More Demon Than Elf

200 Years Later

The roped-off house, its ancient walls slowly turning to dust, stands alone in the middle of a dead land. The thought of demolishing it has crossed many minds, but has left as soon as it came, because the thought of him haunting it was never far behind. No one dares to go inside. No one has gone inside since his death. He was a real terror, able to strike fear into the hearts of even the most confident of men. It’s said the he could strike fear into demons. Some whisper he was a demon himself, hiding behind cloth and the darkness of night. Some say he was actually an angel, punishing those who had committed horrible, horrible deeds. People scarce dare to whisper about him, and never in their own homes. Blind, deft, mute, and still able to kill with an accuracy that is unprecedented. They whisper stories of how he used majik, the life force of all beings, to track his targets. His dragon, Snap, is said to still live within the house, and kidnapped naughty children, though that is just a rumor spun by housewives to help make the kids behave. There’s no need for them to create rumors to keep them away, though. The closest town to the house is three boulderthrows away. The land around it had to be evacuated because of the stench that the house admitted. To this day, no one has stepped foot inside, and the closest people have dared to go is six steppings away, wearing full body suites specially designed to help keep out bad toxins and the stench. Exposed to it for too long will cause severe lung damage and premature aging, among other things. On one occasion, the body was even mutated. No animal dares go near. The area around it, for almost a boulderthrow, is completely dead.
Although his gravestone has no name, everyone knows he was buried there. Right next to the woman he slew himself. Stories of how he loved her, dedicated his life to her, have been written for generations, but only this fact remains: it was his own blade that ended her life, and it was his own hands that buried her beneath the ground. He has gained the nickname Red Taipan, after much consideration, mostly for the Taipan’s deadly venom and ability to somewhat blend in with its surroundings. Even its rather shy nature was considered. Though some people are confused how such a killer could be considered “shy in nature,” it’s actually a simple connection: Red Taipan only killed those he was told to, and did not meddle in affairs outside of his assignments. Even when provoked or stumbled upon in the act of killing, he didn’t shed blood outside of his missions. The assassin didn’t even bother acting against those who took his sight. He just killed whoever was given to him by the man in charge.
Truly, this was a man of ...

I stare at the unfinished sentence, pondering. What kind of man was he really? A man who killed the woman he loved. A man who murdered his victims in her room. Insane, truly, but not without knowing it. He kept a pet dragon, though why is beyond anyone's comprehension. He followed orders, and laid flowers down at her grave. He tortured some victims, to the point where they would rather die than live anymore, and gave others peacefully quick deaths. What kind of mentality could such a being have?
I sigh once again and retire from my typewriter, planning on finishing tomorrow. An editorial on a mass murderer from 200 years ago. Who knew it would be so hard... and so intriguing. I look down at the decades-old pictures scattered about my desk. An elf, dressed almost completely in red, stares out at a sunset. A black cape billows behind him. Snap, his red Zburator dragon, flies above him, blue eyes staring directly at the camera. The only clear picture left. It might have been from before he was blinded, but none the less, those eyes didn't look like they saw anything. His unique sword dangles from his fingertips, still red from his completed mission. Silver gleams in the lighting, bouncing of the hilt. The sword itself is quite a character. Starting of with a fanned Ricasso, it dips in then comes out to a broader Terzo which points in to a tip. The hilt itself is a work of art. A curved grip comes from the middle of the cross-guard. From the left, an extremely thin handle-like piece sticks out. What it's purpose was boggles the minds of historians and swordsmen alike. It seems to have no other function than to be there. Another confusing aspect to the sword is why it is on the left side, when the Red Taipan is a left-handed swordsman. I myself find little reason for this piece of metal, though I am no swordsman, so I cannot say I know what I am talking about. Times were different back then, and this wasn't an ordinary elf to begin with.

I retire for bed, these strange facts still buzzing in my ears. To chase them away, I whisper a lullaby my mother use to sing to me. The words are a comfort in this confusion of words.

I am not a child now
I can take care of myself
I mustn't let them down now
Mustn't let them see me cry
I'm fine, I'm fine

I'm too tired to listen
I'm too old to believe
All these childish stories
There is no such thing as faith
And trust and pixie dust

I try and try to understand
The distance in between
The love I feel and the things I fear
And every single dream

o, I'll try
Because I finally believe
I'll try, cuz I can see what you see

I'll try, I'll try
I'll try...
To fly1