparkling pink and green watermelon faceted gemstones glittered from the many rings pierced through the Elf's foot long pointed ears.

A couple more jewelled rings were pierced through the side of his nose and glistening silver chains draped from the rings in his nose to the rings in his ears. Many dainty charms of silver, decorated with more tourmalines, hung from the chains connecting his nose rings to his ear rings. His long silken white hair hung down to below his waist.

If Kelim had meet this pink gowned, bejewelled Elf on the streets he would have sworn she, er, he, was a prostitute.

"Uhm...I...I'm looking for the wizard called Quaraun."

"Well, you've found him."

"Are you Quaraun?"

"I am he," said the Moon Elf, as he stretched one arm out straight and leaned on the door frame, indicating he was unconcerned by either who or what Kelim was, and barring the entrance to him home at the same time. He slowly began drumming his long thin fingers on the door. He left bloody fingerprints on the wood as he did.

Kelim couldn't help but notice the Necromancer had multiple large sparkling diamond and sapphire rings on every single finger.

No.

It wasn’t the rings Kelim was focusing on.

It was the blood.

Blood was trickling down the Elf’s hand. Down his wrist. Into his sleeve. Blood spatter was sprayed across several parts of the dress, and the hems were heavily soaked with more blood. Bloody streaks and swirls were left of the ground as the Elf's skirts swept the floor.

"I'm sorry...you look...uhm...I thought you was a... Are you a man?"

"I'm an Elf."

"Are you a male Elf?"

"If you mean, was I born with a cock and balls between my legs, yes.”

You look like a...”

How I choose to dress, whether it matches the gender I was born as or not quite frankly doesn't concern you, now does it?"

Kelim looked down at his feet and began twiddling his thumbs. Talking to strangers made him nervous.

People with any authority made him nervous.

Wizards made him nervous.

Elves made him nervous.

He was just now realizing that effeminate men in pink sequined dresses with lots of feminine jewellery made him nervous.

Quaraun the Insane was all of the above.

Quaraun was making Kelim more nervous than he'd ever been before.

He couldn't think when he was nervous.

Kelim didn't know what to say next.

He really hadn't thought this part through.

It had taken all the courage he could muster just to walk out into the enchanted forest in the first place. He'd almost turned back several times while going through the frozen swamp.

And now here he was at the front door of a strange transvestite Necromancer Elf who was in all likelihood, far more dangerous than Finderu the Masked.

Kelim felt faint.

This wizard did not wear a mask like Finderu, but he might as well have.

Quaraun perked up his ear to listen, waiting for Kelim to say something. His thin, pointed foot long ears twitched, nervously causing the chains connected back to his nose to shake and tinkle.

Kelim was mesmerized by the ears.

And the rings.

And the chains.

And the charms.

Quaraun had 24 earrings in each ear.

And 3 nose rings, 1 in the center, and one in each side.

Each ring in his ear, has a tiny linked, delicate chain in it. Each chain, connected back to one of the rings in his nose.

Every few links of the chain had tiny pink watermelon tourmaline crystal point hanging from it.

Kelim knew very little of Quaraun, and was unaware that Quaraun was a priest and wore the very distinctive robes and jewelry that are a part of his religion.

Though born in Quebec, Quaraun was raised in by Persian priests. Quaraun was also a transvestite. No. Not transgender. They are different. Quaraun made no attempt to be female. In fact, Quaraun hated females and wanted nothing to do with them. But he also had a deep distaste for male fashions. He found the bulk of male garb to be not only hideous to look at but uncomfortable to wear.

Quaraun often found himself dismayed by people saying certain fashions could only be worn by men, while other fashions could only be worn by women. And so Quaraun wore whatever he pleased, whenever he pleased, regardless of the gender the fashion was intended for.

Quaraun had both a love for pink and glitter, as well as a love for long flowing robes, sari, kimono, caftan, veils, and hijab. In love with the flowing many layered outfits wore by the Islamic women in the Persian villages he had grown up in, Quaraun had taken to dressing like them while he was still a young boy and continued to do so, for the rest of his life.

Thus Quaraun dressed, not as a priest, but rather as a priestess. Wearing very Muslim inspired clothes, including a hijab style veil.

Quaraun is the only Elf member of his religion. And was one of only two known priest still alive. The Di'Jinn were all dead, save Quaraun and ZooLock. But Kelim knew none of this. All Kelim knew was that standing before him was an Elf that looked to be a Muslim woman, but whom Kelim had been told was a male wizard, and Kelim stood very confounded and confused, and wasn't certain what to say or how to address the pink robed Elf.

The glittering chains and charms and crystals hanging from the 48 earrings and connecting back to his nose, were what was troubling Kelim the most, for he could not see hardly any of Quaraun's face.

Quaraun was said to be beautiful. More beautiful than any other being ever born. And while it definitely appeared that man behind the veils and jewels was exotically beautiful, all Kelim could really see what his nose and his eyes. Kelim wondered if the rumors of Quaraun's beauty, were in fact inspired by the mystery of his mostly hidden face.

Quaraun's long ears make it difficult for him to wear the hijab style veiling properly. Thus why he wore this elaborate network of rings and chains, as a way to keep his face covered.

The jewelry acted as a veil, exactly as Quaraun intended it to do.

Most of Quaraun's face was obscured from view by of this massive network of jewelry. The chains act like veiling, with only his eyes and lips visible. The action of his abnormally long ears constantly moving with his emotions, caused the crystal points and chains to make tinkling sounds every time moved his ears even the slightest bit.

Kelim continued to gawk, awestruck, jaw dropped at the Elf's outlandish eye popping pink, jewel encrusted female outfit, and it was beginning to annoy Quaraun. Quaraun was very shy, extremely introverted, kept to himself, lived as a hermit, did not like attention, and was easily made upset by people staring at him.

Kelim was staring at him.

Kelim was staring at Quaraun for a very long time.

The awkward silence, combined with Kelim's stare was unnerving Quaraun. He felt the desire to pull out his dagger and rip the Pixie's throat out. It was staring at him too much, for too long. It was making Quaraun uncomfortable. He did not like it.

Finally, seeing that Kelim was making no move to speak, Quaraun broke the silence.

"What do you want?" the Moon Elf demanded, sounding a more than little hostile.

Kelim looked up at the tall cross-dressed Elf.

Quaraun wasn't tall.

In fact, he was short.

But Kelim was shorter and Quaraun seemed taller than he was, by the way he carried himself.

Quaraun lowered his eyebrows, into a guarded expression which said to Kelim "You better have had a damned good reason for disturbing me. I have business to attend to and you are wasting my time."

The Elf was clearly was growing impatient, and his icy blue eyes were cold and staring and served as a sufficient warning to scare Kelim into losing whatever courage he had mustered up on his way getting here.

Kelim was suddenly struck by how much taller than himself the Necromancer was, and how very short he suddenly felt standing in front of Quaraun.

 

Quaraun's long ears make it difficult for him to wear the hijab style veiling properly. Thus why he wore this elaborate network of rings and chains, as a way to keep his face covered.

The jewelry acted as a veil, exactly as Quaraun intended it to do.

Most of Quaraun's face was obscured from view by of this massive network of jewelry. The chains act like veiling, with only his eyes and lips visible. The action of his abnormally long ears constantly moving with his emotions, caused the crystal points and chains to make tinkling sounds every time moved his ears even the slightest bit.

Kelim continued to gawk, awestruck, jaw dropped at the Elf's outlandish eye popping pink, jewel encrusted female outfit, and it was beginning to annoy Quaraun. Quaraun was very shy, extremely introverted, kept to himself, lived as a hermit, did not like attention, and was easily made upset by people staring at him.

Kelim was staring at him.

Kelim was staring at Quaraun for a very long time.

The awkward silence, combined with Kelim's stare was unnerving Quaraun. He felt the desire to pull out his dagger and rip the Pixie's throat out. It was staring at him too much, for too long. It was making Quaraun uncomfortable. He did not like it.

Finally, seeing that Kelim was making no move to speak, Quaraun broke the silence.

"What do you want?" the Moon Elf demanded, sounding a more than little hostile.

Kelim looked up at the tall cross-dressed Elf.

Quaraun wasn't tall.

In fact, he was short.

But Kelim was shorter and Quaraun seemed taller than he was, by the way he carried himself.

Quaraun lowered his eyebrows, into a guarded expression which said to Kelim "You better have had a damned good reason for disturbing me. I have business to attend to and you are wasting my time."

The Elf was clearly was growing impatient, and his icy blue eyes were cold and staring and served as a sufficient warning to scare Kelim into losing whatever courage he had mustered up on his way getting here.

Kelim was suddenly struck by how much taller than himself the Necromancer was, and how very short he suddenly felt standing in front of Quaraun.

Kelim felt as though he was closing up like a telescope growing smaller and smaller the more the Necromancer stared at him.

"You're uhm... I... uhm ... “

I’m busy and you’re interrupting me, that’s what I am.”

I ... you're uhm..."

"Spit it out, I haven't got all day."

"You're... you're... what are you?"

"Which what am I are you referring to? My being an Elf? Or my being a transvestite?"

"Uhm..."

"Doesn't matter. Either one, I don't like you talking about."

"Okay. Uhm..."

"You don't get many words out do you?"

"Uhm... I... no..."

You’re a Pixie.”

Yes?”

Don’t you know?”

I...”

"Xandit Winsnot the Goblin sent you didn't he?"

"Uhm, yeah, kind of..."

"Kind of? Either he did, or he didn't."

"Well..."

"You are Kelim?"

"Yes... I..."

"You're in love with Finderu's daughter."

"Yeah... uhm... sort of..."

"Don't waste my time, Boy, what do you want from me?"

"Well... I... uhm... I... well...I... I thought... you know... that... uhm... maybe... people are saying you... I was just thinking... you know..."

"Spit it out, Boy, I haven't got all day. I am rather busy and I do hate being bothered, especially by Faeries. Faeries are so annoying. I can't stand them, they're nothing but trouble, every last one of them."

The Necromancer sounded increasingly more and more annoyed, which frightened Kelim even farther.

"People around the village are saying you grant wishes and stuff for people who desperately need your help," Kelim said, now speaking as fast as an auctioneer, "I guess I just came to find out if it was true."

"Grant wishes? What am I, a Leprechaun? I don't grant wishes."

"They say you lived with the Di'Jinn and you got powers like a...like...a..."

"I am a Wizard of the Di'Jinn Order. We are the masters of magic. The most powerful Wizards in the world. None compare to us, not in power or skill.”

Aren’t the Di’Jinn all dead?”

Yes. I killed them. I’m the last one.”

But you can’t grant wishes?”

That we are capable of making the impossible possible is not wish granting, it's us doing our jobs. You want to call it granted wishes, so be it. What is you damned wish?"

"I... uhm... how many wishes do... uhm... we... I... get?"

"How many wishes?"

"Uhm... er..."

"You certainly have trouble talking don't you?"

"Can I have three wishes?"

"What do you think I am? A genie in a bottle?"

"Uhhhh...."

"You can have a many wishes as you can afford. But I'm not cheap. Not many people can afford me."

"I have to pay you?"

"What? Do you think I just hand out magic potions for free?"

"I... uhm... I never thought about it."

"No one ever does. Everyone expects us Wizards to be making spell and crafting magic items. No one ever wants to pay us for the work now do they. And people wonder why my head collection gets added to so often."

"Head collection?"

"You buy my services and then decide you don't want to pay me, I'll take your head instead. You'll never cheat another wizard again, that's for sure."

"Do you cast love spells?"

"I cast all spells.”

Even love spells?”

Anything you want, I can do. I didn't earn the title of being the world’s most powerful wizard for nothing, you know."

"But you specialize in Di'Jinn magic?"

"Yes."

"Isn't that wish granting?"

"No."

"Well, what is Di'Jinn magic then?"

"For your information, I make bottles for putting things in. You got an enemy you don't want around any more, I got a bottle you can put them in. Keep them in your pocket and they'll never bother you again, and you'll always know where they are. Anything you want to keep safe and out of your hair, I can make a bottle for you to put it in. If you have a dragon bothering your village and you are too kind-hearted to kill it and want to relocate, I can make you a dragon bottle..."

Quaraun pulled a small heart shaped bottle from the beaded heart shaped bag that hung from his belt. On the tiny glass heart was the shape of a pocket watch with a brass dragon encasing it. Quaraun held the small heart-shaped glass vial filled with shimmering green goo up into the light.

Is there a dragon in there?”

Yes. PocketLich. I’d show her to you but she is as big as a mountain. I can not release her indoors. There’d be no house left if I did that. Crash right out through it, she would.”

Why do you have a dragon in a bottle?”

"I like dragons," the pink Necromancer continued. "They make good pets and even better weapons. I've had this one for decades. I got her from Fire Mountain. She's a DracoLich now. I turned her into a Lich before putting her in the bottle. She does all my killing for me so I don't have to. Keeps her well fed and I don't have to worry about what to do with the bodies. Dragons, Liches, Demons, Genies...anything you have, you want put in a bottle, I can make you the bottle for holding it. That's what I do, Pixie."

Quaraun put the small glass bottle of shimmering green goo back in his bag.

"Of course it's not limited to bottles. I make boxes and bags as well."

He pulled a small vial that resembled a perfume bottle filled with icy blue liquid, from his pink bag.

"I can even take an entire village, houses, people, trees and all and lock it away in a bottle. Let time forget about them. Like they never existed. Wiped off the face of the earth forever. Until such a time as I decide to let them go free. Just like I did to the Moon Elves."

Quaraun put the small glass bottle of icy blue liquid back in his pink sequined heart shaped bag of holding.

"That is my speciality. But I'm a Mage as well. I study all classes of wizardry, witchcraft, sorcery, and hoodoo. I don't think, there's anything I can't do. At least there's nothing I have tried yet, that I ever failed at."

"You do sorcery?"

"Yes."

"That's forbidden."

"So's Necromancy and I'm a Necromancer."

"You're The Pink Necromancer."

"I am."

"You're not a Guild member are you?"

"No. I'm not."

"Finderu will be furious."

"Leader of The Guild? He's already furious. Price on my head gets higher every day."

"You're wanted by The Guild?"

"I'm The Guild's number one most wanted criminal."

"You sound proud of that."

"I am. While they've hunted and murdered every last Sorcerer and Necromancer on the planet, I continually elude them and now I hunt them."

"The Swamp Hag is one of The Guild's board members."

"Ghirardelli?"

"Yeah."

"She was."

"Then what are you doing here visiting her?"

"Expanding my head collection."

"What?"

"And you say you desperately need my help?" The deathly pale Elf titled his head and raised an eyebrow. "I am somewhat surprised at the thought of a Pixie seeking help from an Elf. Last I knew, Pixies didn't like Elves and wanted us all dead. And Pixies aren't known for needing help from anyone. Their Fairy Glamour tends to serve all their needs."

"Well, yes." Kelim hunched his shoulders and ducked his head down in a stance that said 'Don't hit me.' "I...uhm...I...I don't do magic. It's...it's not...not a skill I have...it's..."

"Talking doesn't seem to be a skill you have either."

"Well, yeah...that's...that's...that's kind a...kind of the problem, why...why I'm here...I..."

The Moon Elf stood back from the door a bit and gestured his jewelled hand for Kelim to step inside. Kelim hesitated a moment, but then decided it was now or never, and stepped into the mossy snow covered hovel.

"I have work to do. I kind of need to do it. I'll do it while you talk. Considering how long it takes you, if I wait for you to finish a sentence, I'll never get anything done. Go sit down over there and see if you can tell me what you want in less than an hour."

The inside was neat and smelled of fresh pine, green herbs, lavender, and cedar wood chips, it didn’t look worn down and neglected like the outside or the rest of the area. He took a closer look at his host, and noticed that even though he had pure white hair, his skin wasn’t wrinkled, almost like he was hanging in between young and old. Kelim the Toadstool Pixie couldn’t decide which he was.

"Where's uh...what's her name...the old swamp hag that lives here?"

"Ghirardelli?"

"Yeah, that's the one. Never can remember how to say her name."

She’s decapitated in the other room.”

Decapitated?”

Hmm? Ah. Did I say the wrong word?”

You ... you ... said ... she’s ... uhm ... she’s...”

"Incapacitated. Yes. That’s what I meant to say. She's temporally incapacitated at the moment."

"Incapacitated?"

"I suppose decapitated is a better word.”

Is it?”

Yes.”

But...”

She can’t speak to you right now.”

No?”

No.”

But...”

You'll have to do with talking to me. How may I help you?"

"Where's the... uh... uhm... the.."

"The what?"

"The uhm... uhn... "

"Do you talk like this with everyone?"

"I... err... uhm..."

Quaraun pulled a gold throne from his bag and flung himself onto it's fuchsia velvet pillows.

"The Goblin was right, you really do have issues talking. You'll never get a woman if you can't get to the end of a sentence."

"The Witch."

"Th what?"

The Witch.”

Yes. What of her?”

You said she was decapitated.”

Yes. I did say that didn’t I? Slip of the tongue. Bad habit. Would you like to join her?”

Join her?”

Yes. There’s always plenty of room for more souls and heads. Heads and souls. One can never have enough or too many of either.”

"Where's the Witch?"

"Ghirardelli?" Quaraun looked around the room as though looking for something, then looked back to Kelim. "Oh, I left her laying around here somewhere."

"Can I talk to her?"

"I thought you wanted to talk to me?"

"You... you're..."

"I'm what?"

"Mean.”

Am I?”

And. Scary."

"I'm scary? Hahaha! Oh. That's hilarious."

Quaraun stopped laughing and became serious again.

"You could try talking to her. Won't do much good. She won't answer you. You'll definitely need a Necromancer to help you communicate with her. I suppose it's a good thing I'm here then."

Quaraun, pulled a small red bottle from his pocket and held it up to the light, peering inside.

"What do you want, Kelim? Spit it out."

"Well, I kind of need a wish granted, sort of..."

"A wish? Are we back on the topic of wishes again?"

"Well, yeah."

"From Ghirardelli? Or me?"

"Well...you...people around town talk, you know and they say...they say...well...you're like...like the most powerful wizard on the planet....and....and I have pr...problems and people told me...I...I...I should...I should come to you while you was here, because you travel and..."

"So, you’ve come to make a wish? Throw a penny in the wishing well? Maybe you should be wishing for the ability to speak." Quaraun chuckled at his joke. "A moment ago you desperately needed my help, now you seek to make a wish. Make up your mind, Boy. Help oe wish. Wish or help, what do you want?"

"Well...uhm...how are they different?"

Quaraun's pale blue eyes widened, then narrowed as he scrutinized the young Pixie. Quaraun slipped out of his throne and paced around the room straighten things and cleaning as he spoke.

"Wishes granted are very different from help given. Granted wishes are rarely helpful. They usually make things worse. Wishes must be carefully worded, because what you ask for is what you will get. The problem is word meanings are very important, but the average person is simply too retarded to understand the meanings of any words they use. Do you use words correctly?"

"I... uhm..."

"Perhaps you should first learn how to talk."

"You’re mean."

"No. You being unable to face the truth, is your problem, not mine. Me telling you the truth is not me being mean. You want a wish and wishes rely on bringing words to life. If you can't even say the words you want to wish for, how do you expect to say the correct words correctly. When it comes to wishes, correct word usage is important. A slip of the tongue, a cough, or a sneeze, and you could find yourself turned into a rabbit..."

"Than I'd have ears like you."

"Hmmmm. No trouble saying that did you? You're someone who gets by, by bulling others. You don't know how to talk to anyone, because you are too busy being a bully."

"I'm not a bully!"

"No? The fence out front of this house had other things to say about that."

"The fence?"

"Wishes are very different from help. I can grant your wishes or I can help you. I can do both or either. You don't see them as being different?"

"Well, no! Should I?"

Quaraun walked slowly around the Pixie, examining his shimmering green and gold butterfly wings.

Quaraun did not like Fae.

Good Fae.

Bad Fae.

Light Fae.

Dark Fae.

Water Fae.

Mountain Fae.

Trooping Fae.

Solitaries.

It didn't matter to him, the size or type, he didn't like them.

Any of them.

At all.

Especially not Phookas.

Except...

No.

He hated Phookas.

Yes.

That was it.

Faeries reminded him of Phookas.

BoomFuzzy was a Phooka.

King Gwallmaiic, King of the Faeries.

This Pixie was a Fairy.

It was reminding him of Faeries.

Which reminded him of Phookas.

Which reminded him of BoomFuzzy.

He pondered the possibility of explaining to a Fae the difference between a wish and being in actual need of help, but concluded that he had yet to meet a Fae capable of logical thought or reasoning, and so trying to be either logical or reasonable with one, was absolutely pointless.

