How To Become A Dwarf:
A Short Story
by David Reagan, December 28, 2005
I am not easily surprised by anything. Nearly ten thousand years of traveling the multiverse will make a mockery of the word “normal”. But this Elf had shocked me enough that it took nearly two picoseconds to recover. I cleared my throat, “So, Mister Elf, you want to become a Dwarf?”
Said Mister Elf nodded eagerly, “Yes, yes!”
“And why do you want to become a Dwarf?” I asked, thinking how strange that sounded. In this particular universe Dwarves and Elves were had formalized their hate with a treaty. Talk about hate!
“Dwarves are the only ones who can make uranium casserole!” The Elf explained his desire.
I blinked. Uranium casserole? I had heard of it before, but couldn't remember where or when. So I set up a time field to keep the hyper Dwarf-wannabe from destroying my house, and went to my library. A few hours of traveling later (I have a VERY large library) I found the section dedicated to the particular universe the Elf lived in. Then another hour later I finally arrived at the section for his planet. Looking at the miles of shelves, I decided that a searching spell was in order. I don't usually use spells in my library, but I was feeling impatient.
I chanted to my spell hat, “F! I! N! D! M! E! T! H! E! B! O! O! K! S! I! N! E! E! D!”
The hat jumped off my head to the floor. It then proceeded to morph into a plaid colored tank. It drove off down the shelves shooting bright yellow pellets at certain books. I followed behind it picking the now yellow books off of the shelves and levitating them behind me. Five minutes later I had around twenty books, and was ready to read.
A week later I had found the reference to Uranium Casserole that I was looking for. Turned out that the last time Uranium Casserole had been made was at the feast where Elves and Dwarves decided to hate each other, around two thousand years ago in this universe. The tale was a little strange, apparently the Elven Kings Jester was allergic to Uranium. He had entertained the feast goers for the first half of the feast with his usual good humor. Then when he came back after a break to eat, he started telling insulting jokes about the Dwarves. It somehow escalated into a food fight. Then the magicians got into play and started changing the opposing forces into different animals. Eventually things calmed down enough that the two sides negotiated a mutual hate treaty and left peacefully. Ever since Elves have always hated Dwarves and Dwarves have returned the feelings.
Happy with my findings I went over to the spellbook to see how to change an elf into a dwarf, just in case I decided to grant the idiots request.
With the spell learned, I popped back to my meeting with Mister Elf. Oh, I forgot to mention that my library is a special universe I had found, really quite amazing.
Looking at my guest I resumed the week old, for me, conversation. “So you want to become a dwarf just to eat uranium casserole?”
He nodded his head eagerly again, and for a moment I thought I saw illusion lines, and heard something like a bell tinkling. I narrowed my eyes and willed them to see through illusions. For some reason my guest had a jesters hat on. Putting two and two together to get twenty, this is a strange universe... I figured that this must be the jester who precipitated the hate treaty.
“Would you explain why you need uranium casserole?” I asked.
He bit his lip nervously, “Do I have to?”
I snorted, “Look, I am a very powerful wizard. People constantly try to get me to help them with petty wars and hate fests. I can't exactly go turning someone into a perfect spy.”
“Spy? What do you mean?” The elf asked looking very moronic.
I was actually started to lose my patience. And being ten thousand years old I have a LOT of it. “You are an Elf. Elves hate Dwarves. I turn you into a Dwarf, you find out Dwarvish secrets. You then tell them to Elves, Elves wipe out Dwarves. Get it?”
“Oh, I hadn't thought about that.”
I waited a minute for him to explain why he needed Uranium Casserole, he just sat there. I cleared my throat. He just sat there. I finally snapped, “So why do you need Uranium Casserole?!”
He jerked, then looked at me, “Can you keep it a secret?”
“I have lived ten thousand years in 8574 different universes, I have kept more secrets than you have body cells!”
“Oh, I will take that as a yes...” He said.
A minute later I said, “So?”
“Sorry!” He yelped, “Um, you may have noticed... But I am actually a Jester.” He dispelled the illusion covering his jesters hat.
I just nodded, tired of speaking to this thing.
“Well, elvish jesters have a secret. You know how Elves are notorious for lacking humor?”
I nodded again, wanting him to hurry up.
“The only cure for our lack of humor is Uranium Casserole. We used to get it from the dwarves at our annual feasts, but then I got stuck with a plutonium casserole and caused the whole hate treaty thing. So I can't get anymore Uranium Casserole. If I don't get it I will be unable to get rid of the hate treaty, which will loose elves their jokes forever, which will cause elves to age faster, which will make our tempers short, which will...”
Five minutes of dire which wills later I lost all my patience. Tossing my spell cap at him I said the spell, there was a flash and he was changed into a dwarf. He didn't notice. Just kept spouting “which will's” until I stuck a mirror in front of his face. He stopped talking in surprise. I took the opportunity to banish him back to his home. Sighing at the blessed silence, I went to my reading corner and took out a good western novel to banish the thought of elves and dwarves from my overworked brain. When I got up to put on a fresh pot of mocha, I idly wondered what happened when a dwarf appeared in the middle of the Elven Kings Great Hall...
Heh, that was the result of my brother making a very bad pun... So, was it actually humorous? I was trying to make it funny. Not sure how well I succeeded. Anyway, thanks for reading! :D