The deadly war between the Dwarves and the Elves began when Alrick, an Elf who always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, ate a bit of a hallucinogenic mushroom. The Dwarves and Elves were engaged in their normal warfare: verbal insults about each other’s parents, grooming habits and culinary choices.
In the midst of the battle, and after nibbling the magic mushroom, Alrick, thinking he was yelling a stinging insult, had dropped his pants and let loose a blast of anal vapors worse than any verbal insult: deadly laughing gas! Three dwarves died laughing before the other elves could stop him.
“Aye,” shouted Rimbiv Crystalsmelter, the Superior Dwarf. “This mysterious gas is killing my people. We Dwarves do not have a sense of humor. Laughing is harmful to our constitution.” Waving his arm in the air, as his men dragged off the dead and wounded, he screamed louder, “You will pay for this!”
Back in their underground den, Rimbiv addressed his High Council. “We must avenge this unspeakable disregard for the rules of engagement that the dastardly Elves have committed. Causing uncontrolled laughter in a Dwarf is against the conventions we have lived with for millennia. Any ideas about how we should proceed?”
Rurreg Lighttracker, head of the Department of Mines, yelled out “Stone them! I can provide plenty of ammunition!” Many in the assembled hall shouted in approval.
Cronr Propshaman raised a timid hand. “Philosopher,” Rimbiv raised an eyebrow, “you don’t usually speak on matters of war. Have you anything of relevance to say?”
Cronr cleared his throat. “Yes, Your Superiorness. I have been working in my lab for some time on a way to increase the…” he paused for a second, “…the essence of what makes a Dwarf a Dwarf. Male and female Dwarves have different personality traits. I have developed a potion that can make a male Dwarf more sullen and grim, to increase his standing among his peers.” He paused, looking around the room. “I believe that I can alter the formula so that it is applicable to Elven physiology. I believe that I can make them so happy and gay,” he shuddered as he spoke the words, “that they spend the entire day playing instead of on the important tasks, like gathering food.”
“Excellent!” roared Rimbiv. “We can give them a taste of their own, evil medicine.”
***
Master Elf Galdor Séregon stared at Alrick, a rarely-seen frown on his face. “Alrick, your actions have brought shame to our race. We have never caused avoidable injury or death to any member of another race.” He paused for a few seconds. “And I fear that the Dwarves will strike back in a way that escalates this tragedy. Consider yourself under house arrest, Alrick.”
A gasp rose from the gathered Supreme Council. “B-but, Sire,” stammered Ecthelion Telrúnya, the Council Chief Arbiter of Fairness, “house arrest is, is unheard of in the history of our people. Don’t you think that is a bit harsh?”
“I doubt Superior Dwarf Rimbiv would consider this harsh punishment. In fact, I expect he will be livid at the ‘lax’ punishment I have just rendered to Alrick. These are serious times, friend Ecthelion. We must try to convince the Dwarves how sorry we are for their pain and mental anguish.”
Councilman Amras Lossëhelin rose and requested permission to speak. “If I may say, I agree to the seriousness of this situation. But may I also remind the Council that Dwarves are livid at pretty much everything we Elves do. Why, if they weren’t so sour and angry all the time, a bit of laughter would be good for their hairy, little bodies!”
Elessar Ar-Feiniel, the elder statesman of the Elven council rose. The room quieted as all there wished to share in his wisdom. “While it may be true that the Dwarves have a different outlook on life then our people do, that is no reason to cast disparaging remarks at our brethren who share this land.” He stared at Amras for a few seconds to let the point sink in. “Although we may not understand their beliefs and customs, we must honor them as we Elves honor all living things. Name-calling and belittling comments have no place in this council chamber.” He paused, slowly scanning the room, evaluating how other members of the council took his words. Looking at Galdor, he continued. “Sire, I propose that we send a group of emissaries to visit the castle of Superior Dwarf Rimbiv. Quick, decisive action on our part with a message if sincere regret over this unfortunate event may yet be the key to soothe the tensions and prevent what must surely be a retaliation of dire consequences, and move Dwarf sentiment away from a mood of harsh retribution. I offer my own humble services in this mission, Sire, if you believe that I could be of help.”
“Swing the Dwarves away from a harsh retaliation. As usual, a good idea, Elessar, my old friend,” Galdor said with a smile.
“I offer my needles and thread, should any Dwarf have suffered a tear in their clothing due to uncontrolled laughter,” shouted the tailor Fingolfin Tulcakelumë, waving his scissors in the air.
Inglor Celebrindal, head chef of the castle spoke quietly, “And I offer my best cooking skills, should any of our brethren Dwarves suffer ongoing gastronomical effects.”
“Affected Dwarves may have suffered grass stains from rolling on the ground in laughter,” spoke Huor Lossëhelin. “I offer my skills at cleaning clothes!”
Galdor rose and addressed the assembly in a loud voice. “These brave Elves shall make the journey to the Dwarf castle to try and swing the Dwarves back to mood of peace. I dub you the Fellowship of the Swing!”
As the crowd roared their approval, Alrick, rose, requesting the attention of Galdor, who waved his hands for silence. “Yes, Alrick? Do you have anything to add to this?”
“Sire, this unfortunate chain of events is all due to my own weaknesses in identifying nutritious foods. I’d like to join this fellowship and offer my most humble apology and beg that any revenge the Dwarves insist on be directed at me and me alone.” Alrick’s voice trailed off, but he held his head high.
“So be it!” proclaimed Galdor. “I wish all of you the best of luck on your quest.”
To Be Continued…