"No. I suppose not. Fae have no logic or common sense in them at all. Ants have more intelligence. Too lazy to help yourselves. Always gotta bum off others. No self sufficiency in them at all. Ants are self sufficient you know. Do all the hard work themselves. You could learn something from ants. Though I do need more souls and willing souls don’t often come knocking at the door willing to throw themselves at me. So you desperately need my help with a wish then?"

"But I just... said... well... yeah...uhm...yes?"

"Alright. What is it then, this wish that you so desperately need my help with?"

"Well, you see, there's this...this...uhm...well... there's a...uhm...a....in the village...she...uhm..."

"A girl?"

Kelim blushed and stared at the wooden floorboards.

Quaraun shook his head.

"It's always a girl. It's beyond me what you see in females. Nothing good about any of them, far as I've ever been able to tell. All they are good for is making babies and I can't see that that's very useful either. Babies just grow up to be adults and there aren’t a lot of good ones out there."

Weren’t you in love?”

"Pixies," Quaraun muttered to himself, as he made his way across the room to a shelf with more small glass bottles on it. "I hate Faeries. Pixies no better than any other Fae..."

"Are you talking to yourself?"

"Oh course I'm talking to myself, I'm insane, remember? And there's no one else with a brain around here for me to talk to, now is there?"

"I'm here."

"That's exactly my point."

"You're mean, aren't you?"

"I'm an Elf."

"You don't have to be mean."

"I'm the Grand High Emperor of The Triple Planets, I can be whatever the Hell, I want."

"You..."

"Have you ever even talked to an Elf before?"

"No. We don't see many Elves around here."

"I've noticed that. Is it any wonder why, with Finderu around here?"

"Finderu?"

"I don't like Finderu, do you?"

"No."

"Good, then we're on the same page. Now what do you want from me?"

"Can you cast a love spell on Ofelia?"

"Cast a ... You want me to cast love spell? You don't know anything about magic do you?"

"Wha...what do you mean?"

"Magic is great and dandy for what it does, but magic has its limits. Things it can't do."

"So you can't cast a love spell?"

"That's not what I said. I'm a Wizard of the Di'jinn Order, I can cast any spell. I'm just not sure if you know what you want."

"I want a love spell."

"Do you even know what a love spell does?"

"It makes someone fall in love with you."

Quaraun shook his head.

"Why must I work with idiots and fools? Fools and idiots. Fucking imbeciles."

"I'm not an idiot..."

"Well then, you must be a fool."

"I'm a Pixie..."

"And I'm an Elf."

"So?"

"So you're the idiot who came to me for help, because you couldn't find anyone else with enough brain to help you."

"I... uhm..."

"You know I'm right."

"Uhmm..."

"Bit of advice, Boy, don't argue with an Elf, especially not one who is also a Di'Jinn. Especially not one as arrogant as me.”

I’m kind of surprised you admit it.”

What that I’m arrogant? I know what I am, Boy, I’m not going to hide it. You're lucky I don't cut off your head and stuff you in a bottle."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I'm a Di'Jinn, it's what I do."

"Putting heads in bottles?"

"No," Quaraun pulled a severed head out of the pink heart-shaped bag of holding hanging from his belt. Fresh blood was still dripping from the ragged flesh of the severed throat. The eyes blinked and looked around. The mouth was gagged and moving as though trying to scream. "I keep the heads in my pocket. I keep the headless bodies in a bottle. Keeps them from getting back up and walking around. They need their heads to be resurrected, but not their bodies. A talking head can't go nowhere without its body. They are stuck here with me for eternity. Each has their own bottle.”

Who... who...” Kelim pointed to the head in Quaraun’s hand.

Who is this? This one is Ghirardelli. The Swamp Hag who lived here. Fucking Guild member. Would rather protect Finderu and lose her head than tell me where he is."

"You're holding a head."

"Of course I am. I'm a Necromancer. Did you forget that?"

"You're... you're..." Kelim stared bug eyed at Ghirardelli's head.

"I'm what?"

"A murderer."

"Yes. Of course I am. What did you expect? Pink ponies and purple unicorns pooping out rainbows? I’m a fucking Necromancer. We kill people for a living, so we can resurrect them as our undead minions. Talking heads are particular favorite of mine. Them and Liches.”

Is that what Necromancers do?”

No, we plant roses and hand out candy canes to children. How stupid are you?”

I don’t understand.”

Clearly. I’m a Necromancer. Being able to commit murder is kind of in the job description. I didn't used to be. Pity. That what love does to you, you know? Did you know I'm the victim of a love spell? And I’m the fucking mage who cast it. I'm very good at love spells. I cast one on myself and my lover, centuries ago, but he died and now I'm insane, and cut off heads. Still think you want a love spell cast on you?"

Quaraun stared at the head, holding it face to face with himself.

"What's love have to do with... with... that." Kelim pointed to the head.

"She hated BoomFuzzy."

"What?"

"She helped Finderu found The Guild."

"I don't understand."

"I don't expect you would. You're neither Elf, nor Wizard."

"Did you kill her?"

"I'll kill you as well, if you refuse to cease squabbling with me."

Quaraun placed the head back in his bag.

"Why did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Kill her."

"Oh, I don't know," the annoyed Elf seethed, sarcastically. "Perchance, maybe, it might possibly, involve something to do with the fact of my being ever just so desperately insane. Or maybe it’s because I’m a Necromancer. And slaughtering people in as much gore filled carnage and bloodshed as we can muster, is we Necromancers do for a living. Or maybe, just maybe, it might be because that fucking little nosey assed, psychotic bitch, couldn't mind her own damned business and she encouraged Finderu to plot to assassinate BoomFuzzy. Or as it may as well be, it’s none of your fucking god damned business. You came hitherto me for assistance with wishes not to interrogate me on my habits."

"You really are insane, aren't you?"

"No. Actually I'm not. And people don't refer to me as insane because I collect heads because most people aren't even aware I do that. They call me insane because of the fashion of my attire. Now do you want your love potion or not?"

Kelim blushed again.

"Shy one, aren't we?"

"I..."

"Always bargain during the harvest season. It's the wrong time of year for love spells."

"What?" Kelim felt confused, as though he's missed something.

Quaraun had pulled a large wooden chest from his hip bag and was now unpacking it. It too seemed to be a bag of holding, as he was unloading lots of other boxes out of it, way more than what should have fit it it. Or perhaps it was a Mimic, as it bit him a few times, while he was unpacking it.

The ancient wizard was muttering to himself as he unpacked smaller boxes out of the bigger boxes. And than he unpacked lots of tiny potion bottles out of the smaller boxes.

"Passion potion. Appreciation draught. Comeuppance cordial. Reckoning potion. Cupid's sachet. Retribution potion. Hot Footing powder. Jack balls. Friendship potion. Reconciliation elixir. Worry potion. Friendship draught. Retaliation cordial. Black salt. Punishment potion. Compassion sachet. Heartbroken potion. Goffer powder. Gris-gris. Fear potion. Harmony elixir..."

"I want a love spell, not those other ones."

"Shut up," Quaraun snapped at the boy. "I'm looking for something. Stop interrupting me."

"Okay."

The Elf went back to talking to himself, reading the lables off bottles and jars and little pepper pots as he unboxed them and laid them out on the floor all around him.

"Anger potion. Gratitude draught. Requital cordial. Arithmetic potion. Cupid's potpourri. Revenge potion. Quarrel powder. Holy Water. Good will potion. Harmony elixir. Misery potion. Intimacy draught. Eye for an eye cordial. Diabolical savor. Torture potion. Sympathy sachet. Empathy potion. Uncrossing powder. Wangas. War Water. YaYa potion. Seven Orisha elixir... ah! Here it is! Love potion."

Quaraun held up a tiny red glass bottle.

"You keep everything pre made in bottles?"

"Of course I do.”

Why?”

A wise person is always prepared for anything.”

But couldn’t you just, I don’t know, make it in the kitchen? Seems a trouble to have to carry it around with you.”

Look around you, Boy. I don’t live here. You know that. I don’t live any where. I’m a homeless wandering vagabond.”

But couldn’t you just use this house?”

This isn't my house you know. I don't know what ingredients she has available. Or where anything it. When I'm at home I can make all my potions ahead of time. Well, all the ones that can be made ahead of time.”

You just said you were homeless.”

Yes. I did. And I am. But I have places I go. People who let me stay with them.”

Oh. But I thought you was going to make me a love potion special just for me.”

Are you willing to wait long enough for me to make one special just for you?”

I can wait. I’m here, aren’t I?”

You really don’t know nothing about potion making do you?”

No. Why?”

How long are you expecting to wait?”

How long does it take?”

About 4 months.”

Four months!”

Maybe more.”

More?”

 “Yes. Depends on which recipe I use and what plants are available in the area. Could be a couple of years if I had to travel to some distant land in search of, I don’t know, some rare black orchid.”

Years? Multiple years to make one potion?”

Oh, yes. You were’n’t expecting me to wave a wand and go POOF! Were you?” Quaraun pulled out his wand as he spoke and waved it around over his head.

Well, yeah, kind of. You are a wizard, after all.”

You been reading too many Fairy Tales, Boy. Real world magic, isn’t like what they tell you in Fantasy novels.”

But magic is real, right?”

Oh, yes. Magic is most certainly real. I just think, real magic, may not be quite so glamourous as you are imagining it to be.”

So, no magic wands?”

No.”

But you are holding one.”

What? This?” Quaraun waved the wand around again. “This is nothing.”

Than why do you have it?”

In case I need to kill someone.”

Kill some one?”

Yes.”

With a little wooden stick?”

Yes.”

How?”

Well, usually, I just wave it around while I talk, and when they least expect it, I ram it up their nose and through their brain. And POOF! Instant death by magic wand. No magic needed.”

You’re kind of violent, aren’t you.”

The world is a violent place, Kelim.”

Of, course, I can also just do this.”

Quaraun spun around, aimed the wand, and a brilliant purple bolt of lightening shot out from the end of the wand and blew up the table on the other side of the room, leaving nothing but a smoldering piles of ashes where moments ago had been a table.

That... that.. how..”

I am the world’s most powerful wizard.”

But... you said...”

That wizards couldn’t do that sort of thing? Yes, I did. And most wizards can’t. White Magic, Green Magic, or any of those other tuttie-fruittie legal forms of magic can’t produce those kinds of results. Dark arts, my boy, are far more powerful, and allow forr the type of magic, I do.”

You’re evil. Aren’t you?”

Evil is a matter of perspective. I do not see myself as evil, Kelim. But Finderu and his Guild, they most certainly think of me as evil. As does most of the high populting snooty citezens of the world.”

So, you...”

Quaraun ignored Kelim and went on talking.

These things don't make themselves instantly you know.” Quaraun held up a potion bottle. ”When it comes to love potions, people want them, now, not a week from now or a month from now, not tomorrow or the next day. They want immediate, now. You want this NOW, right?”

Well, yeah...”

See? I know what my customers want. I know how the consumer thinks. Instant gratification. That’s all any one wants. Love or otherwise, they always want instant resultss. You want instant results, yes?”

Yes.”

They don't like to be told it takes me a week to reduce the flower essence down into oils. Do you want to wait weeks for me to gather 1,000 pink rose petals and boil them down into a reduced goop?”

No.”

No!. Of course not! And who am I to make you wait? They don't want to hear that it'll take me 6 months to travel to where the flower grows and pick it.You wouldn’t want to wait 6 months, would you?”

No.”

You want Ofelia, now, not 6 months from now. Yes?”

Yes.”

Exactly! They don't want to wait weeks for the next blue moon for me to prepare it under. By having the potions pre-made, I can give you instant reults, that no other wizard can provide. They are too busy, sitting in their hovels, waiting for clients to come and give them requests. Me? I just make some of everything and have them already and waiting for you, before you even know you needed it. I know who wants what and make it before they get here.”

Did you know I would be coming?”

 “Yes. I did. I just did not know when. But I knew, at some point, you would find me. So, I have several love potions already made, some that took me many moons to make.”

Moons?”

I am a Moon Elf. We do everything by moon phases.”

Do you?”

Yes. Spells take weeks, months, to prepare. Certain things must be done on certain days. Specific moon phases. It takes months to get all parts made, just for a single potion, because so many moon phases are involved.”

Is it really that important?”

Yes. And a man with a horney dick can't wait even minutes for a potion to convince the girl to let him fuck her. So they certainly won't wait months for me to make their potion. Thus, lots of boxes of lots of bottles of potions that I made months ago. I've a potion for everything.”

Everything?”

Everything. The advantage of being a traveling wizard for hire, and why my services are more in demand. Even though I’m a wanted criminal with a price on my head. No one turns me in, because they need something from me, and they know they can ONLY get it from me.”

But there are other wizards...”

No other wizard offers my services. Isn’t that why you came to ME, and not one of the other wizards?”

Uhm... yeah... kind of... every one says you’re the best.”

I AM the best.”

Did you even consider going to one of the local wizards?”

No.”

Why not?”

Uhm... they’re all friends of Finderu.”

Finderu.”

Yeah. This town is kind of the hot spot for wizards. Every street has one or two. But, I don’t know...”

They’re all Guild members.”

Yeah.”

Keep their noses clean. Never touch any spooky, scary, booga-booga black arts, dark magic.”

Yeah.”

They heal warts and pimples and the common cold, but can’t call down thunder storms or raise the dead or make Ofelia fall in love with you.”

Yeah.”

A bunch of incompetent losers and are nothing but wannabes in wizard’s clothing.”

Yeah... it’s like... like... like they are a club and... and ... they only help wealthy people with aches and pains, and... I don’t know... nothing any of them does ever seems like real magic.”

And that’s wy you came to me.”

Yeah, because, you... you... well... I think other wizards are scared of you.”

They are.”

It’s like, what they do isn’t real, but wat you do is real, and they are so scared of you, that they... they...”

Want to kill me to eliminate the competition?”

Yeah. That too, but.. but... also...”

They want to kill me so know one ever finds out what they do isn’t real magic, because if anyone compared what they do to what I do, they’d know the Guild members were a bunch of phoneys.”

Yeah. That.”

And that my boy is exactly why the Guild wants me dead. They may say it’s for all those other reasons, but really they are just a bunch of losers, incompetent, bumbling wizards who can’t cast a proper spell, can’t brew a decent potion, and they know it. They are jealous of my skill, and want me dead, for no other reason, than I am their biggest competition.”

How come you have more skill? Why can’t they do what you do?”

I am 750 years old, and I was born, what people called ‘A Chosen One’”

A Chosen One?”

Yes. At the time I was born, there was some prophecy about a child with the powers of a god, that was going to be born, and everyone thought it was me.”

Was it you?”

I don’t know. Maybe? Maybe not. That’s the point. The point is, my mother started teaching me magic arts when I was 3 years old, and she took me to visit these priests who supposedly were going to school me in magic.”

Quaraun paused. The thought of his mother, seemed to pain him. He became visibly upset.

Did they?”

Teach me magic? No. It was a trap. An ambush. The priests turned out to be Thullids. ZooLock in fact.”

ZooLock! ZooLock the Great?”

Yes.”

Protector of the innocent? Defeater of Oolong the Stupid?”

Yes. That ZooLock.”

You’ve actually met him?”

Yes.”

Wow!”

A fan of his?”

Isn’t everyone?”

No.”

He’s like, like... I don’t know, he’s like the most famous monk ever.”

Yes. I do believe he is. And he kept me prisoner for thousands of years.”

What? I thought you were 750 years old?”

Quaraun is.”

Aren’t you Quaraun?”

Quaraun died centuries ago.”

I don’t understand. I thought...”

Quaraun’s mother took him to a group of priests, to school him in magic. But it was a trap. An ambush. The priests turned out to be Thullids. ZooLock was on the run. He’d kidnapped The Sacred Pink JellyFish.”

She died didn’t she?”

The Scared Pink JellyFish?”

Yeah.”

No. Quaraun did. The Elf died. But I still live.”

Aren’t you Quaraun?”

No. I’m The Sacred Pink JellyFish. ZooLock ripped opened the Elfling’s skull and put me inside. I ate Quaraun’s brain. He died a horrible death, that I might live. If he was The Chosen One, he died before anyone had a chance to find out for certain. But there was something different about him. That’s why ZooLock chose him fo my host. I was able to grown and reach my full potential with his body. Something I could not have done in another Elf.”

So you are a Thullid?”

Yes. I am a Thullid.”

Your the Thullid Goddess, The Sacred Pink JellyFish?”

Yes.”

And that’s why you can do magic, no one else can do?”

Exactly.”

So, you do Thullid magic, because you are a Thullid?”

Yes.”

So than, Quaraun is Demon Possessed?”

How do you come by that logic?”

Well, aren’t Thullids, Demons? And aren’t you living inside the body of an Elf, controlling his mind and thoughts and body?”

Yes. Thiis is all true.”

Than you are a Demon possessed Elf, right?”

I suppose one could see it that way.”

Okay.”

And that does not bother you?”

No. This is great in fact!”

Is it?”

Yes!”

How so?”

Because that means your magic is real magic. It’s Demon Magic! That means you really can make Ofelia love me!”

Do you think you can afford me?”

I have money.”

What use has a Demon for money?”

What do people usually pay you with if not money?”

Their souls.”

You want my soul?”

What I WANT is Finderu’s soul.”

Finderu?”

And his head.”

But... uhm... does that mean you want me to kill Finderu?”

Ideally, yes.”

But Finderu is Ofelia’s father. If I kill her dad, then she’ll never love me.”

Ah! But with the proper love spell, that won’t matter.”

Won’t it?” the little, green and gold winged Pixie asked.

No. If I cut your soul in half and cut her soul in half, and put a half of your soul in her and a half of her soul in you, the two of you will be bound together, forever, for time and all eternity. She’ll cherish you from beyond the grave.”

 

Quaraun’s voice faded into sad, distant thoughts. He was soul bound, but his lover was dead. And yet he could still feel every thought, every emotion, every scream of agony from beyond the grave.

Does it hurt?” Kelim asked, unable to mask the fear in his voice. The thought of death terrified him to no end. He didn’t like thinking about death.

Hmmm?” Quaraun’s mind had drifted off into a hazy, foggy, fizzy, figgy, daze as he thought gloomy, dreary thoughts of his dead lover. “Does what hurt?”

Cutting your soul in half?”

Oh, no. That part is quite painless. Love, however, is never painless. The pain comes later. Death, brings with it, such lose, such loneliness. You feel everything they feel. You know all their thoughts. All their emotions. You are sad when they are sad. You feel the joy when they laugh. Their mirth bubbles inside you. When they are cut, you bleed with them. And when they die, you feel every last throws of death, as they feel it. Their joys become your joys. Their sufferings, your sufferings. Their death, your eternal doom.”

I don’t want eternal doom. I want love.”

Doom and gloom. Gloom and doom. You can not have true love without true suffering. They travel hand in hand. Skipping across your soul in fettered glee. Tormenting your mind. Haunting your spirit. Delighting in the joys of squashing your soul into the dirt. Love hurts. But your soul screams for it. Longs for it. Begs for it. No matter the cost. Love will trample your heart. Beat it into the ground. And you will want it ever still, ever more. The more love hurts you, the more you crave it.”

Uhm… I want Ofelia to love me, not trample me into the ground.”

Females trample the men they love into the ground. Without a love spell, she will use you and lose you. With a love spell, she’ll just use you. It is the nature of women and is precisely why I do not like women. Females are horrible creatures. I absolutely despise them.”

The blue eyed Elf wrinkled his nose in disgust as he thought of women.

Ofelia isn’t like that.”

No? And how exactly would you know? You’ve never even met her. You know nothing about her. You are mesmerized by her beauty. You know nothing of her personality. You lust after her. You do not love her. If you loved her, you would take her with all her flaws. And you would enjoy it when she trampled you.”

Uhm…. uh… okay… but… uhm…”

Back to the uhms again.”

You became rather morbid there. I want love, not, that, whatever that is that you are describing.”

Boy, you know nothing of love.”

Quaraun shook the thought from his mind, and his voice became overly cheerful and chipper.

Together. Forever. True, genuine, authentic love can never die. Love that stays, ever and always. Unbreakable. Unshakable. The beauty of such a romance! To never be parted! Not even by death. The sensations of such a love. You can not even begin to imagine. The pair of thee shall be told of in legends.”

I...uhm.. that.. not... I... don’t want... I just...”

Soul binding too much for you?”

I just want her to fall in love with me.”

You do not want a romance that lasts forever?”

I... I...uhm... I don’t... I... uhm...”

Back to the uhms again. All right. We shall take note of that. Soul binding is too big and scary of a love spell for you. You want transitory love, not everlasting love. What else have we got?”

