The Folly of King Algeroth - A Shitpost.

	It was late in the evening in the three hundred and second year of his reign when the madness first came upon Algeroth Elfking, though none who were wise at the time then called it madness. Beyond crystal windows traced with golden arabesqueries the sun was setting, casting a lurid glow upon the king as he sat deep in thought. "Ahh!" he cried to his courtiers from his jade throne, "What a wretched creature is the Orc! Hideous mockery of Elfkind that take nothing but pride in his savagery! Living such a vile existence that it barely ought be called living at all! We must cleanse the world of such ugliness, for truly there is nothing more reviled than the orc!" And the cry went out, and elegant spears were sharpened, and gleaming armour was fastened, and emerald banners raised, and the armies of Elfking Algeroth marched solemnly out of their seven gated city high upon Mount Athenuoia and down to the world of ugliness below.

	How like a vision of perfection the Elfhost looked as it marched across the planes. In the morning their spears glinted as they spread out over the world, like golden blades of grass. In the evening their camp fires made the ground a reflection of the night sky. Upon the planes and hillsides of Kalogurok did the armies of Elfland burn yurt and longhouse. Such slaughter they wreaked that today the flowers there still show only the deepest shades of red. Upon the slopes of Mount Goturrak did the warriors of King Algeroth slay the vile priesthood of the God their foes claimed dwelled there. From their rocky crags they were cast, screaming their profane prayers as they fell toward the gleaming spears below.

	And when the work was done, when their squalid dwellings burned, their unwholesome cattle slaughtered. When their altars had been smashed and their idols shattered. When their weapons were ground in to dust and the bones of their children stacked high like kindling awaiting winter, the army gathered around King Algeroth and awaited his command.

	"Ahh!" He cried. "What a wretched creature is the Dwarf! How vile and ungainly in proportion, how arrogant in his self-satisfaction! He dwells beneath the ground for fear of his hideous visage being seen! We must cleanse the world of such ugliness, for truly there is nothing more reviled than the Dwarf!". Up raised the spears and up went the cry, and down in to the bowels of the earth did the Armies of Elfland march.

	How like a vision of perfection the Elfhost looked as it marched down to those hidden places. Like disciplined lines of ants they marched down in to the dark, their armoured bodies shining in the torch light. There in mine and hall and hollow they fought and slew their foes. In deep places beneath the earth where hidden springs were carved in to opalescent fountains, in black caverns where strange lichens grew, in homes and subterranean streets aglow with the green light of peculiar fungi did their iridescent spears spill an ocean of blood that flowed down in to the deepest parts of the earth. Deeper they pressed, pushing the squat creatures down and down and down to places they had never dared to dwell. Down where titanic eyeless things that had never known the warmth of the sun since the earth was formed gnash furiously at the roots of the mountains and there, in that telluric pit between the hideous beaks of nameless things and the gleaming spears of the elves did the last of the dwarves die.

	And when the work was done, when the opal fountains were reduced to rubble and the grand halls of Khazzuntol caved in. When the beards of the High King and his 50 sons had been taken and sewn in to a commemorative tapestry, when the nameless things beneath the earth had glutted on the bodies of that now extinct race, the army gathered around the king and awaited his command.

	"Ahh!" He cried. "What a wretched creature is Man! How noisome are his cities! How depraved his desires! By day he sits and dreams of lavishing his perversities upon his betters, by night he drunkenly plays his uncouth music and his uncouth dances. How like a pustule upon the earth is a city of man! We must cleanse the world of such ugliness, for truly there is nothing more reviled than Man!" Up raised the spears and up went the cry, and against the cities of men did the Armies of Elfland march.

	How live a vision of perfection the Elfhost looked as they besieged the cities of man. How like the leaves of the forest in the gentle wind of spring blew their banners. How like an endless forest of birch stretched their tall, straight spears. And there in moat and street and rampart did the armies of the Elfking slay each and every one of those wretched beasts known as Man, and the meek cobblestone of chapel and carefully tiled floor of cathedral alike were made slick with blood.

	And when the work was done, when their cities reduced to fertile cinders and the trees replanted, when their mocking steeples and keeps were torn down, when the choicest of them were dragged off in chains to serve their short lives in slavery, the army gathered around the king and awaited his command.

	"Ahh!" He cried. "What a wretched creature is the Elf! How given to violence and slaughter is he! His pride causes him to broach no equal, but to lay others low! He wishes for cleanness but stains himself with gore! He wishes for beauty but causes such ugliness! Truly, there is nothing more reviled than the Elf!"