You have more than one?”

Yes, I do. What we need to do it to determine which love spell you prefer. I can have the potion you want in minutes. You don’t have to wait months if you get your potions from me. But, we need to figure out what exactly it is you want it to do.”

I want a love spell.”

Yes. You’ve said that. But which type do you want?”

I... uhm... do other wizards have different types of love spells?”

 “No. They do not. That is why their conjurations so often fail, and mine do not. Every customer has different urgencies. There is no one size fits all love spell. I’m a better wizard than other wizards because I know what the consumer wants. I let the customer think they are invariably correct, even when they aren’t. You want a love potion. You can’t be talked out of a love potion. I have love potions pre-prepared precisely for folks like you. So, you shall have a love potion. Now to work out WHICH love potion is appropriate for you and your case.”

Which love potion?”

Yes. Which?”

Are there many?”

Yes. I have many. All do something different.”

Is it many, as if a few or lots?”

Oh, my, yes! Thousands. I don’t have so many pre-made. Many can’t be pre-made and must be made specific to the couple in question. But we can start you out with a pre-made one. And if that doesn’t manage the action you expect it to, we can think about a custom prepared one for you.”

"Why so many different?"

"There are different types of love."

"There are?"

"You don't love your mother the same way you love your wife, now do you?" Quaraun eyed the Pixie suspiciously. "Of course, you're a Faerie, so perhaps you do."

"I want Ofelia to love me. Whatever type of love that is."

"Tis planting season, not harvest season and you are bargaining for a great cause..."

"A great cause?" Kelim didn't understand.

The Moon Elf seemed to be speaking only half of what he was thinking.

Either that or he truly was insane and not capable of thinking too clearly.

Kelim didn't think he had ever met an insane person before. So he wasn't sure what to expect from this man, rumoured to be insane.

"Love is a great cause. Perhaps the only cause truly worth fighting for." Quaraun stopped what he was doing and turned to the Pixie. "Would YOU fight for love?"

"Uhm...I... uhm...”

"Uhm is not an answer. You hesitate at too many things, Boy."

The Elf snapped his perfectly manicured fingers in Kelim’s face.

It’s a simple answer, Boy, yes or no. There’s nothing to think about, no ahhs, errs, or uhmms, it should be just automatic: yes or no.”

I’m just a boy, you know!” Kelim pouted. “I don’t know all the right answers yet. I’m not some ancient wise old Wizard who’s spent a lifetime studying brick a brack tomes.”

Ancient and old? Old and ancient. You think I’m old?”

The Necromancer stopped what he was doing, stepped back, and stared dumbfounded at the Pixie.

Old and ancient. Ancient and old.”

His voice sounded wounded, and Kelim instantly regretted his sudden outburst.

Quaraun silently mouthed the words ancient and old several times.

Do I look old to you?” Quaraun asked the Pixie, but then did not wait for an answer.

Quaraun's voice had changed. Calm and composed before, he could not mask the nervous, worried, panicked, anxiety that shivered through him, causing his body to tremble.

Much to Kelim’s surprise, Quaraun pulled a full-length mirror out of his impossibly tiny bag. Then stood in front of it muttering to himself about being old, while he stared horrified, stressed, and confused at his own reflection.

I didn’t mean...” Kelim tried to explain he wasn't calling the Elf old, but Quaraun wasn’t listening to Kelim. The abnormally vain Elf had pulled a silver brush from the bag and was now nervously brushing his luxuriant white Rapunzel hair.

No.

Brushing his hair was not quite an accurate statement. Quaraun was ripped the bristles through his locks with a frantic abandon. The thought that he might have started to age, had triggered the Elf into a self-absorbed frenzy of fussing over what he looked like, while franticly brushing his hair.

The elderly wizard continued to mutter about being old and trailed off into speaking a language Kelim did not understand.

I didn’t say you looked old. Hey!”

Kelim tried to get Quaraun’s attention. But it was a fruitless endeavour.

The Elf had now taken to searching for wrinkles on his face.

 

Kelim couldn't tell what the Elf was saying, but whatever it was, Quaraun sounded terrified.

The little green and gold-winged Fairy might as well been talking to a brick wall. The vain, self absorbed Elf was not hearing a word Kelim was trying to say.

Kelim immediately understood that this Elf was very self-conscious about his looks. Kelim regretted what he had said. Though Kelim did not regret it out of any concern for the Elf. Rather, Kelim regretted it because it seemed apparent that once worried about his looks, the Elf had forgotten Kelim’s presence. Quaraun was too busy primping in the mirror. The Pink Necromancer was no longer concerned with helping Kelim to get Ofelia.

Kelim stamped his foot in frustration.

Kelim had not intended to hurt the Elf’s feelings. And clearly this was highly narcissistic, egotistical Elf. A sad, lonely, depressed Elf, suffering from some serious vanity and pride issues. It occurred to Kelim that calling the Elf old could ruin his chances of getting any help from the Elf.

I... I’m...I’m sorry, that didn’t come out right. I wasn’t thinking, I...”

You seem to do a lot of that.”

Quaraun turned back to a shelf full of strange looking curio objects. Jars of bird's feet and lizards tongue and such other things.

"Lack of thinking is a serious flaw on your part. Of course you're a Faerie, so what else is there to expect? It's why you're here is it not? Hasty thinking, don't know what else to do, ain't got enough sense to jerk yourself off, cum on your feet. Oh noooo. Got a little cunt ya want to be fucking. Can't find a way to fuck her, so let's run to the local Wizard whom we think is more powerful than the Wizard whose daughter I want to fuck."

"I didn't say I wanted to..."

Quaraun turned and stared at the young Pixie. He didn't need to say a word, Kelim could see from the look on his face, that Quaraun was accusing him of lying. Kelim hung his head and looked at the large wooden table.

The Moon Elf strode across the room and flung himself into a large throne like chair. He sat there staring at the Pixie waiting for him to say something. Seeing that Kelim wasn't going to speak, the Necromancer wet back to talking.

"Of course that says something about Finderu, doesn't it? Big bad powerful Wizard, and he can't handle his own daughter. That's what comes of fucking girls. You end up with a pregnant bitch and babies to raise.”

What’s wrong with having a family?”

Families die and leave you alone.”

Did you have a...”

My family is dead.”

I’m sorry.”

Wizards should never have families. You lose your focus. Finderu was never a contender for World's Most Powerful wizard now was he? And he can't stand it. So what does he do? Do you know what he did?”

No.”

Organized a group of bloodthirsty militant Wizards to band together and kill off every last Wizard who is not a member of their group. Then they take over the government. Crown themselves law of the land and forbid all types of magic they are too incompetent to practice themselves. Kill off anyone who can practice the advanced arts.”

You talking about The Guild?”

Yes. That's what The Guild is, Kelim. That's the kind of Wizard Finderu is. And me, being the most powerful Wizard of them all, he's got more prizes on my head than any other Wizard.”

Aren’t you wanted for murder?”

That, and bathing too often, among other things.”

Bathing too often?”

Have you seen the wanted posters lately? I doubt he even as half the money he says my head is worth. And you come along, want to stick your prick in his bitch’s cunt, and who do you go to for help? The person Finderu hates most of all. Me."

Quaraun held up a wanted poster with his face on it.

"You know these pictures don't do me justice. I should do a sit down with their artist. Pose for my wanted poster. Now I ask you, does this even look anything like me?"

Kelim looked at the wanted poster.



WANTED:

QUARAUN THE INSANE:

Wanted for Necromancy, Demonology, Sorcery, Black Magic, murder, rape, buggery, sodomy, cross-dressing, bathing more than twice a year...



There were more things on the list, but Quaraun rolled up the poster and stuffed it back in his bag, before Kelim had time to read the rest.

"I am the most beautiful Elf the world has ever seen. Look at me! That artist, clearly never saw me. How does Finderu ever expect to capture me if he can't even find an artist that can capture my beauty?"

"You're very vain, aren't you?"

You would be too, if you were as beautiful as me."

"Ofelia is as beautiful as you."

"No one is as beautiful as me."

Kelim slowly lifted his eyes to meet those of the Necromancer. Quaraun was sitting very stiff, leaning forward with his thin elbows on the arms of the chair and his long bony fingers crossed in front of him. Kelim thought the Elf looked very smug and regal, almost kingly, well queenly, the guy was wearing a pink dress after all. Kind of hard to take a fearsome Elf like Quaraun totally seriously when he was sitting there sparkling from head to toe in pink sequins. But still, his cold eyes were formidable and warned that this was not an Elf to be reckoned with.

"I love her. To me that makes her more beautiful than anyone."

"Well, you know what they say. Love is blind."

"Are you going to make a love spell for me or not?"

"You do understand, Boy, that these things always come with a cost. Don't you?"

"How much do you want?"

"I'm a Necromancer. Only thing I ever want is souls. Souls and heads. Heads and souls. They are very valuable. And hard to come by. You pay with your soul or you pay with your head. Either or both, I don't care which."

"You're mad."

The Moon Elf laughed wickedly, "I'm supposedly insane, what did you expect?"

"How much does a love spell cost?"

"I already told you."

"No, you didn't. I need to know how much to pay you."

"I’m not talking about money, Boy. I have plenty of money. Here!" Quaraun reached into his bag and pulled out a handful of gold coins and tossed them across the room in Kelim's direction. "Take some coins. Buy yourself a mansion. Let Ofelia marry you for money."

Kelim stared at the gold coins, now scattered across the floor.

Are you serious?”

Yes. I’m an Elf. I never joke. Take the gold. I don’t need it.”

"I can't take your gold."

"Why not? I don't need it and I've plenty more where that came from."

"Where'd you get it?"

"I killed a black, mountain dragon. I have a dragon's hoard. I own a volcano filled to overflowing with jewels and gold."

Quaraun slid off the huge pink cushioned gold throne and glided back to where Kelim stood. Kelim leaned over cock-eyed trying to see if the Elf's feet were touching the ground or not. He seemed to be floating several inches off the ground, but Kelim couldn't tell as the pink silks were fluttering on the ground and the Elf's feet could not be seen.

"Take the gold, Kelim. Buy the whore. Better than a love spell."

No it’s not.”

Yes, Kelim, it is. In your case. All you want is a bitch to fuck. So go get yourself a bitch willing to be fucked.”

That’s not what I want.”

Really? Could have fooled me.”

I want Ofelia to love me.”

 “But you don’t want the bad that comes with the good. All you want is a pretty flower willing to jump in your bed. You have no desire for love. You cringe at the thought of all of love’s side effects. And there ARE side effects to love. Love comes with more bad than good. If you only want the good, than love is not what you want. You know nothing about love.”

I know what I want!”

Do you?”

Yes.”

No! You don’t. You are young and foolish. You have no idea what love is. You only know the fairy tale fantasy. You know nothing of real love.”

Do you?”

YES. I. DO.” Quaraun snarled in raged fury as he said this last line.

Kelim stepped back. The Elf looked terrifying just now. Kelim didn’t doubt that Quaraun had been truly in love. But the love that Quaraun spoke of... it was terrifying. Painful. Suffering. That wasn’t what Kelim thought of when he thought of love.

I.. I.. I want her to love me.”

And you think a love spell will do that?”

Quaraun rolled the tiny red glass bottle over and over in his hand as he spoke. The fiery glare in his crystal blue eyes sent shivers down Kelim’s spine. All Kelim wanted to do was buy a love spell and be gone. Why was this old Elf making it so difficult for him? Kelim wanted to fold up like a piece of paper and slip under the door. To run and hide. This pale Moon Elf was scaring him.

I love her...”

Do you?”

Yes!”

Do you even know what love is?”

Of course I do!”

I think not. Kelim. I think you have a lot of growing up to do. I think, you are too immature to understand true love. I think, the consequences of love, actual love, are too great for your mind to handle. You act like love is something you can buy from any merchant. Disposable. Replaceable. Get a filly. Try her out. The toss her aside for a new model when you get bored. Love is a deep and important thing. It lasts forever. I loved once. I still love. But my lover is dead. But love, true love, is forever. It never dies. Souls can reach across time and space and touch each other, long after death. He is long dead, but I can still feel his soul. Forever’s a long time, Boy. If you truly love her, you’ll still love her, when she’s dead and gone. And you won’t replace her with another, because love doesn’t do that. True love lasts. Only lust replaces a lover, because lust isn’t love. Love is loyal. Love is devoted. Love is faithful. Love is forever. Do you love her or do you lust after her?”

I love her.”

And yet you don’t know her.”

I...”

You never meet her, even.”

I...”

Does she have any pets?”

I... uhm… I… don’t… uhm…”

What type of food does she eat?”

I...”

How old is she?”

I..."

What is her favorite colour?”

I... I love her.”

Love is not a colour, Kelim.”

Do you know anything about her at all?”

She works in the bakery to spite her father because he doesn’t want her associating with common peasants. He says he’ll turn all us peasants into pheasants if he catches any of us with her.”

Hmmm. There’s an added detail, you neglected to mention before. And, how do you plan to prevent yourself from being turned into a fine feathered friend, after my love spell makes her love you?”

I… uhm… wouldn’t the spell fix that?”

Quaraun shook his head.

Oh. Uhm… well… could you do a spell to fix that, too?”

Kelim, I can’t fix all of your problems with magic.”

Why not?”

 “Because, I’m not your slave. I’m not going to let you pull me around by a nose ring, and force me to do everything for you. I’m not an ox.”

But you do have a ring in your nose.”

Yes I do. And that joke isn’t funny, Kelim. You keep up saying things like THAT to me and you’ll have more worries about my turning you into a frog, long before Finderu gets a chance to go pheasant on you.”

I’m sorry.”

You should be. I don’t bullies, Kelim. I kill bullies. You start bullying me and I’ll not only not help you, but I’ll cut off your head as well.”

Uhm… okay.”

Grow some balls, Kelim. Your inability to stand up for yourself is the real problem here. Fix that and you won’t have to live in fear of Finderu or be too scared to talk to women. And it’ll fix your ah, ah, uhm, uhhh, problem as well. You need some self confidence. You have no feelings of self worth for yourself. That’s the spell you should be asking me to make for you.”

But I need Ofelia to love me.”

Need?”

Yes. She needs to need me the way I need her.”

Need? Are you sure?”

Yes.”

That’s different than love.”

I need her and she needs me, she just doesn’t know it yet.”

How can you love someone you never meet? Never talked to. Don’t even know. That is not love. That is lust. You lust for a pretty thing. You want to stick your cock in her. And once you’ve done that, your burning passion for her will die and you’ll find another. Love doesn’t do that.”

I love her.”

Are you sure? Do you wish for love or do you just wish to be fucked? If you want to fuck someone, go fuck a whore. There are plenty of them in this godforsaken town. They’ll take your money and show you a good time. Get your itch off your chest and out of your pants. You will think more clearly when your saluting cock ain’t leading the way.”

I’m not... I don’t...”

"Not what? Not low enough to fuck a whore? Don't need to fuck a whore? What are you? A eunuch? I know you're not a eunuch. You know how I know you're not a eunuch? Because I am a eunuch. I have mastered the art of ignoring any need or desire for any man or woman of any kind. That's why I'm a powerful wizard. My mind isn't clogged up with petty, useless desires for sex. The only thing that leads a man to a woman, is his dick. Not his head and certainly not his heart.”

My... my... I... ain't...”

Your dick ain't leading the way? Ha!”

No, I...”

You love her? Really? I think not. It takes years to cultivate love. Love isn’t instant. That is lust. You can’t tell the difference between love and lust.”

I do lo...”

You love someone you have never met? Live with that person for 30 years, than tell me you still love them.”

Thirty years is...”

Too long? Can’t wait. Gonna burst your blue balls before than? Love waits. And if you can’t wait, you ain’t in love. You just want to shoot your cum on the bitch. And when you’ve done that, suddenly you’ll find you got no more need for her. No more love for her. Because you fucking don’t know what love is.”

You don’t know anything about...”

Don’t I? I haven’t lived seven hundred and fifty years for nothing. I know the ways of the world a lot better then you do, Boy!”

"I love her..."

"Do you?"

"Yes!"

Prove it!”

How do I...”

Are you willing to die?”

What?”

Would you die for her?”

I... “Kelim hesitated. “Uhm...”

Quaraun snapped his fingers in Kelim’s face.

Quickly, Boy! In life or death situations, you don’t have time to think. If you hesitate, you love will be dead. You’ll be left alive, covered in her blood. Because you hesitated. You waited. Love acts. It doesn’t hesitate.”

Kelim was distracted by the strong smell of Absinthe on Quaraun's breath.

The anise and licorice minty scent was overpowering. Kelim knew fragrance of Green Fairy Wine. It was outlawed. But Winsnot drank it.

A powerful drug.

That's what Fairy Wine was. Wormwood, hashish seeds, and poppy milk, steeped in mint, beet juice, and grape wine, until it fermented into a sickly toxic emerald green color. It tasted like licorice.

Kelim looked around the room. A bottle of Fairy Wine sat on the table. Two more bottles lay on the floor. There were more empty bottles on a shelf.

Are you going to help me?”

Why should I?”

Because!”

Arrogant little fool aren’t you?”

I’m arrogant!”

Yes, you are.”

Why, you, you... you...”

What’s in it for me?”

What?”

If I’m going to help you, which I might, I won’t do it for free. What’s in it for me?”

I said I could pay.””

In what? Bread? I can’t live on bread alone.”

No, I got mo...”

Money?”

Quaraun pulled a handful of gold coins out of his hip bag and threw them at Kelim, sending a shower of gold coins raining down around the Pixie.

Take them. I have plenty. Money is meaningless to me. I have more than I’ll ever need. I’m the Grand High Emperor of the Triple Planets. I am the wealthiest king in the known universe. I don’t need your money.”

What do you want?”

Your soul or head. Both or either.”

I...”

"Do you even know what love is?"

"Of course I do!"

Do you have any idea how many horny men come to me, thinking they want love, begging for love, pleading for love, when all they really wanted was to shove their dick up her skirts? Once they are done fucking her, they'll dump her and leave her, ain't got no more use for her once they've emptied their aching balls into her. That's all they really wanted. They didn't care about love or commitment or forever. They couldn't tell the difference between love and lust. Why don't you cut off your balls and see if you still want her then. A love spell lasts forever, Boy. Be sure you ain't just lusting after the pretty little bitch, because you'll live to regret it if you didn't really love her and you went and cast a love spell to bind your soul to her."

"I...that's...uhm...soul...uhm...what?"

"Too much for you to wrap your mind around, Boy? You know what? I don't think you know what you want. I think you should go home, stuff your hand down your pants, relieve the tension you're feeling and see if that helps you to think more clearly tomorrow. See if you still love her, once you discover you don't need her to make your little baby factory work, you can do that all on your own, seeing how you are too good for the likes of a lowly whore."

Do you go to whore..."

Quaraun glared at Kelim and the Pixie shut his mouth.

"Do you know what a eunuch is?”

Uhmmm.”

Or do you want me to show you?”

You don’t have a...”

No. I don’t. My dick doesn’t lead the way or control my life. So I can’t have sex. I don't have sex anyone. I repress all desires."

After a moment of silence Kelim said: "I told you I'd pay."

You think I want money?”

Don't you?”

I killed a dragon.”

So?”

Dragon's have hoards of gold.”

So?”

So, I'm very likely the wealthiest person in the galaxy, not just on this stupid little planet. I can buy anything or any one I want. Except for BoomFuzzy. He's dead. You can't buy back life. I know. I tried. I sold my soul for love and then he died and now I'm alone. What price are you willing to pay for love, Boy?”

Kelim reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold coin.

 “But I told you I can pay you.”

"You still don't get it do you? I’m not talking about money. You want to buy a love spell? Yes? Love spells are not like other magic. Most magic you use on yourself. When people come in here looking for love spells they want me to wave a magic wand over the head of their chosen one and POOF make the bitch fall madly in love with him."

"Ofelia's not a bitch!" Kelim was getting impatient and becoming offended by the Necromancer's vulgar tongue.

"Ah! We hit a nerve. You'll defend the little whore then?"

"She's not a whore!" Kelim stamped his foot, quite forgetting he was supposed to be cowering in fear at what was supposedly the most powerful wizard of all time, but the Elf both looked and talked like a prostitute and it was hard for Kelim to accept that Quaraun was anything other than insane.

Really? Not a whore?”

No! She's not. You are!”

I'm a whore? And on what do you base that? My clothes? Don't judge a man by his clothes. Don't judge a book by it's cover. The most fearsome looking wizard, is always going to be the least dangerous. Nothing is as it appears, Boy. Did you pass an old woman on the way here. The one that sits under the street lamp, feeding the pigeons? Old and grey and wrinkled, with one foot in the grave. She's a whore. Did you know that? Best whore in this town. Men pay her three times what they pay the pretty, young slutty things. And you know why? She has experience. She knows how to service a man beyond his wildest dreams. Don't judge a book by it's cover, Boy. I'm no whore. Pink is my favourite colour. I like glitter. Silk feels marvellous against my skin. And I've got big testicles, pants are uncomfortable. Chafe and bruise. I prefer to let my balls swing free between my legs. I'm not a whore. I just dress in a way that is comfortable for me and pleasing to my eyes.”

You're insane.”

Yes I am.” Quaraun took out the wanted poster and looked at it. “Yes, apparently that's what people call me now. Quaraun the Insane. Oh dear.”

Can we stop talking about your problems and get back to my problems?”

You mean your whore?”

She's not a whore!”

"Really, now? And you know this, how? Because YOU haven't fucked her? She could be fucking the whole damned town and you wouldn't know would you?"

"How dare you!" Kelim yelled. "You take that back!"

"Hmmm."

The Elf mumbled something in a squishy, slithery language, Kelim had never heard before, as he turned away and went back to the shelves at the far side of the room.

"You have a temper to you, Boy. Scared shitless of everything around you, oh, I know that feeling, scared of everything, fainting over everything. It is so hard to stay upright and awake some days..."

"Maybe you should lay off the Absinthe."

"Yes... I do drink a bit too much of it don't I?" Quaraun stared longingly at the empties bottles scattered about. "You know, none I can find is as good as the Fairy Wine BoomFuzzy made. His was different. Had more kick. I was able to get much higher with the stuff he made. The cheap stuff they sell in taverns these days, is watered down gunk. ... but, as you said. Enough about my problems. We have you problems to consider... it puzzles me, you're willing to defend a woman, whom you freely admit you do not know and cannot speak to. Fascinating. Love not lust. Ha, ha! Ready to piss your pants at the sight of an Elf in a dress, but you can be goaded. Takes love on some level to get a reaction like that, even from a coward like you."

"I love her."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Tell me how you meet her."

"What? Why?"

"If you want a spell, I need to know who I'm making it for. Every spell is different, because every client is different. I could make one potion, divide it into two bottles, give one to you and one to a Wood Elf and even though the spell was identical, you'll both get different results. How you think, what you say, where you go, what you wear, what you eat, it all effects the spell. Now tell me, how you meet her?"

"Well, it was about three months ago, in the dead of winter..."

Kelim proceeded to tell the story:

~o0o~

Kelim stepped out of the bakery into the snow covered street and looked up at the sky, breathing in the crisp, clean evening air, admiring the twinkling stars, and revealed by this rare cloudless night. There had been snow every night for the past week. It wasn’t often that the clouds disappeared in these parts. Some days it felt like it would snow forever, but tonight the village was a quiet, blissful, winter wonderland. Kelim walked home through the cobblestone streets, relishing the crunching sound of his boots in the crusty snow. The moon shone down from above, a beautiful golden halo brimming it's rim and guiding his way. The Pixie's breath billowing in white snow-like clouds around his face. It was a blistering cold night, and he had to bundle warmly and walk briskly to keep from freezing. He enjoyed the outdoors more than the stuffy indoors, no matter how cold it was.

Kelim was enjoying the night air, when suddenly a blood curdling scream pierced the silence, sending chills down his spine. Kelim froze in his tracks. After a moment, another scream shattered the night. His natural instinct as a man kicked in, and Kelim ran bravely in the direction of the women's frantic voice, his fear completely forgotten.

As Kelim ran he could hear her cries for help growing louder, and as Kelim turned a corner he saw a desperate struggle taking place. He ran closer, shouting, and for a moment the scuffle stopped, revealing a man clutching a woman tightly by her throat. In his other hand he held an object that he stuffed into his pocket too quickly for Kelim to see what it was. The woman’s eyes were wide with terror, but her air was cut off now and she couldn’t make a sound any more.

Kelim ran towards the man and bravely shouldered him out of the way, punching him in the face so hard that the villain was forced to release his grip on the poor helpless woman. The man turned and ran, disappearing into the dark.

Kelim knelt down next to the woman who was now sprawling in the snow. She was the most beautiful thing Kelim had ever seen. Golden yellow hair framed a creamy face and bright blue eyes fluttered from under thick purple lashes. He had to see her again. Kelim found he couldn’t get Ofelia off his mind. He’d been thinking about her since that night.

To Kelim's great surprise a few days later she came to work at the same bakery where he worked, however, she acted as though she did not recognize him and he had not been able to get up the courage to tell her who he was...


~o0o~


"Your natural instinct as a man?" Was all the Necromancer said after Kelim finished retelling the night he and Ofelia met. The Elf thought about it for a few minutes and then said: "Either you've exaggerated the story or you have better social skill around people other then me. Considering you can't even talk to the girl, I'm guessing you exaggerated the story. Which does make it difficult for me to gauge the sort of spell I need to make for you. I'm not a mind reader, I can't guess what you need. You have to be exact and accurate. Oh dear."

 

Quaraun shook his head and meandered aimlessly around the cabin. The story had unnerved him. He knew Kelim was lying about what had happened.

Well?”

Well?”

Are you gonna make me the spell or not?”

What are you prepared to offer in exchange for her affection, Boy?”

I have money...”

I don’t want money. I don’t require money. I don’t crave money. I don’t need money. I’m a wizard, with a dragon in my pocket. Boy, any time I need something, I can make it appear out of thin air. Or make the money I need to buy it with, appear out of thin air. Money is useless to me, besides I’ve already told you I own a dragon. I have a dragon’s hoard of gold to go with it. Money has no real value. I’m seven hundred and fifty years old. I’ve seen nations rise and nations fall. Countries that were born in my youth don’t even exist today. Already plundered and destroyed. They mint new coins. Currency in one nation is no good in another nation. Gold coins here. Bronze coins their. Silver coins in that country. Cowrie shells in one country. Wampum is currency just a few miles from here. Head north a short ways and whale tusks are what they use. I’m a traveling merchant. A peddler of cloth. A wizard for hire. I travel the world. I have coins and notes and currency from every corner of the globe. And none of anything that has any value in one region has the same value in another region. Money is pointless. Money is useless. Paying me with money is like paying me with nothing.”

Quaraun placed everything he had taken off the shelf, back on the shelf. He plopped himself back down on the throne.

It was clear that Quaraun was suddenly angry. Kelim did not know why the Elf was angry. Kelim was unaware that Quaraun was the ‘girl’ whom had been attacked. Thus, Quaraun knew for a fact that Kelim was lying about meeting and rescuing Ofelia.

What, besides money, do you have to pay me with?”

I...uhm...”

You do like your uhms don’t you?”

Ahhhh...”

Ah is not that much different from uhm.”

What...how...how do people normally pay you?”

I’m a Necromancer.”

I know that.”

And?”

And?” Kelim felt confused again, like he had missed part of the conversation.

Quaraun sighed and shook his head.

Do you even know what a Necromancer is?”

Well, you’re a wizard.”

Yes. And?”

And what?”

And, what does a Necromancer do?”

Well, you do, like, magic and stuff.”

Magic and stuff, oh dear; yes.”

Quaraun rested his chin on his hand, half covering his lips with his long jewel clawed gold plated, armored finger. An index finger resting on the tip of his pointy nose. He stared off into the distance, past Kelim and out the window behind him.

Are you telling me that you came to a Necromancer for help, without even knowing what a Necromancer is?”

You’re a wizard.”

A Necromancer is a specific type of wizard. We do specific types of things. We use specific ingredients which other mages don’t use. We cast specific types of spells other mages don’t touch. We require specific payment methods not required by other mages.”

So?”

Kelim. I’m a peddler of death and souls. I kill people. I resurrect the dead. I make Zombies and Vampires and Liches. People pay me with their souls.”

So you work for free?”

No. Kelim. I do not work for free. I work in exchange for souls and heads and corpses. I’m a Necromancer. I need these things for my work. They are hard to come by. I get them from my clients.”

It always bothered Quaraun whenever he came across a potential victim, er, client, who wasn't familiar with necromancy. Evil though his practice may be, Quaraun himself wasn't evil enough to take advantage of an innocent young boy who had no clue what he was getting himself into.

Quaraun sighed again, "Tell me, Boy, what do you know about me?"

"Well, you're a Moon Elf and...and...you...and...you dress funny."

"I dress funny?"

"Well, yeah...look at you."

"Please don't state the obvious. What did you know about me before you came here and saw what I looked like?"

"Findaru says you killed Gibedon."

At the mention of Finderu's name, the Necromancer turned his cold eyes towards Kelim, but otherwise didn't move.

"He says your family died, murdered, and you went insane and took up necromancy to avenge their killer. He says you are a really dangerous person and to keep away from you, that you’d stab your best friend in the back for a price. Everyone in the village is terrified of you. They're even more scared of you than they are Findaru. They are more scared of you then they were of Gibedon. They say you killed Gibedon."

"You said that already."

"Did you?

"Kill Gibedon? Yes. I did. I still have his head if you'd like to see it."

His...head?”

I keep the heads of all my victims.”

"Are you...evil?"

"Evil is a matter of perspective now isn't it?"

"Is it?"

"No one sees himself as evil. Think about it. Most of the world thought Gibedon was evil. Villagers hired many brave warriors to fight Gibedon and they all failed, didn't they? Gibedon killed every one of them. And therefor Gibedon was evil. But, how do you think Gibedon felt? He didn't go out looking for trouble, now did he? The warriors came to his house and attacked him. He only killed them in self defence. To Gibedon it was the warriors who were the evil ones."

"Why did you kill Gibedon if he wasn't evil?"

"Oh I never said he wasn't evil. Gibedon was a Necromancer, he did many terrible things."

"But why did YOU kill him?"

"He was a Necromancer, it is what I do."

"But you are a Necromancer too."

"He was competition, a former lover of BoomFuzzy's. This was once Gibedon's house, did you know that?"

Kelim shook his head.

"I was his apprentice. Did you know that in order to become a Necromancer, requires killing a Necromancer first? I absorbed his power, now I am doubly powerful. But you still have not answered my question."

"Which question was that?"

"Do you know what a Necromancer is?"

"It's an evil wizard who does black magic and works with demons and stuff in order to be more powerful that a regular normal mage type of wizard."

"Hmmmm... no... demons have nothing to do with necrom...” Quaraun stopped and stared at the Pixie. Pixies were stupid and trying to explain anything to them was pointless. “Close enough. I suppose a more appropriate question would be, how do you think someone would go about paying a Necromancer?"

"Uhm...kind of like, I don't know, you keep mentioning souls, so I suppose a selling your soul type of deal, maybe."

"Ah! So you do know something! Not totally and completely stupid. Marvellous!"

Quaraun suddenly sounded quite pleased. He leapt up from the throne and swooped back over to the shelves of odds and ends and once again began taking things down.

"You want something from me, I need something of value from you. Your soul will do nicely. But you must remember you are losing a piece of yourself. Forever. Sell your soul to the great beyond. Never to have it back. Are you willing to do that?"

Kelim backed towards to door, this suddenly felt wrong.

"Can I think about it?" Kelim asked.

Quaraun turned to look at the Pixie. "Second thoughts?"

"Well, uhm, maybe... maybe you were right, the whole, you know, maybe I just want to get laid and it's not really love, and but my soul, kind of... uhm.. I can't get that back once I lose it, can I?"

Quaraun shook his head, and silently mouthed the word: "No."

Never?”

Never?”

The Elf shook his head again.

Are you sure?”

Quite sure.”

Can you sell half a soul?”

 “Yes. You can. But I don't recommend it. You need both halves of your soul. I know. I'm missing half of mine. I was in love once. I sold my soul for love. But I was young and foolish and didn't know what I was really doing.”

You sold your soul?”

Yes. I wanted to love him forever. I wanted him to love me forever. And the spell worked. It did exactly what it was told to do. I love him forever. I'll never stop loving him. And I'll never know peace. Or joy. Or happiness. Because he's dead. We still love each other. We always will. But his soul wanders the Valley of Death and mine the world of the living and I long for death, that we may again be together, but he was evil, so evil. I didn't know. I didn't want to know. I didn't want to believe. His soul burns for eternity of torment. And I am not yet evil enough for my soul to go to the same place his did. I long for death to be with him again, but if I die now we'll be separated forever. I must become as evil as he was, in order to go to the same place he is, when I die. I wasn't careful with what I wished for, Boy. I wanted us to love each other forever. And we do. Oh we do. But now he's a Lich. He has no physical body. We can not consummate our love. I lust for his physical touch. The warmth of the flesh that he no longer has. I must correct this. I misworded my wish. I got exactly what I wished for and wishes once granted can't be undone. I became a Necromancer, just for that reason. To resurrect my BoomFuzzy. Bring him back, that we may share our beds again.”

Wait. You bed with other men?”

Yes.”

But aren't you...”

Also male? Yes.”

Why would you do that?”

I don't like women, Boy. That's just the way I am.”

"But, what about your wife?"

"My wife?"

"Yes."

Quaraun burst out laughing.

"Why my wife, of all people?"

"You loved your wife?"

"Did I? I murdered my wife."

"Your whole thing is love. Everyone knows that."

"Love, yes. Wife, no."

"What do you mean?"

"I killed my wife. I couldn't stand the bitch. I hate females."

"But..."

Quaraun pulled the wanted poster out again, handed it to Kelim.

"Do you know what that word there means?"

The Elf pointed to buggery and sodomy.

"No."

"My lover, BoomFuzzy, the one I mourn, was a male, like myself."

"But how do you..."

Quaraun took the poster back.

"I'd rather be a female, then make love to one."

Quaraun shook his head.

"You want me to remake the potion?"

"Why didn't it work?"

"It did work. But I am a Wizard of the Di'Jinn order, my spells are activated by words. You must choose your words carefully. The spell will do exactly what you tell it to do. You told it to make her love you as much as I loved my wife, but I hated my wife. It was an arranged marriage that I wanted no part of. She didn't love me either. She had her lovers, I had mine. We lived together for show. I'm royalty, you know. My father was the king's younger brother. Everyone was expected to have the perfect family in public. My is not the one I loved, nor is she the one I mourn. She was a spiteful bitch and she drove my lover to suicide, so I killed her."

 “But how... how...” The thought of two men having sex, confused and baffled Kelim who had never considered such a possibility before. “How can you... with.. I don't understand... how?”

You've already determined I look and dress like a woman. I liked being fucked like one too.”

You... like... you... you... you really are insane aren't you?”

That seems to be the going opinion.”

Do you... uhm...” Kelim stammered for several moments. “Uhm.. uhm...”

I'm not a mind reader, Boy, spit it out.”

You're the one that poster is about, aren't you?”

Quaraun pulled out the wanted poster.

You mean this one? Yes. That would be me.”

You're a sodomite.”

Yes. I am.”

And a rapist.”

No. That part is wrong. I'm a virgin. I've never fucked any one. I can't. I'm a eunuch. You don't have be scared of me, Boy. I wouldn't do that you even if I could. I never had an interest in fucking anything or anyone, even back when I could.”

Are you castrated?”

Not entirely, but that's what they were trying to do. I'm damaged. Badly scarred and can't get erect. I get pleasure from being being fucked by other men, not by fucking them.”

Why would you do that?”

Let other men fuck me?”

Yeah.”

I'm a wizard of the Di'Jinn order. I took a vow of celibacy. I fuck nothing, but my vows said nothing about letting other men fuck me.”

I don't think I wanted to know that.”

You asked. I answered. Don't ask questions you don't want answers too.”

So the whole love thing people say about you...”

I about King Gwallmaiic. The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley. Not my wife.”

Oh.”

I'm a Wizard of the Di'Jinn Order, you might do well to learn what that means. You want a Di'Jinn Wizard casting a love spell on you? Ha! I don't think you even know what a Di'Jinn is. What we do. Our spells aren't cheap."

"I said I'd pay..."

"I said I'm not talking about money, Boy. Every action has a reaction. Every spell has consequences. Magic's not a game. Not a toy. And neither is love. The price is very high, and you'll get EXACTLY what you wished for, whether what you wished for is what you wanted or not."

"I want her to love me."

"Love you? Heh. Yeah. I can make her love you. Just make sure that's how you word it when you drink the potion. One word out of place.... I won't be responsible for what happens. And you'll sign a contract to make sure of that. A Cupid Spell is what you are asking for. I'm not sure it's what you actually want, but I'll make it. It'll take time. You come back to me, next week. I'll have your spell. And the contract for your soul. She'll love you forever, whether you love her back or not, and I know love, Boy, and I know, you don't love her, but you're just like the rest. You won't listen to reason. You'll have to learn the hard way, the nature of love. And how long forever really is. But it's your life and you can do what you want with it. Who am I to stop you? You go home. And if next week, you still want the spell, I'll be here with it."

Are you gonna take my soul?”

Only if you are willing to give it to me.”

What if I change my mind?”

You are uncertain what you want. You should not sell your soul if you have any hesitation.”

Are you telling me not to sell my soul?”

I'm telling you the choice is yours. I'll not make up your mind for you. But once you've done it, it's done. There's no going back. You must be absolutely 100% sure this is what you want.”

How do I know you won't trick me.”

I'll not take advantage of you, Boy. You are even younger then I was when I sold my soul. I'll give you the chance to back out, the chance I wasn't given, the warning no one gave me. If you really want this spell, I will do it, but think about it first, Boy. Don't make a rash decision that'll you'll regret later. I don't regret selling my soul. I regret that I didn't write the wording of the spell more carefully. More specifically. In more detail. With more specifics as to what exactly I wanted to happen.”

But if I want it bad enough, you'll grant my wish, right?”

If you want it bad enough that you are willing to give me your soul, yes. I'll grant your wish. Just remember: I am a wizard of the DiJinn Order, I'll grant your wish exactly as you word it, so make sure the words you use, mean exactly what you think they mean and can't be used to mean anything else. Think about what are you are asking for. What it'll do to you. No matter why you do it, selling your soul, is something you'll live to regret. Even if you sell your soul for love. I know.”

You sold your soul?”

Yes, I did.”

When you were a boy like me?”

Yes.”

How old are you now?”

I don't know. I've lost count. Three hundred. Or was it four hundred? I wasn't yet an adult when I sold my soul. I was only 75 years old.”

Only?”

I'm an Elf. As long as nothing kills me, I'll live nearly forever. It's why Humans think of us as deity and call us Angels. At 75 I was just an adolescent youth, like you, not yet old enough to marry or raise a family, but old enough to hit puberty and be horny. Except I was horny for girls. I wasn't horny for anything until the night I was raped by the Elf Eater.”

The Elf Eater? You mean the Lich Lord?”

Yes, but he wasn’t a Lich Lord back than. One shouldn’t fall in love with a rapist, but I was already attracted to him before that. King Gwallmaiic, Elf Eater of Pepper Valley. BoomFuzzy. I loved him so much. I still do. He was everything to me. I couldn't get enough of him.”

Do you regret selling your soul?”

I regret a lot of things.”

Can I ask what you sold your soul for?”

I sold my soul for love.”

Do you ever wish you hadn’t?”

No. I don't regret that. For the short while we were together and we lived in glorious happiness. But it ended so soon. He died. And his death was my fault. I wished for something. Hastily. Without thinking the implications. I wasn't careful in how I worded my wish. That is my regret. If I had it to do again, I would still sell my soul for his love, but I would be more careful in the wording of the wish, because I got exactly what I wished for. I wished for our love to last forever. And it will. Because now he's a Lich. He's immortal, but undead and with no corporeal body, but he still loves me. I feel it. I feel his love. But I also feel his pain. His suffering. His torment as he walks through the Valley of Death. Trapped. He's a Lich. I'm an Elf. Our love will last forever, but we'll never get to share it physically with each other.”

I’m sorry.”

You should be.”

Why?”

 

 “If you go forward with this spell, be careful with the wording. You'll get exactly what you wish for and that may not be exactly what you really wanted. Do you really, truly want to sell your soul, for the love of this girl?”

"I... I'm not sure... I..."

With a large open sweep of his arm, Quaraun waved his hand magnanimously towards the front door.

"Than, go. Leave. Forget you ever came here. You own me nothing but the time you've wasted, and I shall get that back from you eventually. I always do. Nothing comes for free Kelim, some day you'll learn that, Everything has a price. Better you learn it sooner then later. Be careful in your youth. I wasn't careful in mine. Don't make the same mistakes I did. Life is too precious to waste it."

Kelim turned and ran from the Swamp Hag’s hovel, running as fast as he could through the swamp, back out of the forest, and all the way to his house, where he jumped into bed and hid under the covers, terrified that the Necromancer had followed him and would pelt him with sea slugs in his sleep.

"Three months ago, in the dead of winter..." Quaraun muttered to himself as he pulled his pink velvet tufted throne out of the tiny beaded pink heart bag that hung from his belt. He sat down on the throne and stared aimlessly at the door through which Kelim had just exited.

Quaraun remembered the night Kelim had mentioned. It was the night Quaraun had first arrived in Kelim's village, and the events he remembered were quite different that Kelim had described them.

Ha ha! His natural instinct as a man kicked in, and Kelim ran bravely in the direction of the women's frantic voice, his fear completely forgotten. Oh dear. More like his natural instinct as a liar. Ah, but that means there was another witness. He was too far away to see everything, close enough to let his male ego imagination run away with him. I wonder if he really believes he rescued her? Or did he show up after. Hmmmm. Possible. Entirely possible. I did leave. She could have been attacked again. Hum. Maybe he's telling the truth...”

THREE MONTHS AGO:


Quaraun was new to this village. He knew some of the people in The Godforsaken City, which wasn't really a city. He knew the Guild members who lived here, but he had never visited any of them before, and Quaraun had vastly changed since any of them had last seen him.

Last time Quaraun had attended a Guild meeting, he looked every bit the male Elf he was. His wife and children were still alive, but BoomFuzzy was dead.

The Moon Elves were forcing him to wear the traditional silver and blue outfits of their culture and his hair was much shorter.

That was three hundred years ago. Before he resurrected BoomFuzzy as a Lich and killed the Moon Elves.

Today no one would have guessed him to be male, not until he spoke, and even then, his voice could have been mistaken as being a female with a husky voice.

Behind the silks, the make-up, the jewellery, and the mega long hair, it was nearly impossible to tell that this was a male Elf. His having been born so short, light framed, and feminine featured to begin with made telling what gender he was all the more difficult, even when he was nude.

Quaraun was looking for Ghirardelli the Swamp Hag. He knew her swamp was in these parts, he just wasn't sure where and he wasn't keen on running into any Guild members, especially not Findaru or one of his cohorts.

The last thing he wanted was more trouble with the Guild. They already had a reward out for his head, preferably not attached to his body where it belonged.

The Guild of Wizardry, regulated the use of magic.

No one was allowed to practice magic without proper Guild membership and authority.

Special permissions, permits, and papers, documents and credentials were required to practice magic.

Quaraun didn't have any of those things.

Not that it mattered. They'd still be wanting him dead even if he did have them. Years ago, Quaraun had been a law abiding wizard and kept his papers and permits and licenses up to date, practising only the allowed magic arts, shunning the forbidden magic forms, etc. etc.

All that was before BoomFuzzy died, though.

Before the Moon Elf village was destroyed.

 

Before Quaraun lost his way.

Before Quaraun gave up on good, kind, helpful white magic arts.

Before Quaraun turned to Necromancy, Sorcery, and Demonology.

Before Quaraun had murdered is wife.

Before Quaraun had murdered is 4 young children.

Before Quaraun had resurected BoomFuzzy.

Before Quaraun became The Pink Necromancer.

Before Quaraun became the most feared being on the planet.

Before Quaraun became the most powerful wizard in the world.

Before Quaraun had eaten his father.

Before Quaraun becam known as Quaraun the Insane.

Quaraun’s Guild papers had expired two centuries ago.

And it had been even longer since the last time Quaraun had attended a Guild meeting. The last meeting he'd attended, the Guild's counsel had declared him a renegade wizard, a danger to society, and had ordered him to be executed.

Quaraun used illegal magic to escape.

Magic the law abiding Guild members had been unable to counter.

The Guild would have had to break their own codes to do catch Quaraun.

Thus Quaraun escaped.

And now, Quaraun had wandered the world for two centuries, alone, never staying any place more than a few days, avoiding any village known to be the habitat of a Guild member.

But Quaraun was in need of Ghirardelli the swamp hag, or rather, he just needed her head. He wasn't overly concerned with her body. He already had Gibedon's head. Finderu's head would be nice but, Quaraun wasn’t wanting to make more waves then he already had.

Quaraun wandered through the dark snow covered streets, ducking away from the street lights and keeping to the shadows. The fewer people who knew he was here, the better.

A library,” Quaraun muttered to himself, surprised to find such a place in a village this small. “In a Human village? I doubt it’s owned by a Human. I never met one with enough intelligence to be able to read. I wonder what kind books they have here?”

The library wasn’t open this late at night, but that didn’t stop Quaraun from picking the lock and walking inside.

Quaraun had long ago stopped worrying about laws. What need had he to obey laws, when he was already wanted for crimes he had no intention of quitting?

Murder. Drugs. Sodomy. Sumptuary laws.

Ha! It actually worked,” Quaraun mused as he looked at the lock. “I’ll have to remember that spell.”

Quaraun used his Rainbow Wand to light his way through the small building. It wasn’t much of a library, but it did have massive bookshelves going all the way to the ceiling, cram filled every inch with books. He was looking for magic books, especially anything on Necromancy, particularly on finding Liches. Formally a very lawful and moral aristocrat, Quaraun had long ago developed a bad habit of walking off with every book he found that he had not yet read, and as he carried a bag of holding on his belt, he had infinite room to make things disappear and not be found should he be searched. Were anyone to look in the tiny beaded heart purse, they'd find exactly 10 gold coins. Not real gold of course. Illusions only. They'd turn into brown leaves once he had had time to escape. Quaraun himself was the only person able to reach in the bag and pull out anything from furniture to weapons to his massive eye blinding pink wardrobe.

As this was the home town of the Wizarding Guild and they had a ban on Dark arts of all types, Quaraun had little hope of finding anything useful, but it couldn’t hurt to check. There could be an evil book disguised as a good book, and only Necromancers be able to see it. You could never tell about these things.

Quaraun had been so absorbed in exploring the library that he did not notice the shadowy figure slinking along behind him, stopping and waiting for the right moment to pounce.

Quaraun was coming around one bookshelf to see if there was another on the other side when he nearly bumped into the man who’d been following him.

Oh, hello. I’m sorry,” Quaraun said quietly as he tried to duck past the man.

Humans were much bigger then Elves, and a big Human, like this was, was especially much bigger than a little Elf, like Quaraun.

Not so fast….” the man said.

Quaraun stopped and turned, wondering if he should stop or keep going.

Get over here,” the man commanded.

Quaraun looked around, confused, uncertain if the stranger was talking to him or not.

I said get over here!”

Me?”

There’s no one else here.”

Quaraun stepped back. He felt frightened of this Human. It’s voice was mean and violent, and it's breath spent of beer.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I was on my way out.”

Quaraun turned a quickly stepped towards to door.

Oh no you don’t!” The man roared as he ran after the Elf.

The man grabbed the first thing he could reach and threw it at Quaraun, hitting him between the shoulders, causing him to stumble and fall.

Owww!” Quaraun yelped. “What was that?”

Quaraun looked and saw a small bronze statue on the floor, which he picked up and was looking at as he spoke, instead of looking as his attacker as he should have been doing.

That hurt! Why did you hit me?”

Quaraun started to push himself back up, prepared to yell at the man, but the stranger, suddenly grabbed hold of the Elf, lifting him up and slammed his back against the bookshelves, hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Quaraun was now confused and terrified as he didn’t know who this man was or why he was being attacked.

Thought you could sneak off by yourself and no one would notice, eh Sweetheart?”

Sweetheart? I ain’t your sweetheart! Who do you think I am.”

I saw you back there at the tavern.”

Let go of me!”

Pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be walking home alone this time of night.”

You’re drunk. Get off of me.”

Quaraun tried to shove the man back, but this only caused the man to push himself closer to the wizard, squishing him against the books behind him.

Bonny little thing aren’t you?” The man said as he began grouping the Elf. Quaraun suddenly realized what was going on and became frantic.

No! Let me go!”

Quaraun struggled to break free of his attacker’s grasp, but Quaraun was a very small Elf, only standing 5'6" and barely weighing 130lbs. His attacker was a full two heads taller then him and far stronger.

As Quaraun continued to struggle against his attacker, the man began to kiss the Elf and as he forced his hard erection against Quaraun’s stomach. There was no question the man had mistaken Quaraun, not only for a woman, but also for a prostitute. Most men did. Quaraun had grown quite used to the way Human males reacted to his physical appearance, but he was usually better at getting away from them before they had time to get close enough to grab him. The man forced his mouth over Quaraun's and the Elf began squealing and screaming and trying desperately to push the man off of him. While he hated being accosted like this, he hated more the raging fury men went into, once they realized Quaraun was not what they thought he was.

A sense of panicked revulsion filled the Elf as he felt the man’s excited cock pressing against him. The little Elf became frantic to get away, remembering the fact that men got really pissed off when they rammed their uninvited junk between his legs expecting a vagina and got something else entirely. They beat the crap out of him, they always did, and a tiny little Elf like him, didn’t stand much a chance against the huge hulking Human that was bearing down on him.

Quaraun managed to reach his hand up onto the man’s face and push him back a few inches.

Let me go,” the frightened Elf whimpered.

The man laughed. “Playing hard to get are you.”

No! I don't want to be got at all,” Quaraun squealed as he slipped out of the man's grasp and tried to run.

The man grabbed the Elf’s arm, spun him around and slammed him face first against the wall. The little pink robed wizard yelped as his jaw made contact with the wall, clashing his teeth together. Tears streamed down the Elf’s face as searing pain shot through his face. But he had no time to think about the stabbing pain in his jaw. The man was fumbling with the slippery silk skirts, pulling them up to expose the Elf's ass for fucking.

Quaraun frantically, squirmed and wriggled his way out of the man’s arms again, but this time the man punched him hard in the face, splitting his lip and sending the little Elf fallen backwards into another shelf of books. Several books fell off the shelf, landing on top of Quaraun. He scrambled to crawl away, avoiding being crushed as the tall wooden bookshelf fell on the spot when he had momentarily been.

Quaraun stood up, gasping for air and stared at the fallen bookshelf for a moment, trying not to think of how badly it would have injured him, had he not moved and then quickly ran for the door.

The Human ran after him screamed: “Get back here you dirty little whore!”

The man threw a knife. The Necromancer cried out in pain as he felt the blade sink deep into his side. The wounded Elf staggered and tried not to fall as he continued out the door and back into the streets. In his hurry to escape the man, Quaraun crashed into a young female Faerie dressed in many layers of frilly lilac coloured dresses. Both he and the woman fell into the middle of the street, nearly being hit by a passing carriage. The horse reared and whinnied, and the girl screamed as the horses hooves came down inches from her face.

I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Quaraun muttered in a daze as he got off the woman, scrambled back to his feet and stumbled pass the carriage to the other side of the road, leaving the woman, laying in the road. The man from the carriage, calmed his horse and continued onward, leaving the girl alone in the street as the would be rapist tumbled out of the library looking all around to see which direction Quaraun had run off to. As Quaraun ran across the next street and disappeared down the alley, the man turned his attention instead to the young Faerie whom Quaraun had run into in his hurry to escape. With one victim too far away to catch easily, the man now lunged on the next closest woman he could find.

The girl screamed as the man mounted her and prepared to rape her. The girl’s cries echoed down through the ally, vibrating off the brick walls and reverberating into Quaraun's soul.

Oh, hell,” Quaraun muttered as he turned back. “I hate not being evil. I’m a sorry excuse of a Necromancer rescuing every female in distress.”

The man was on the ground struggling with the girl and did not notice Quaraun had returned. The Elf stood, not sure what exactly to do, and looked around the street to see if anything brought any ideas to mind. He knew using magic of any type in this town would attract the attention of the Guild, their headquarters being here. Near the corner of a nearby building Quaraun spied a dislodged brick, picked it up, whispered something to it and then dropped it on the man’s head. The brick, came down with a force far greater then capable of an object so small and knocked the man out cold.

Quaraun stood over the man and kicked him to make sure he was still alive, then turned to the girl.

Are you alright?” Quaraun asked the girl.

Yes. Thank you.”

Quaraun helped the girl back to her feet.

I'm very sorry. He was coming after me. You were not his intended victim. He thought I was a prostitute.”

You do look like one.”

Yes. I know.”

Are you an Elf?”

Yes.”

We don't see many Elves in these parts. They're rather rare, you know.”

Yes. I know.”

You’re a male Elf aren’t you?”

Yes. I am.”

Why are you dressed like hooker?”

It’s a long story.”

Do you always dress like that?”

Yes.”

You’re bleeding.”

I know.” Quaraun touched his lip. Blood was dripping from the cut where the man had hit him, even more blood gushed from the wound in his side, and he was trying to ignore it. Quaraun was a pure blooded High Elf and both wounds would be healed in only a few days, but the poor Elf fainted at the sight of blood. He didn’t really want to faint here in the middle of the street.

Are YOU alright?” The girl asked, seeing that the Elf looked weak and ill and was bleeding quite profusely.

I'm fine. I'm used to it. It happens often. I heal quickly.”

If he thought you was a whore, why was he beating you?”

"Men get really pissed off when they ram their uninvited junk between your legs expecting a vagina and get another cock instead. They’ll beat the crap out of you. I’ve have had my arms broken 3 separate times now, my hip broken twice, my back seriously injured more then once, and several concussions since I started dressing like this, because men came after me, thinking I was something very different then what I am. Do you know that I've had false teeth put in, because I had most of the teeth in the right side of my face knocked out? Do you know how much it hurts, to be hit so hard, you lose all the teeth on one side of your face? And it wasn’t just my teeth that broke—it fractured my jaw and cheekbones. And each one of these was a separate incident. Did you know I’m nearly blind in my left eye, because one man hit me in the eye? I have to wear these claws because another man cut my fingernails off.”

Quaraun held up his hands to show the girl the gold, jewel encrusted finger armours he was wearing.

It's a good thing I'm an Elf. Were I a Human, I'd be dead by now and scarred for life. Well, I am scarred. Not all wounds heal without a scar. Oh dear. That one wasn't done by Humans. My own father did that. I'm sorry. I'm rambling. I'm always getting beaten and stabbed and hit and punched…."

You’re losing a lot of blood,” the girl said as she pointed to the blood pooling on the ground around the Elf’s feet.

Quaraun looked down at the blood gushing from his side and running down his leg. "And.. And... uhm... bleeding. I'm bleeding. Oh so much blood. Oh dear. I'm bleeding quite a bit ain't I? I lose so much blood, so often. So much blood. Oh dear. I'm dizzy. I'm gonna faint. I have to sit down."

Quaraun sunk to his knees and looked paler then usual.

You sure you're okay? You're bleeding quite a lot.”

Yes. I do that. I seem to lose blood quite easily. Oh dear. I'm too dizzy to keep going. I'll faint if I keep walking. I might have to lay down a while. I'm so dizzy.” Quaraun touched his lip again. "I'm lucky I'm an Elf and heal without scars. Men are always trying to fuck me and then beat the heck out me when they find I've got more between my legs they thought I did."

Then why dress like that?”

I am a member of a wizarding order and this how we dress.”

Are you a wizard?” The girls sounded overjoyed by this news.

Yes.”

"Oh how wonderful! I love wizards!

Do you?”

Oh yes! My father is a wizard.”

Is he?”

"You must know him."

Must I?”

Well of course. You’re a wizards aren't you?”

Yes, I just said that.”

Well then you must know him. He knows every wizard.”

Does he?”

Of course!”

And pray tell, why is that?”

Why, he’s the head of the Guild of Wizardry.”

Findaru?”

Yes.”

Your father is Findaru?”

Yes.”

Oh dear. I have such luck.”

He’s knows healing magic. We live not far away. I’ll get him.”

No, please don’t do that. I’ll be fine in a few minutes. I just need to rest.”

But he can stop the bleeding….”

No. Please. I’m fine. Sit. Please. Keep me company until my head is clear.”

The Fairy sat beside the Elf.

So you do know my father?”

Yes. I know him. Sort of. Or I did, many years ago. I've not been active in Guild meetings in many years. I don't live around here.”

You should come to the house and visit then. He'll be glad to see an old friend.”

Quaraun smiled nervously and turned away.

"I did not say we were friends. He will not want to see me. No wizard in these parts will want to see me."

Of course they will. All the wizards love getting together with other wizards.”

I don’t work well with others. I’m solitary.”

Even the solitaries come out to socialize every once in a while.”

No. You don't understand. I am not welcome here. I came on business. I'll only be here an hour or two.”

My father always wants to see every wizard. It is his job after all.”

 “To regulate the use of magic. Yes. I know it is. Your father is very judgmental and strict. He does not allow many forms of magic.”

Only dark magic and evil forms of sorcery.”

Your father has a lot of opinions on what he believes to be evil and not everyone agrees with him.”

The girl suddenly lost her bubbling joy and began to look frightened.

Are you evil?”

According to your father, I am.”

You don’t look evil.”

I don’t feel evil, either, but your father disagrees and he wants me dead.”

Dead?” The girl stop up and stepped back, now looking very afraid. “There are only a few wizards who are so beyond evil that they have a price on their head. You aren't one of them are you?”

Oh, yes, I'm afraid I am. Your father had quite a high price on my head last I knew. Seems to get higher every year.”

Who are you?”

No one that concerns you.”

"I've never heard father mention a wizard like you. I would have remembered a pink wizard who dresses like a prostitute. And he'd've mentioned you. If he wants you dead, there would be posters and descriptions of you…."

There are. Oh, there certainly are. I've seen hem. Read them. Not entirely accurate and sometimes too accurate. I've changed.”

You don’t seem evil.”

Thank you. There are not many who would agree with you.”

I've meet evil wizards, lots of them, and you can tell in a split second they are evil. I bet if you came to see my father, tell him you changed, he'll see that you are good now.”

Quaraun smiled nervously and looked away again, his checks flushed with shame.

I'm not what you think I am, Girl. There's no coming back from what I've done. Your father is right to call me evil. He is right to want me dead. I am evil and deserve to die. I have done horrible things.”

What have you done that was so bad?”

I am a murderer.”

You killed someone?”

I killed a lot of someones.”

Why?”

"They were evil. They deserved to die. Oh I….I thought they did at the time. I'm not so sure any more. There was no law willing to serve them justice and so I took justice into my own hands and I used very dark magic to do it."

Well, that's okay. Evil people get killed all the time. That's why we have so many executioners.”

Yes, I had noticed that when I arrived. You have a great plethora of gallows in this town. And dead men hanging from the trees.”

Quaraun rubbed his hand round his throat nervously as if expecting to find a noose there.

It makes you good if you killed evil people. My father would like that.”

No. Your father and I have different definitions of good and evil. The men I killed, your father thought they were good people, because they killed a man he thought was evil and he will not believe otherwise. He will never believe otherwise.”

Well, why did you kill them? I mean, what they do?”

They locked me in a tower and tortured me. And then they hung me upside down in a tree in the centre of town, naked, for the villagers to torture me and humiliate me as they say fit. They mutilated me. The scars I still have, the ones that didn't go away. In order to heal, I need time to rest and focus on my healing, but they injured me so bad, that I was unable to heal myself and scars remain. Then they killed my family. ”

You must have done something to be punished that way. What did you do?”

 “I fell in love with the wrong person. BoomFuzzy. I am a male and so was my lover. BoomFuzzy took me into his bed and used me as though I were a woman. And I enjoyed it and let him do it, and returned often to his bed for the pleasures he provided me. They tortured me because I bedded with another male. They mutilated me, saying if I was going to act like a female, then I should be one. Now I can love no one male or female.”

Are you a eunuch?”

More or less. I am mostly intact, but I am badly damaged. I can receive the love of a man, but can no longer give it to anyone. I am mutilated.”

I’m sorry.”

 “If you love the wrong person, you pay the price. They hung me, upside down, by my ankles, naked, in the city square, for every one to see, for days and days. People came to beat me, whip me, torture me in every way they could imagine. All my friends, my relatives, my people, my family, my father, my wife, my children. I loved my children. They turned my children against me. They all turned on me. Every one of them. People I trusted. People I thought loved me. People I loved. They abandoned me. Turned their backs on me. Hit me in places you should never hit a man. I dare to share my love with the man I loved, a forbidden act, a crime punishable by death. My own father lead them on. He is the one who hung me in the tree and stripped me naked for all to see. I hate being naked. I hate being touched.”

Does it hurt?”

Hurt?”

"Your... Where they cut you."

She pointed at the Elf’s crotch.

It did when they did it. It was many years ago. I am healed now. Well, as healed as I can be.”

And they did it in front of every one? They cut you while your friends and family watched?”

Yes. My father did the cutting. He said I disgraced him as a son. And then after many days of hanging in humiliation, in the town square, they took me out into the woods, hung me another tree, and left me there, to be eaten by a Phooka. They sacrificed me to the Elf Eater of Pepper Valley.”

But they couldn't have sacrificed you. You're still alive.”

"I know. I lived. I survived. They didn't think I would. They didn't know... My lover.... they never knew."

 “Knew what?”

"That he was my lover."

"Who was?"

"The Phooka."

"What Phooka?" she asked, confused by what the Elf was saying. He wasn't speaking clearly. Only giving her half the information and thinking the rest silently in his own head. Leaving her confused by what he meant.

"The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley."

"The Elf Eater?"

"Yes."

"What about him?"

"I sold my soul for his love."

"Why would you do that?"

"Phookas are shape shifters, they can be any one or anything they want to be. He lived in the village, disguised as an Elf. They didn't know he was a shape shifter."

"Did you know?"

"I didn't know, not then, not until they hung me in the tree to be killed by the Phooka. The Phooka came and slaughtered them before they had finished. He eat every one of them before turning on me, only he didn't hurt me. I waited for him to to tear out my throat, to gut me and kill me and eat me as he had done the others, but instead, he cut me down and made love to me. Be careful what you wish for. I wished for his love, but I didn't know what he was and I didn't know the price I would have o pay to get it. In spite of my wounds. He still loved me, even after they mutilated me and left me unable to give my love to anyone. He took care of me, until I healed. It did not matter to him, what they had done to me. Even though I was damaged and not able to return his love, he still kept me as his lover. He pitied me. I was injured so badly that he could not bare to kill me. He made me his wife, taught me to receive his love like a woman. He shifted between BoomFuzzy and the Phooka, letting me see him as he truly was. That was when I realized BoomFuzzy was The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley and he would never hurt me. My lover wasn't an Elf, he was a Phooka and a Necromancer. King Gwallmaiic, was the evillest Necromancer to ever walk the Earth and he was my lover, my BoomFuzzy wasn't an Elf."

The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley has murdered millions. He kills entire villages. He's a horrible monster.”

"I know. I tried to kill him, because I knew what he was, and I couldn't do it. Tis the nature of a spell cast by a wish. I wished for his love. To love him and be loved by him forever. The wish was granted. I got what I asked for, but at a terrible price. He loved me. I loved him and no matter how evil he was, I could not kill him, and no matter how much he lusted to eat my flesh, he could not kill me. The spell can not be broken. I've tried to break it so many times. I was so young when I made that wish. I didn't know the power of wishes grants of the price that comes with spells cast by wishes. So I joined him. I became a Necromancer too. His love was true. It did not matter to him that I had been mutilated. He loved me any ways."

Can I see what they did to you?”

What do you mean?”

 “I’ve never seen a eunuch.”

You wish to see what I have between my legs?”

Well, yes.”

I'm sorry, My Dear, but that you will not see. I show no one what was done to me.”

Why not?”

I did not like exposing myself when I was fully intact, I like doing so even less, now that I am damaged. Just know that I am damaged, and you and every other female, has nothing to fear from me. I am only able to be a vessel for the pleasure of other men now.”

Are you and he still lovers?”

No. He died. A horrible death. In such pain and agony, lingering on for 3 days, suffering, alone, with no one to comfort him. No one to hear his cries. No one hold him as his body wracked with pain. My people killed him. They murdered him so horribly. They killed my BoomFuzzy and I could not live without him, so I brought him back. Oh! What have I done? He's worse now than he was before. I turned him into a Lich. And now he lives on forever, killing tens of millions, whipping out entire nations and it's my fault. I created him. And that is why your father wants me dead. That is why everyone wants me dead. I am the most evil wizard ever known. I created the Lich Lord that kills so many. That's not what I wanted to happen. I just wanted to be his lover. That's all I wanted. He's a powerful lover. I swept away with the immense power of his passion. He is so intense. His addiction to sex is incredible. He is so full of rage and anger and passion and all that comes through in his love making. He had many lovers. Male and female. He took whomever he wanted, whither they wanted him or not. He raped me. I hate being raped, but he was different. I can't explain it. His love was like a drug. I had to have more and more. I wanted him to love me and only me and no one else. I shouldn't have cast that spell. I am so evil.”

Quaraun covered his face with his hands and burst into tears.

You know, it’s kind of hard to think of you as evil, when you’re dressed in a glittering pink dress and sitting in the middle of the street balling your eyes out over a dead lover.”

I’m sorry. I’ve not had a good life. Pink distracts me from thoughts of death. I've tried to kill myself so many times, but I'm an Elf. Do you know how hard it is to kill an Elf? I try to occupy my mind with happy thoughts. Glitter send glows of light on everything. It's so pretty. So happy. I need to surround myself with happy thoughts, to keep from slicing my wrists every day.”

Quaraun held out his arms, pulling back the sleeves so the girl could see the many scars and more recent slash mark covering his arms.

You’ve cut yourself! Why?”

I am so lonely. I am hunted and hated, abandoned and unloved. I have no one. I’m so alone. The entire Elven race, not just the Moon Elves, but every last Elf on the planet has cut me off of the Hive Mind. I am outcast. And I'm a coward. I try to kill myself to end my suffering and I haven't the guts to do it properly.”

I’m sorry.”

All because I wanted to be loved. That’s all I wanted. For one man to love me. And he did, but he's the only one. He loved me and for that the whole rest of the world hates me, and now he's dead and I have no one.”

If you’re the Elf Eater’s Necromancer, that makes you Quaraun the Insane.”

I am Quaraun the Insane, last of the Moon Elves, Lover of the Elf Eater of Pepper Valley, Murderer of Gibedon the Great, Resurrect of the Black Dragon of Fire Mountain, and I am the only one who can stop the Lich Lords, because I built them.”

The girl laughed. She obviously did not believe the Elf.

"You are Quaraun the Insane! Haha! Oh you're funny. I think you're right, you got hit on the head too many times. Wait til I tell my father I meet Quaraun the Insane.

Please don’t. Please. I don’t want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt anyone.”

The girl wasn’t listening.

He'll love it. He's had it out for Quaraun for decades. The whole Guild has. He's the most wanted wizard out there. There is a huge reward on his head…."

Quaraun heard a sound. The girl looked to see the rapist, groaning and getting back up.

You little bitch of an Elf, wait till I get my hands on you….” he said to Quaraun as he pulled out another knife.

The girl turned back to Quaraun but he had scuttled out of the light back into the shadows.

Tell no one you saw me, please, I beg you,” he said to the girl as he disappeared back down the dark alleyway, leaving her to the fate of the man whom had attacked them both.


~o0o~


Yes,” Quaraun said to himself as he remembered the day in question.

He could have shown up after. Hmmmm. Possible. Entirely possible. I did leave. She could have been attacked again. Yes. Maybe the little Pixie is telling the truth. But if that's the same day... The same girl. Then the girl he's in love with, is Finderu's daughter. Oh my. Oh my, my, my! Oh what a fortuitous turn of events. But it could be a trap. I must prepare for this, in case he comes back. I must tell Ghirardelli. She'll be so pleased.”

Do you hear that Ghirardelli?” Quaraun asked the swamp hag as he pulled her head out of his heart bag. “If all goes well, you and Gibedon will have company soon. Findaru will be joining you. Isn’t that marvellous?”

So, there you have it... THAT is how I write my character descriptions.

It takes an entire chapter to describe a single character, because, well, a lot of it is done in the dialogue and character actions.

You can see how an info dump is placed at the start, telling us what is needed to know about Quaraun, for the story in question. And that blends into the scene, followed immediately by the dialogue/interaction between the character and Quaraun.

More descriptors are sprinkled throughout the dialogue and said tags and narration as the story moves forward, but they are done in such a way that there is no more exposition, outside of the initial 3 page infodump describing Quaraun.

If you pay attention to the word choices, I focus a lot on adverbs (yes, adverbs) and sensory words.

Sensory word are:

  • sight words
  • touch words
  • sound words
  • taste words
  • smell words

As a reader, I prefer writing that is full of sensory words, words that allow the reader t see, feel, smell, hear, and taste the sights, sounds, foods, and objects in the story.

You know not only what my characters look like, you know the feel of their skin, soft and smooth or rough and dry. You smell the scent of their body: the strong smell of Absinthe Anise on Quaraun's breath, the scent of rose water in his hair, the metallic pungent smell of blood.



>>If you're part of society, you'll have some level of worry about your appearance. Showering, shaving, brushing your teeth, doing your hair. You'll probably spending a decent chunk of every day of your life looking in a mirror to see if how you want to present yourself matches how others will see you.

>>I realize I'm being a little facetious and ignoring your point, but part of being human is being self-conscious of how you look.

>>Whether a story should include that routine... 

tHESE ARE SOME THINGS THAT ARE important TO TALK ABOUT, BECAUSE MOST AUTHORS ARE JACLASSES ABOUT IT.

There you go, interesting cap lock for emphasis.

Why are these things important to talk about?

Well, authors like to put them in their novels, because they do these thing, but they fail to consider that these things usually were not yet invented during the time period of the book.

Showering... an invention of the 1950s

The shower was invented in 1933, but it was created to wash cars.

It was not realized that a shower could also wash PEOPLE until 1954.

If you character SHOWERS instead of bathes any year prior to 1954, well, yo didn't do your research very well, now did you?

Showering DAILY ... invented in 1987

Yeah. If your story is set before 1987, your character should NEVER bath more than ONCE PER MONTH.

Shaving... punishable by execution in the Bible, the greatest sin possible after eating pig (#1) and murder (#2) and shaving (#3) is more of a sin then adultery (#7 on the Bible's list of the most evil sins).

Shaving... from about the 800s to 1300s, Europeans did full body shaves - including eyebrows, head, and legs... this was a sign of wealth and cleanliness - because not only did it remove hair, but it also removed lice - it meant you could afford to have lice removed - it was also a way to publicly say "Look, I don't have lice like you filthy peasants do".

Shaving... taboo in the 1800s, most men sported huge beards, even gentlemen and noblemen in spite of what the Victorian era movies show you... try looking at some real photos of men from the era.

Shaving... face for men, legs for women, did not become a fashionable thing to do until the 1920s... armpits remained unsaved til the 1950s though.

Shaving... 1970s, as a sign that you stood for Human Rights, Equality, and Peace, NO HAIR anywhere on the body was shaved. You also walked around nude in public parks just to prove your pubic hair was long enough to hide everything.

Unimportant side note: I grew up in the 1970s and I find shaved pubs repulsive on both men and women. Shaved vaginas are ugly, as are shaved scrotums. Also, I hate penises, but I love testicles and have a unabashed fetish for castrated men who have no penis but still have their balls which is WHY I wrote Quaraun that way. I also have a fetish for shaggy fur, thus why BoomFuzzy doesn't shave and he and GhoulSpawn both have lots of long shaggy fur on their legs and balls.

Too much info? You should try reading the Quaraun novels... I literally have a scene in one of them, that spends 10 full pages talking about GhoulSpawn's luxuriant ivory coloured Cotswold wool growing on his legs, belly, scrotum, ass, yeah...

You don't have to read far into ANY Quaraun novel before you realize: WOW, she likes fur covered wizard testicles.

Yes. Fur covered, unshaved wizard testicles ARE a fetish with a following.

Rule 34... there is a fetish for everything, even unshaved wizard scrotums.

I am aware that being attracted to unshaved male genitals is considered strange.

I openly admit that I like strange things, especially unshaved wizard testicles, which the Quaraun series definitely spends way to much time focusing on.

Moving on...

Brushing your teeth... the concept of tooth care was invented by Native Americans who chewed on cinnamon bark after eating. This was not discovered by white men until the "Wild West Days" in the 1830s.

Brushing your teeth... toothbrushes were only available from doctors prior to the 1980s. No you could not buy them from the store. The first toothbrush to be sold in stores, appeared in 1984.

Brushing your teeth - DAILY... was an invention of the 1990s, yes - THE 1990s less than 30 years ago - so at no era before 1994, should you ever have a character who even knows to brush his teeth daily, let alone does.

Looking in the mirror... Mirrors were invented by the Ancient Egyptians... back then a mirror was large slab of mica (a shiny rock) that was polished smooth. Have you ever owned a mica mirror? I have one. You can ALMOST make out a blurry image of your face. It's like looking through fog and expecting to see a house across the street. You can see yourself better by looking into a fast moving river.

Looking in the mirror... Mirrors with more clarity existed in the 1400s... these were made out of black obsidian (volcanic glass) that was polished smooth. Like the mica mirror, this is not what we think of today when we think mirror. What you see looks like you wearing black-face paint, and smudge badly.

Looking in the mirror...Something similar to what we think of as a mirror, was invented in the 1700s (Rococo era) and was a very think (over an inch) piece of rolled pressed glass, with a layer of (highly toxic) "liquid silver" (mercury) painted to the back of it. Only royalty could afford this lethal object... just touching it could kill you if you rubbed your hand across the silvering, thus why mirrors were put in frames, so as to protect the viewer from a horrible death by mercury poisoning. These were called Silvering Looking Glasses.

Looking in the mirror...Around the 1830s, Silvering Looking Glasses, began to be made of thinner, smaller glass, making them accessible by the upper class working citizen for the first time.

Looking in the mirror...Mirrors did not become available to the general public until the 1920s. They were still made from highly toxic mercury coated on plates of glass.

Looking in the mirror...What we today think of as a mirror... came into existence in the 1950s. So if your character is looking in a mirror at any era before the 1950s, your story is suffering from server anachronism.

Let's look at it some more...

>>Showering,

Quaraun bathes daily, sometimes more then once, in a time period when bathing was punishable as witchcraft. 

In the real world 1400s Europe, people were only allowed to bath once every 6 months, when the priest came to town for a public bathing ceremony. "Cleanliness is next to godliness" and thus, is was mandatory that people bath once every six months, no more, no less. If a person refused to bath in town square in front of the priest and everyone else, they were executed as a witch, and if they were found bathing in private any time of the year, or commited the sin of bathing more then once every 6 months, they were executed as a witch.

It was a medical breakthrough, in 1957 when doctors/scientists discovered it was okay to bath as often as once a month.

In 1978, science discovered you wouldn't die of pneumonia if you bathed as often as once a week, and this gave rise to the Saturday Morning Cartoon public service campaign of celebrities like Johnny Cash and Vincent Price saying: "Now remember, kids, tell you're parents it's okay for you to bath more then once a month, it's even okay to bath as often as once a week now!" 

It wasn't until 1987 that the possibility of bathing daily was thought up and it wasn't until 1994 that it began to catch on.

It's 2018 right now... 1994 was only 24 years ago.

24 years ago, people didn't know it was safe to bath daily.

24 years ago, bathing daily was seen as weird and bad for your health. 

From the 1940s into the 1980s DOCTORS told people NOT to bath more than once a month, because bathing too often could make you sick.

And yet, how many authors write Medieval Fantasy showing a person bathing daily, and no other character bats an eye, and the law doesn't punish them either?

Yes, you see descriptions of Quaraun bathing daily, AND you see wanted posters that list his heinous crimes: murder, necromancy, rape, bathing daily.... yeah.

There's not much historically accuracy in the Quaraun series, but, when there is, it's done right. 


The next day Unicorn watched Quaraun as he bathed himself. It always amazed Unicorn that this Elf who daily sought out a brook, pond, river, lake, or ocean to wade into and bathe himself, was also the same Elf who ran screaming from bridges, had a horrific fear of crossing water via fallen logs, avoided rain, and spent an inordinate amount of time worrying that he'd fall into puddles and drown.

I has experienced great many sex partners,” Unicorn said to GhoulSpawn.

I'm sure you have. I've never seen anyone who loves sex as much as you do.”

I has never gots one that bathes as much as him do.”

No one bathes as much as he does. His need for excessive cleanliness astounds me. It's no wonder he turns dead things into fish. I've never seen any one who was terrified of dirt before.”

Him be so fearfully terrified of every wee lil thing. Him scared of water, but him more afreads of being dirty.”

How does someone so terrified of water, bathe so much?”

Ya know one of tings what makes me Elf good sex partner?”

I doubt if I want to know, but I'm sure that won't stop you from telling me.”

Him very clean.”

What's that have to do with it?”

A clean anus makes for better sex. Anal sex be painful for the bottom iffy his bottom not clean. Hims bottom be very clean.”

There now, you see, I knew I didn't want to know.”

GhoulSpawn watched Quaraun. The Moon Elf was beyond beautiful and GhoulSpawn found himself desiring to lay with him, more and more.

I sometimes think him gets as much pleisance out of cleaning himself, as he does out of sex.”

Unicorn, I really and truly do wish the two of you would stop flaunting your sexuality in front of me."

Does we do that?”

You're doing it right now.”

Is we?”

Unicorn, look at him.”

Quaraun was standing fully naked in the water. He'd finished bathing himself a half hour ago. With one hand the albino Elf stood holding a sponge over his head, letting the water squeeze out of it, raining down on his breasts, running down his stomach, and trickling over his erect dick, with the other hand he was sensually rubbing himself, sliding his hand across his smooth chest, stopping to tease his hard pink nipples, before slowly sliding down his belly to masturbate himself. He has his head back and his eyes closed, moaning to his own touch.

I is looking at him.”

Unicorn reached into his own robes and began jerking himself off as he watched the Elf touching himself.

Yeah, I can see that. You're both gonna be spurting soon and neither of you are even near each other. Look at what he's doing. That is not bathing. That's showing off to get you chasing after him when he gets out. He's putting on a damned performance on your account. He's knows you're watching him and he knows what it's doing to you. That's why he's doing it. He's a damn whore.”

Aye. I is aware of that be what him doing. I educated him on how the best way to does it, eh? Him wonderfully obedient lil slut. Him love whoring himself to me. Him used to do this kind of move for BoomFuzzy. Back than I had access to me candy shop. I could get him to stand in vat of melted chocolate and him rub it all over himself, then I eat off of him. I got to lick every inch of that delightful body, feeling him squirm and wiggle beneath me. Him knew I was Elf Eater, him let me claw his flesh to make him bleed. Chocolate coated Elf blood, there is nothing like it.”

Your sick, Unicorn.”

Is I?”

Listen to yourself.”

~From "GhoulSpawn and The Lich Lord's Lover" (Volume 22 of The Quaraun Series)


>>shaving,

Quaraun doesn't shave. He's an Elf. And as he puts it: A High Elf, not a Common Elf. Thus he has no facial hair to shave. His body is described as hairless.

He has his super long hair, and as Unicorn puts it "his balls are covered in apricot fuzz", but the rest of his body is hairless. There are scenes where he paints on his eyebrows, indicating he has none. There are scenes where he is gluing feathers to his eyelids, indicating he has no eyelashes either.

GhoulSpawn is described similarly... he being a half-Elf. However, from the waist down, GhoulSpawn is a sheep, and his lower body and legs are covered in thick, shaggy wool, that is described as being thick, curly, 6 inches long, and the texture of Cotswold Wool. He also has cloven hooves instead of feet and there are scenes of him polishing, cleaning, and trimming his hooves.

GhoulSpawn, also, because of his hooves, can not walk on smooth, shinny, polished, or waxed surfaces. He slips and falls on his back.

On the other hand, because of his hooves, GhoulSpawn can run on rocky terrain that trips up others. He can climb steep inclines up the side of a mountain, like a mountain goat.

Unicorn/BoomFuzzy, is described as being covered in thick black hair, that is turned grizzled grey with age. He's never shaved anything. His massive dreadlocks go past him bum, and his public hair is long enough to completely hide is genitals.

Quaraun stats in several stories that he finds a hair covered body exotic and attractive, due to his coming from a race of hairless bodies. In the case of both Unicorn and GhoulSpawn, Quaraun ignored their initial advances. In both cases it was not until seeing them naked and discovering they had unusually hairy bodies, that Quaraun became lustfully attracted to them.

Again, you don't have to read far into any Quaraun to realize, I like hairy men. A lot.

>>brushing your teeth,

It's the 1400s. No one did this yet.

GhoulSpawn is from the current future stuck in the past, he does brush his teeth, when he can find something he can do so with back in the 1400s.

>>doing your hair. 

Quaraun's hair is 4 feet long at the beginning of the series. Later in the series it is 12 feet long - more than twice his body length. Doing his hairs takes 3 to 5 hours each and every day.

I am someone with bum length hair in real life, I know from experience the amount of hours it takes to care for super long hair. I've had dreadlocks since 2013 (so 5 years as of 2018) and it takes 2 hours to wash my bum length dreadlocks, and 8 hours to dry them. Before my hair was dreaded, it took 2 to 3 hours to brush it smooth every morning.

GhoulSpawn's hair, which is neon yellow and glows in the dark (because he's a Demon) comes down to his waist and while requires quite a bit of care, is far more marginable then Quaraun's hair, except that it also grows in thick woolly curls, because he's a sheep-man.

Unicorn likes to brag that he has not brushed his hair in 2,000 years. Unicorn, has massive dread locks, which are longer then GloulSpawn's hair, but not nearly as long as Quaraun's hair. Unicorn's hair is bum length, and other then washing it from time to time, he does absolutely nothing with it.


And yes, each of them, their hair does become important to the plot, thus you do see descriptions of their hair. In fact, you see A LOT of descriptions of their hair, and rarely anything else.

And to see what exactly those look like, here are a few of them:



“Yes. I was born in Quebec. But I was not raised by Elves. I grew up in Persia. In a Gypsy caravan. We raised horses and travelled across the desert to sell them in city markets. They adopted me as one of them, though I was born an Elf. My biological family abandoned me when I was just 9 years old. The Di’Jinn adopted me. Thus, how it is that an Elf came to be a Gypsy. When I was young. I was sick. I lived in the Deep North, where the snow always falls and summer never comes. My father murdered my mother and then he was going to murder me. His older brother had a friend, ZooLock, a Di’Jinn priest who was staying with him at the time."

"ZooLock?"

"ZooLock."

"Not ZooLock the Great?"

"Yes. ZooLock the Great."

"You're friends with ZooLock the Great?"

"Not exactly. I wouldn't call us friends. We know each other. But we aren't friends. I never said ZooLock was my friend. He was my uncle's friend."

"Yes. That is what you said isn't it?"

"He gave me to ZooLock, told him to take me with him, raise me as his own child. And he did. Thus, an Elf came to be adopted by the Di’Jinn. The Gypsies are my family. Not the Elves. I was happy with the Di’Jinn. I felt more at home with them, then I did my own people.”

“My understanding of the Di’Jinn is that they is an evil people. A nomadic band of criminal magic users. The Guild wouldn’t even allow them to be members.”

“That is an urban myth. Gypsies are not criminals. They are good people. They live in tents and wear bright colours, have big families. And that scares settled people."

"I suppose I can relate. Whole reason I live in the swamps is because people in the town are scared of witches and they think I'm a witch." 

"Yes. Never trust settled people. I certainly don't. Settled people make up rumours. Spread lies. That doesn’t mean those rumours are true."

"Do settled people spread rumours about you?"

"Yes. They do. I live in a pink tent, travelling on foot from town to town, selling pink silk and wearing pink silk. It terrifies people.  But now we are talking about me again. You keep doing that. Changing the subject to me. Are you a spy? Here to find out information about me? I’ve seen no men chase you yet. I’ve only your word on that part, now don’t I?”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t pry.”

"You're a Guild member. That means you know Finderu. It's to my advantage to not eat you."

"Eat me? Wait? What? Why would you eat me?"

"I am The Sacred Pink JellyFish. Brains are my primary diet. And it not often that brains of their own free will, willingly stroll into my lair."

"Lair? This isn't a lair, it's a tent."

"I like my privacy."

"You're kind of crazy aren't you?"

"You don't know who I am, do you?"

"Should I?"

"Everything IS pink."

"Yes. You're not joking when you say you like pink."

"Nor am I joking when I say I don't like Humans and their brains are my primary diet."

"You eat Human brains."

"Yes."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"It's YOUR ad copy."

"My... what?"

"Waited dead or alive, preferably dead. Wanted for Necromancy, Demonology, Sorcery, Black Magic, murder, rape, buggery, sodomy, cross-dressing, bathing more than twice a year, eating Human brains... you don't remember writing that about me? Printing it up on ten thousand wanted posters and than nailing it on every tree, fence post, store, and mailbox for a 14 mile radius all around The Great Portland Area of Saco Bay, even right here on York Hill, and all over the front of Pepper Valley's Pepperell Mill? On the bulletin board in the bakery. Hmmm? Forgot you did that?" 

"I do that with a lot of people. We ARE Justice Mages, it is our JOB to hunt criminals. And keep tabs on everything they do. I drive all over Maine to watch them, for weeks before they get arrested."

"Yes. I know. I AM aware WHO you are. You're a vile little bitch, who makes an art out of being a nosy busy body. A slimy sneaky salamander, you are."

"I.. but, I don't recognize you as a criminal we are looking for."

"Really? Maybe you should get a better artist to draw my picture on your wanted posters than."

"I'm sorry, I don't... none of the criminals we are looking for are said to look anything like YOU."

"Yes. Your wanted posters did lack a few details, like the fact that I always, ever, and only wear pink, or my Rapunzel hair. Even if you didn't know me by my face, you SHOULD have known me the second you saw a pink silk tent. Most of the world knows me by my pink silk, and The Guild, is so incompetent that they can't even get that one simply, alarmingly identifiable fact about me straight. Or my hair. There is no mention of my hair in any of your wanted posters. Not one. You'd think some who supposedly knows me ooooooh soooooo well, that they can be a lying assed busy body gossip writing about my so-called sex life on a public wanted poster, that they should also know enough about me to know I ONLY wear pink and have twelve foot long hair."

"Is your hair really that long?"

"Yes."

"You're sitting down on the floor, I can't see how long your hair is."

"Hmmmm." Quaraun reached for the cane that was laying beside his make-shift bed of furs and used it to stand up, for the first time since, Ghirardelli had entered the tent.

The tiny, little old Elf was only five feet six inches tall, only coming up to Ghirardelli's shoulder. But his hair cascaded down around him, over his shoulders, down his back, in front of him, behind him, spilling onto the floor around him, and flowing in heaping piles everywhere.

It was impossible to see how long his hair was, but with the way it piled around his feet and scattered along the floor, it was safe to say that twelve feet was a good guess.

"Good god! Your hair really is twelve feet long!"

"Yes."

"How do you walk?"

"With great difficulty." Quaraun promptly sat back down, going down slowly and careful so as not to cause further pain to his already hurting hip. "Also, I can't stand very long. My hair is too heavy. My hair weighs more than my body does. It's very difficult for me to move unless I've someone to walk with me and carry my hair."

"Why don't you just cut it?"

"You REALLY don't know who I am, do you?"

"What difference does that make with your hair?"

"A huge difference. Mages get their power from their hair. And I'm the world's most powerful wizard for a reason: I'm the wizard with the longest hair."

"You know I never thought of that. Makes sense. Mages do all claim the longer their hair is the more powerful they are. Something about their hair attracting magic energy force fields of something. But yeah, if that was true, than the world's most powerful wizard would diffidently be the wizard with the longest hair."

“Tell me about your evil sword. Do you know how to feed it souls?”

“Well, that’s the thing. I had it for weeks and it did nothing and I thought maybe I got scammed. One night I hear a voice whisper ‘feed me’ and a shadow comes out of the sword. Well, I didn’t know how to feed it souls, so I decide to see what happens if you feed it something other than a soul.”

“What did you feed it?”

“Anything I could find. Bread, Butter. Jelly."

"Jelly?" 

"Yes, jelly."

"I like jelly."

"Also, corn. Carrots. Potatoes. Green beans. Blueberries.”

“And did it eat them?”

“It did. At least I think it did."

"You don't know?" 

"The food would vanish."

"That doesn't mean it ate it. I can make food vanish too. One wave of the wand and POOF! Gone forever."

"That's dark magic."

“It is. But isn’t owning a soul eating sword, also illegal dark magic?”

“Yes. That’s why I bought it.”

“You trying to get on Finderu’s bad side?”

“No. I was going to give the blade to Finderu, next Guild meeting.” 

“Why would you do that? If I know Finderu, he’ll charge you with necromancy and have you executed.”

“No. Finderu has asked Guild members to deliver to him any cursed blade we can recover.”

“Ah. So our dear Finderu has taken to collecting cursed swords, has he?”

“No. Finderu has set out a search for The Elf Eater’s cursed obsidian dagger.”

“Ah!” Quaraun pulled a curved obsidian bladed dagger from his belt. The hilt dripped with several teardrop shaped pigeon blood star rubies. “You mean this?”

“Is that...”

“It is.”

“How did you get it?”

“You don’t know?”

“No. Should I?”

“Well, I am a mage who is likewise a merchant of pink silk. World's most powerful wizard. World's longest hair. It should be rather obvious how I happened to acquire the obsidian dagger of The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley, now shouldn’t it?”

“Should it?”

“Enough about me. Tell me about your sword. What was Finderu going to do with it once you presented it to him?”

“I’m going to have him remove the curse, of course.”

“You assume he can?”

“He’s a powerful sorcerer.”

Quaraun scoffed.

“You think he’s not?”

“Honey. I have more power in my little finger than Finderu will ever have in his entire lifetime.”

“You really think you’re that powerful?”

“I don’t think it. I know it. Look at my hair. But that’s beside the point. Tell me about the food that vanished.”

“I don’t know where it went.”

“You are not very good at being a witch are you?”

“What?”

“A mage who knows enough about magic to become a member of Finderu’s Guild, SHOULD, be competent enough, proficient enough, skilled enough, to figure out where things go when a magic sword makes them disappear.”

“Are you calling me incompetent?”

“Yes. I am.”

“I’ll have you know I’m one of The Guild’s best mages!”

“Indeed? Well then, times have changed. If you are the best The Guild has to offer, perhaps I should pay The Guild a visit, one meeting soon. Rid the world of every last one of you, all at once.”

“Rid the world us? Are you a mage hunter?”

“No. I’m a wizard of The Di’Jinn Order who sells pink silk and has the world's longest hair. You don’t get the joke.”

“That was a joke?”

“Some would find it funny. Finish telling me about your sword.”

“Anyway, the sword seemed satisfied with the regular food instead of souls. So, I have this sword for a few months, while I’m researching the history of it. Supposedly it belonged to a serial killer, who was a knife salesman, so nobody suspected that he was a serial killer for a really long time. And the knife salesman somehow got his soul messed up, sold it to a Necromancer or some such evil wizard and he ended up with his soul trapped inside of his own sword and the mage used the weapon to draw souls out of the living.”

“Ah, well, then, perhaps you are in just the right tent, after all.”

“What do you mean?”

“Souls are my specialty.”

“Souls?”

“Souls and necromancy. Necromancy and souls.”

“I thought pink silk was your specialty?”

“Yes. That too. Which would be why I am known as The Pink Necromancer.”

“The Pink Nec... Wait. No. You’re The Pink... No. You can’t be.”

“Oh, but I am. No one loves pink more than I. And no one knows necromancy better than me. And no one has a glorious head of hair like mine. Not even women have hair as long as mine. I’m the world’s most powerful wizard.”

“Wait. You’re... my god! You’re Quaraun the Insane? The serial killer!” 

“I’m not insane. I don’t like that title. My name is Quaraun Swanzen. And I DID tell you I was the world's most powerful wizard. Look at my hair. And everything is pink. With hair like mine, did you really think I was anyone other than The Pink Necromancer, world's most powerful mage? How may I help you?”

~Kelim and The Necromancer





"Worms!" Quaraun gasped.

Unicorn looked to see what Quaraun was looking at.

Worms.

A squirming knot of worms.

Twisting.

Wriggling.

Writhing.

Squirming.

Quaraun stared at the worms, then turned and ran out of the room. Unicorn followed after him and found the Elf vomiting his guts out. 

"Hetushki! Oho! Was it the worms or the opium?" Unicorn asked as he watched the Elf puke.

"Both," Quaraun gasped as he staggered back to the building. "I don't like this place."

"Well, it what we gots." Unicorn's protective hand pulled Quaraun beside him, then pressed the Elf closer. "Ya is so frail of late."

"I'm always frail," Quaraun whimpered. "I'm a weak, cowardly, frail, runt. The Moon Elves were right. I'm pitiful and worthless."

"Fudger Fluffer Nutters. Ya is no worthless. Pitiful, maybe, but never worthless."

"I don't like it here."

"Well dick brains. Ya wants to keep walking, th'ough dense forest at night?"

"No. I just wish we weren't alone in this place."

Just then there was a crackling zap across the ceiling, followed by flashes of lightning blue streaks dancing in the air, followed by a great black hole opening up and a half-Elf, falling, flailing, screaming as he dropped out of the sky and landed on the floor in front of them. The instant he hit the ground, the black hole closed up and vanished as if it had never been there.

"Owwww," the yellow haired Sun Elf moaned as he held on to his head as if warding off a headache.

"Fuu-uuuck! What was that?" Unicorn stood up and stared at the spot where the hole had been. "Oh well, moving on.. don't mind me as I... what the hell where did ya come from?!"

Unicorn stared down at the half-Elf sprawled on the floor in front of him.

"Are you alright," Quaraun asked GhoulSpawn as he helped the dazed Sun Elf to his feet.

"How did that happen?" GhoulSpawn asked as he pushed away from Quaraun and stood with his head tipped back, staring up at the spot in the ceiling where he had just fallen out of. "Where am I? Arrgh. Move!"

GhoulSpawn scrambled to crawl away, and Unicorn looked up to see why the half-Elf saw, then grabbed Quaraun and pulled him away, just as the familiar bright orange metal flake 1974 AMC Gremlin came crashing down, landing on all four wheels in the spot they had just been.

The half Sun Elf turned to Quaraun and asked again: "Where am I?"

"I don't know," Quaraun said, shrugging his shoulders. "We aren't sure where we are. We were running away from a giant turtle and ended up here."

"Giant... turtle? How did I get here? What is that?" GhoulSpawn pointed to ZooLock.

"That's a Thullid," Quaraun said.

"A what?" GhoulSpawn stared at the puce purple pleco eyed, octopus headed, tentacle beast sitting chained to the wall.

"A Thullid. That's ZooLock the Great."

"He's... in chains."

"Yes. He keeps trying to run away."

"Oh. How did I get here?"

"Where were you before?"

"At work. At Rapid Ray's. Pepperell Square."

"Pepper Valley?"

"Yeah. I think that's what you called it before."

"That's where we are right now."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I don't think you've move locations. Just time periods."

"How? What year is this?"

"I don't know," Quaraun said, shrugging his shoulders, though he suspected he had just wished GhoulSpawn here.

"I was... and now I'm... what? ... how...." the dazed and confused half-Elf spun around several times looking at everything and everyone in the room, through his very wide, very frightened lime yellow green eyes.

The room was dark, only a couple of candle lights lit, and GhoulSpawn's long frizzy sheep's wool afro hair was glowing a vivid fluorescent yellow, as were his eyes.

"How does ya glow like that?" Unicorn asked.

"What?"

"Ya hair and ya eyes. We can use ya for a lamp post!"

"GhoulSpawn reached up and put both hands on the top of his head.

"Oh! I forgot about that!"

He closed his eyes and opened them again, this time his eyes were a more normal shade of hazel nut flecked with brilliant green, but his ivory Cotswolds sheep wool hair was still glowing. The demonic Elf twirled his long glowing yellow curls on his finger.

"Oh dear!" He muttered as he stared mournfully at the glowing strand of hair around his finger. "Not much I can do about that. You don't want me on a stake out or any where you need to hide from a killer. I'm sorry. I glow in the dark. I probably should have mentioned that at some point."

"Well, join the club!" Unicorn laughed, slapping the half Elf on the shoulder. "So does he." 

Unicorn pointed to Quaraun.

"Do you?" GhoulSpawn turned and asked Quaraun.

"Yep. Only not just my hair. My whole body. I light up like up a Christmas tree every time it's a full moon. I'm a Moon Elf. It's why they call us Moon Elves."

"Ah. I'm a Sun Elf. My hair glows at night if I stay out in the sun light too long during the day. It's why they call us Sun Elves."

"You're eyes were glowing too," Quaraun said. "I've never seen an Elf with glowing eyes."

"Oh, that, yes. I'm only a half-Elf." 

"I never saw a Human with glowing eyes either."

"Human? Oh. No. I'm not... I... Human," GhoulSpawn tried to think of an explanation to why his eyes were glowing. One that didn't involve him telling strangers he was a Demon.  But he couldn't think of a good lie off the top of his head. Lying wasn't something GhoulSpawn was good at or used to doing. 

Quaraun waited patiently for the half-Elf to get his story straight inside his head.

"Humans don't... no. That won't work," the half-Elf continued to mutter to himself.  "My hooves... No. That's not right either. Oh dear."

GhoulSpawn was absolutely terrible at lying. Quaraun smirked as he watched the poor half-Elf try to come up with a lie.

"And," Quaraun said, to farther disrupt the poor half-Elf's train of thought. "You seem to be able to control it. Humans can't do that either."

"Humans... can't..." GhoulSpawn said slowing. "My eyes glow... Humans don't have ... glowing..."

Quaraun shook his head.

"Oh! I know!" The half Elf exclaimed cheerfully, as he thought of an answer that didn't involve him admitting to being a Demon. "I'm a Chaos Wizard. We can do that."

"You forgot you was a wizard?" Quaraun asked.

"What?"

"You're lying to me."

"No I'm not."

"You had to stop and think about your answer before answering me."

"No I didn't."

"It took you three minutes to think up an excuse."

"No it didn't."

"Aye, it did," Unicorn agreed. "Yis a bad liar."

"I'm sorry," GhoulSpawn muttered.

"For what?" Quaraun asked.

"I don't know," GhoulSpawn said, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm not... I don't... people make me nervous. I'm not used to talking. No one ever talks to me. They're usually too busy kicking me."

"Kicking you?" Quaraun asked, now sounding sympathetic. He hated to see anyone abused. "Who kicks you?"

"Elves. I'm a half-Elf. I'm not a viable member of society. My cloven hooves make it difficult for me to run on smooth floors, and then I fall and can't get back up because my hooves slip. Valuable. I'm not a valuable member of society. I don't deserve to live."

"It that what the Elves around here tell you?"

"The Sun Elves. Yes. They are High Elves. Highest High Elves on the planet, after the Moon Elves." GhoulSpawn suddenly looked scared. His eyes darted nervously around the room looking for a means of escape. "You're a Moon Elf."

"I am, but I won't hurt you. I have nothing against half-Elves. I'm not like other Moon Elves."

"The Sun Elves are dead."

"Are they?"

"I'm the last one."

"You're a half-Elf."

"I know. I'm unworthy."

"Don't say that."

"It's true."

"You're value doesn't decrease based on someone else's inability to see your worth." 

"No one cares about a half-Elf. The High Elves want us dead, the Wild Elves don't care about anything at all, Faerie eat us, Humans usher us off into reservations and concentration camps, Demons don't want..." GhoulSpawn stopped himself before he said too much. "I'm not welcomed anywhere."

"I know the feeling," Quaraun said.

"Do you? You're a full blooded High Elf. Purest blooded Elf on the planet if the rumours about you are true. You are a result of hundreds of generations of sibling marriages."

"I am. That part of the rumours is true at least. I'm the Elf all other Elves strive to be, blood-line-wise. In everything else they can't be as far from like me as possible."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm a Necromancer. I dress like a she-Elf. I murdered my family. I have non-Elf friends. I don't hate half-Elves. I like getting my ass fucked by male Faeries. Most Elves count those things against me and say it makes me the evilest Elf to ever live. I'm a disgrace to Elfdom. I'm worse then a half-Elf. I'm a waste of a perfect blood-line. Chin up, GhoulSpawn, there's worse things in life then being born a half-Elf. You could have born a Demon."

GhhoulSpawn shuddered at the High Elf's words.

"But," Quaraun continued. "One can't help what you are born as. It's your parents fault, not yours. It's not like you chose to be a half-Elf. And who am I to judge? I've been judged enough in my life to know how much it hurts to be on the receiving end of that judgement."

"Do you not like Demons?" GhoulSpawn asked.

"Demons?" Why do you ask about Demons?"

"You said there was worse things in life to being born a half-Elf. You said I could have been born a Demon. You're voice was filled with contempt when you said the word Demon."

"Was it?"

"Aye," Unicorn said, agreeing with GhoulSpawn. "It was. One would t'inks from ya tone of voice, ya hated Demons."

Quaraun looked over at ZooLock and sighed.

"No. I don't hate them," he turned back to GhoulSpawn. "I just having one raising heck in my life right now, so I'm currently annoyed with Demons, is all. I grew up with Demons, you know. Him in particular."

Quaraun tossed a thumb back over his shoulder in ZooLock's direction.

"He's in chains," GhoulSpawn said mournfully, as if he expected Quaraun would put him in chains along side ZooLock.

"Yeah. He is. But only because he kept me in chains for thirty years. I thought he'd like a piece of his own medicine."

"If another Demon were here, would you put him in chains too?"

"No. No reason to. Not unless he gave me a reason to. I'm a Thullid too, you know."

GhoulSpawn stared wide eyed at Quaraun.

"Are you? You don't look it?"

"Jelly Thullid, not Squid. I'll never hatch out of this Elf's head, like he did out of his Elf's head." Quaraun again looked in ZooLock's direction. Then turned back to GhoulSpawn. "Techchally that makes me a Demon myself, now. Quaraun the Elf is dead. He's been dead for a few hundred years now. Quaraun the Thullid, lives on in him place, replicating the Elf's habits and mannerisms and living inside his hollowed out skull."

"So in a way," GhoulSpawn stated. "You're a half-Elf, half-Demon?"

"Unfortunately, yes, that would be the case. I wasn't given a choice in the matter. My Jelly body was captured by ZooLock here, as was my Elf body. He forced my Jelly body inside of this poor Elf's brain. Once inside I couldn't get out. I was faced with starving to death and letting the Elf live, or eating his brain and taking full control of his body in order to stay alive. I chose to live, and so the Elf died and I'm a female Demon trapped in the body of a male Elf."

"Is that why you dress like you do?"

"Yes. Technically I am female, so I dress female."

"But you use male pronouns."

"Yes. The Elf has a male body. Male reproductive organs. Male boy parts. He used male pronouns when he was alive. I honour his choice in that by continuing to use male pronouns for him, even though I am myself female."

"That's very complicated."

"Yes, well, ZooLock could have put me inside a female Elf and made it less confusing for me, but what's done is done, there's no changing it now. I'm a female Demon trapped in the body of a male Elf. And nothing I can do about it. It is what it is."

GhoulSpawn crept close to ZooLock to get a better look at the strange squid prist and immediately the Thullid began screaming and trying to escape.

"What is your problem now?" Quaraun asked.

"Please! If you value all that is holy, keep GhoulSpawn and the Gremlin away from me. I must never touch either. The space time continuum depends upon it."

"What are you talking about?"

"I can not explain. I dare not explain."

"The Gremlin?" GhoulSpawn asked. "Does he mean my car?"

"No," Quaraun answered, looking back at the orange AMC. "He means the future version of you."

"Me?"

"You from the future was here earlier with some warning about not going into that village up ahead."

"And I called myself The Gremlin?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Apparently at some point you became infected with a Thulid larvae and changed your name to distinguish the Thullid from the dead half-Elf 's corpse that was your host."

"You mean I was dead, like you?"

"Something like that."

~ Summoner of Darkness





Quaraun was sitting on the front steps of the palace. He was dressed in the traditional silvery misty blue garb typical of a male Moon Elf. He was also devoid of his make-up, and his mega-long silver hair.

“You’re not wearing eye popping pink dresses today,” BeaLuna, the green skinned, pink haired Flower Gnome commented as she sat down beside him.

“No.”

“Golly! Did you cut your hair?”

“No. I did not.”

“Quaraun. Someone cut your hair.”

“Yes. I know.”

“Who?”

“My father.”

“Ah, he’s having one of his fits again?”

“He burned all my pink dresses.”

“Wow! You must have really pissed him off this time. I’m sorry. Why does he do these things to you?”

“He says I’m disgracing the family. He says I’m supposed to be his son, not his daughter. He wants me to give up wizardry and focus on other more important studies.”

“Well, I say he’s just a big fat bully. Who isn’t actually fat, but you know what I mean.”

“He wants me to focus on other studies. Says it will make me less stupid.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna happen. You’re pretty stupid.”

Quaraun glared down at his tiny two foot tall friend. 

“I don’t like that word.”

“Well, it’s true isn’t it? You ARE an absolute total idiot.”

“It hurts. Half the village says I am too stupid to live.”

“Well you kind of are. Not like there’s anything you can do about it.”

“He burned all my dresses.”

“Well you can make new dresses.”

“I know.”

“And your hair will grow back.”

“I wish he would drop dead.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. There’s Phookas in the area, I wish he’d be eaten.”

“Anything else he’s got up his ass today?”

“He doesn’t want me making clothes any more.”

“So making new dresses, not that easy.”

“He wants me spending more time with girls.”

“I’m a girl. You spend time with me.”

“You’re a Gnome.”

“Are you being racist now?”

“No, my father is. He doesn’t want me spending time with you either. He says I should be spending time with female Moon Elves and looking for a wife.”

“Looking for a wife? You!” BeaLuna burst out laughing at the thought of Quaraun with a wife. “Really? Ha! Has he met you? You’d run screaming from any female who wanted you.”

“He wants me married. Thinks it’ll ‘cure’ me.”

“Cure you? What you mean of liking boys and wanting to be fucked like a girl?”

“I’m a virgin, BeaLuna."

~ Summoner of Darkness





“Finderu the Masked," Quaraun said. "He created The Guild of Wizardry. If you’re not a Guild member, they’ll hang you or behead you or both. Terribly regulated. Exceedingly coordinated. Dreadfully dominated.”

“Does ye be Guild member?” BoomFuzzy asked.

“I am. But their meetings are boring. They talk about things I don’t understand.”

“What does ya no understanding?”

“Mathematics. Science. Equations. Star charts. Planetary movements. Religion. Philosophy. Theology. They write up rules and vote on laws. It’s all dreadfully dull and boring. I can’t understand how to use numbers. I don’t know the meanings of half the stuff they say. The whole thing confuses me. Gives me time to embroider while they argue. I only go to look at their hair.”

“Look at hair? What for ya do dat?”

“I like long hair. The Wizards all have long hair.”

“Yis seem to has lost yars.”

“Yes.” 

Quaraun nervously fluttered his fingers through his cropped short hair. He wanted to cry. He’d been crying most of the morning. 

Quaraun felt naked without his long hair. He had not cut it since he was born. 

Never.

Not once. 

Not ever. 

Quaraun began trembling. The current lack of his hair was extremely upsetting for him. 

Had BeaLuna not brought Quaraun to see the gingerbread house, he’d likely be in the tower slicing his wrists, right now. A common pastime for Quaraun, when he could not brush his hair. 

Quaraun had a developed a dangerous habit of self harm since his arrival in the Moon Elf village. Quaraun’s mind was already a frail thing, but now depression sunk in on top of the original mental deficits. 

Quaraun was not smart, and he was painfully aware of this. The other Moon Elves took great delight in rubbing this fact in his face. Since his return to Ivujivik, what little self esteem he possessed, had plummeted. He was teased, beaten, bullied, and belittled daily, hourly, nightly, at every turn by every Elf. But most especially by his father.

“My father cut it off. I’m not happy about it.” Quaraun choked back the tears as he said this. He had even greater trouble choking back the desire to strangle his father to death. Rage burned in Quaraun’s heart, over his father’s chopping off his lovely mega long silvery hair.

“Why him do dat?”

“He said I’m supposed to be his son, not his daughter. He also says Wizards are evil and I’m not allowed to be one. I’m just waiting for him to drop dead so I can go back to living my own life as I choose.”

“Ah. How be it ya come to live with Di’Jinn, then?”

“My uncle. The King. He sent me there. My mother wanted me to be a Wizard. So he hired a Di’Jinn to come here and train me...”

“De King did?”

“Yes. But my father killed her...” Quaraun’s voice seethed with rage as he thought of the day his mother died. The more he thought of his father, the more he wanted to kill him. Quaraun’s fists clenched.

“Who him kill? Ya mother or de priest?”

“My mother.  The priest was a Thullid. ZooLock. And was going to kill me and the Di’Jinn priest as well. So the King sent me away with the priest and he took me back to his temple in Persia. I grew up in Persia with the Di’Jinn. I’m kind of having trouble getting along with the Moon Elves. I was taught how to live like an Elf. I spent most of my time with Humans when not with Thullids. The Thullids raised me. But they lived in a heavily populated area between several large Human cities. I get along with Humans better than Elves. I’ve only been back here a few weeks and I’ve not been getting along well with them. They are very strict here. They like conformity. Individual expression is not well looked up. I’m radical and free spirited according to most every one in the village.”

“What ya doing here wid Elves than?”

“The King is old and ill. They think he’ll die in a few more years, and so they decided it was time for me to learn how to be an Elf, before he he dies.”

“What King dying to do wid ya?”

“I’m heir to the throne.”

“Is ya not the younger brother’s son?” 

“Yes. But the King has no sons. So, I’m next in line.”

“So yi’ll be King soon?”

~ BoomFuzzy





Quaraun was walking unsteadily, leaning heavily on a long staff like branch he was carrying with him, walking with one hand outstretched and grasping hold of each tree as he passed them. It looked to Unicorn, as though Quaraun was hurt and having trouble standing on his own. The Elf was limping badly and seemed to have trouble keeping his feet on the ground very long, continually picking them up in a strange hopping limp, indicating his feet were very sore. Unicorn watched the Elf as he gingerly made his way to the brook, continuing the entire way in this slow awkward hopping, limp. It was obvious to Unicorn that Quaraun was injured, but he was uncertain as to how.

Quaraun didn't quite look himself, and that part bothered Unicorn quite a lot. Quaraun's long ground sweeping white hair was messy and tangled, was hanging lose unstyled, unwashed, dirty, and clearly had not been brushed in many days. He was not wearing the many dozens of earrings that usually dangled from his long thin ears. His foot long pointy ears, normally pert and held high and proudly over his ear, were laid back, drooping, and gave Quaraun the appearance of being very scared and oddly lacking in the air of arrogance that he normally had. He also was not wearing any make up. The pink dress he was wearing was one of his more simple ones, a kimono, tied loosely over a caftan, both of which were ragged and dirty and did not appear to have been changed in several days. The gold plated finger armour that normally protected his sensitive damaged fingers, was also missing. 

The Elf looked thin. Quaraun was already underweight. A scrawny little Elf that could definitely stand to eat a little more,more often, but now he was worse off then before. His face looked hallow. His body was trembling, his skin pulled tight across the bones, his eyes bulging. Unicorn had never seen Quaraun look this ill before. The poor weak Elf looked as though he was half starved. This confused Unicorn greatly, for Quaraun had only gone missing, seven days ago. It was not possible for such a drastic transformation in health to occur in so short a time.

Unicorn watched the frightened, scraggly looking, sick Elf as he gingerly limp-hopped his way to the brook. It looked as through it was taking every once of strength he had in him, just to pull himself those few short feet. His breathing was heavy and laboured. He looked dazed and confused and very, very scared.

Something had happened to Quaraun. Unicorn knew it. Something very bad had happened to his Elf. Unicorn had never seen Quaraun even let a hair get out of place before. For the poor Elf to look so dishevelled and sick and hungry, something very bad much have happened to him.

~ Summoner of Darkness





Early morning pouring rain kept them from travelling early this day. It was now mid morning and the rain had stopped. The undergrowth of the forest was tall and thick. Wild swamp asters and five foot tall cinnamon ferns, hung soggily over the path. The bows of spruce and fir hung down, weighted by the crystal water droplets that clung to their fragrant evergreen needles. Between the brush below and the branches above it was hard to tell where the path was now. 

"I'm gonna get soaked," Quaraun complained as he stood surveying the after effects of the storm. "My hair is wet."

"Tis water," said Unicorn. "Tis not gonna hurt ya."

"Listen to all those frogs," BeaLuna changed the subject. She didn't really want to spend another day listening to the Elf gripe about the rain in his hair.

"Singing choruses of praise and worship to the rain," said Unicorn. "Thanking her for blessing them with the bountiful abundance. Without rain there would be no life. Every thing would dry up and die. Frogs know to be thankful for the rain. Why can ya not be more like a frog, Quaraun, eh?”

"There must be hundreds of them," BeaLuna said. 

"Thousands," answered Unicorn. "In a woods this size, tens of thousands. There'll be dozens in every tree. More hiding in the moss below. Clinging to the ferns. Bobbing in the water. This forest is ripe with frogs."

"You sound like someone who knows a lot about frogs."

"He is someone who eats frogs, and uses frogs in his magic," said Quaraun. "An Illusionist can only do just so much with hypnotism and slight of hand. The primary danger of dealing with a powerful solitary Fae is their mastery of poisons, Especially frogs and mushrooms. It's part of why they live in deep forests. That's where the frogs and mushrooms are. Faerie Food is made of poison mushrooms, fogs your mind and makes you see and hear anything the Faerie wants you to see and hear. It is why one must never eat Faerie Food."

"And frogs and mushrooms like damp wet places," added Unicorn. "Ya can tell how much rain a forest gets by the size of it trees. This forest gets a lot of rain. Sooner or later, ya, Quaraun, are going to get wet."

After four or five hours of traipsing through the wet forest, and listening to Quaraun gripe about his wet clothes and wet shoes and wet hair every step of the way they came to a small brook. 

"There is no bridge", Quaraun said. 

"Does not need one, Quaraun," said Unicorn. "Tis all of five feet wide and barely two feet deep. Even I can sees that. We just walks across it, eh?"

"And get wet."

"Oh bollocks, Quaraun, yis walking through high bushes un low branches after a rain storm. Yis already wet."

"I will ruin my shoes, if I walk through that!"

"Oh me lil white Sugar Plumkins, where ya get these fool ideas in ya head for? Quaraun, yis such a sissy! Take yar shoes off. Water ain't going to hurt yar feet."

"My hair will get wet!"

"Cut ya fucking hair un it will no drag in mud."

"I'LL NOT CUT MY HAIR!"

Bullgaar looked at Quaraun's long hair, still touching the ground, even with it folded up on his head in layers of looped pigtails. "Has him ever cut his hair?" The Dwarf asked.

"Once," Unicorn answered. "His father cut it. Shaved it right off."

"And what'd Pansy do than?"

"He killed his father."

"Killed him?"

"I ate that fucking bastard!" Quaraun snarled. "And I'll eat you too if you dare touch my hair!" Quaraun pulled out his wand and was now aiming it at the Dwarf's face. "Touch my hair and kill you!"

Bullgaar backed away from the enraged Pink Necromancer.

"Just step across, Quaraun," Unicorn said quietly. "No one's going to touch your hair."

"I don't like getting wet."

"Tis water Quaraun, just water. Ya cook with it, ya drink it, ya bath in it."

"You drown in it."

"Quaraun! Tis not going to hurt ya! By the gods! Do no tell me yis scared of water too? Is there ANYTHING ya ain't scared of? For crying out loud! Ya're supposed to be a Necromancer. Do ya even know what a Necromancer is? Big, bad, evil, blood, guts, and dead things... 

Yis scared of big. 

Yis scared of bad. 

Yis scared of blood. 

Yis scared of evil. 

Yis scared of guts. 

Yis scared of dead things. 

Yis scared of spiders, and frogs and bats and milk of all things. Milk. How does someone get scare of milk? Yis wearing pink. And it no just pink. It be PINK! And it be a woman's dress. I hae yet to sees ya do anything even remotely necromantic. Ya've been complaining like a lil girl for past three hours. Ya might break a nail. Oh the horror! The wind might blow yar hair out of place and then we'll hae to stop and wait three freaking hours while ya brush it. Again. You might get yar shoes wet. Heaven forbid ya get yar dress dirty, out here in the great big wild wilderness. And now yis telling me, that on top of all that, yis scared of water, eh?”

"Yes."

Quaraun felt ashamed.

"I could throw him across," volunteered Bullgaar as he pulled thoughtfully on his long braided beard.

"Don't you dare touch me!"

"How does ya plan to get across, eh?” asked Unicorn. "There be no bridge because there be no need for one. Just walk across. Tis not going to kill ya."

"No!"

"Then what is ya gonna do?"

"I know," said BeaLuna. "He's going give up, turn around, and change direction. Like he always does every time we try to go to Fire Mountain. What is this? The fourth, fifth, sixth time we've headed for Fire Mountain. We haven't gotten there yet. We are literally walking in circles."

"This is a forest," Quaraun stated. "There are trees. They fall down. If we follow the brook far enough, there has got to be one across it."

"Fine," sassed Unicorn. "Pick up yar hair and lead on."

They didn't have to go far before they found such a spot and ran into more trouble. 

"It's wet," said Quaraun, staring at the fallen tree. 

"Oh by the gods," cried Unicorn. "Now What? Ya've found yar tree. Now what is we stopping for?"

"It's wet."

"Tis a tree laying across a brook. Tis supposed to be wet."

"And there are mushrooms growing on it."

Unicorn looked down at the fallen maple tree. The entire upper side of it was covered with clumps of small velvety mushrooms which resembled goat's ears. Not that he could see them, but if Quaraun said they were there, he believed him. 

"Oh, me sweet lil Pink Sugar Plum of an Elf, explain to me, what is problem, because I do no sees it."

"You're blind, you don't see anything."

"I ain't completely blind. Not yet. I can sees the log un the mushrooms on it, sort of. Almost. But I do not sees why ya will no just walk across it."

"It's wet and there are mushrooms on it. "

"Bollocks! There are mushrooms on it because tis wet. Tis wet because there be brook here. What the fricking problem?"

"Wet wood is slippery. Mushrooms are slippery. It's doubly slippery. I will fall."

"Oh bollocks, Quaraun. That water is two feet deep, the log not be any higher. Ya dare fall from that height, I gonna jump on ya and cut off yar hair."

"Unicorn," BeaLuna interrupted. "I think Quaraun might be scared of heights."

"That no be height. That do be step."

"Yeah, well, if he could be shorter, I think he'd try. I mean, he is taller then the rest of us, that's gotta be scary for him. I mean, it is Quaraun were talking about here. He's scared of milk remember?"

"Quaraun," asked Unicorn. "Is ya scared of heights?"

"Yes."

"Wonderful. Well, I guess now we know why we never get to the mountain. Can not very well climb up a mountain iffing ya can not even step on the log. How did ya gets like this?"

"I was born this way. It's why I never left the house."

"Yeah, I can vouch for that," BeaLuna said. "We grew up in the same village. It was really hard to get him to go outside. Even as little Elfling. Nobody could understand it. And this fainting thing that he does. He's always done that. Always. That's how he got into wizardry you know. His parents used to take him to healers all the time. After a while they figured some evil magic users had put a curse on him when he was born. So they started taking him to magic users, wizards to get the curse removed. And he ended up becoming a wizard."

"Poor Quaraun. Do ya need help getting across, eh?” Unicorn asked. 

"Yes." Quaraun hated to admit it but the fallen tree and the brook below it frightened him terribly, and he didn't know why. 

"Why did ya not just say that in first place? Ya do no hae to keep secrets from me Quaraun. I already know yis one messed up jelly brained Elf!"

Unicorn attempted to help Quaraun across the log. 

"Ya know," said Unicorn. "Ya should be the one helping me. I is almost blind, I can barely sees the log."

"I'm dizzy," Quaraun suddenly gasped. 

"Oh bother! Ya best not dare to faint on me. I wills be tossing ya into the water iffing ya do."

"I don't do it on purpose."

"I know. It just gets so annoying. Ya do it so much. There really is something wrong with ya. Tis not normal for someone to faint several times a day like ya do."

"I've never had good health."

"Oh look at that squirrel!"

"Unicorn!"

"What, eh?”

"Can you stayed focused on what we're doing?"

"But a squirrel ran by."

"So?"

"I like squirrels, used to be one once."

"Well that explains it."

"Explains what?"

"Why you have nuts for brains."

"Yis the nutter who be insane and got jelly for brains."

"You're the one chasing squirrels."

"Good point. We is both insane."

Unicorn got Quaraun across the brook and Bullgaar and BeaLuna joined them. 

"You just squirrelled at him on purpose didn't you?" BeaLuna asked Unicorn. 

"Did I."

"He was like 10 seconds from passing out on you there, till you said that and got him thinking on wanting to wring your neck neck instead. I thought he was gonna push you in the brook."

"His fears be all in hims head. I ain't actually sure they is all real either, he acts like such a freaking drama queen looking for sympathy half the time."

"I'm dizzy," moaned Quaraun again. 

"Ya sees what I mean?"

"He really does faint, Unicorn," BeaLuna said. "He's not faking that."

"Ya does look likes yis gonna faint," Unicorn said to Quaraun. "Ya really should sit down."

"The moss is wet."

"Oh for crying out loud! Quaraun, do no start in again. Iffing ya faint, ya gonna be flat out on the wet moss anyways. Now sit ya blooming arse down, before I throws ya in the water, so I does no hae to listen to ya bitch about getting wet no more."

Unicorn shoved the Elf, forcing him to sit on the mossy bank beside the brook. Next thing they knew Quaraun was screaming hysterically, not really at anyone, just screaming out of frustration.

“I hate forests! I hate nature! I hate being outside! There are pine needles in my hair! And burrs and briar! I am not a Wood Elf. I d