No Elves Allowed
NO ELVES ALLOWED
Confession time: I don't like Superman, and I don't like elves.
Elves are to the fantasy universe what Superman is to the superhero universe.
Which is to say they're hacks.
They're over-powered, high-falutin' Christmas tree ornaments, and they need to be boxed up and put away back in the attic with the rest of the old crap that we don't need anymore.
Aside from being, in my humble opinion, boring as hell, Superman and elves are just too...talented. And I think that Superman and the modern interpretation of elves and all things elven come from the same boring place: the normal human desire to watch a hero absolutely dominate the opposition.
A CONVERSATION
Here's how I imagine Superman was created. It was a conversation between Jerry Siegel, then a fresh-out-the-box writer, and Jack Liebowitz, owner of Action Comics.
Jack Liebowitz, is sitting behind a giant mahogany desk in a corner office on the 42nd floor of a Manhattan highrise. There is a three-quarters empty bottle of whisky on his desk, and at its feet sits a glass of whisky. A thick cigar rests in the crook of two fingers. It is night, and the city behind Jack looks like a thousand electric diamonds under water.
Jack: Jerry, I've been hounding you for the last month about this "super hero" business and you've been givin' me the run-around so much that I'm getting dizzy. I'm talkin' cuckoo! You got the hero or am I gonna have to find me a new creative?
Jerry: No, no sir! I got it alright!
Jack: Yeah? Well where is it?
Jerry: Well you see, I just wanted to take my time and make sure he'd be someone that would impress you is all! I didn't want to waste your time is all! I wanted him to be perfect!
Jack: You took a month of my life to make sure you weren't gonna waste my time? What kinda cockamamie horse-apple pie is that?
Jerry: Uh, yeah...sorry sir. I can see how stupid I am for thinking like that. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, so...damn...stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid...
Jack: Jesus, Jerry, alright already! Tell me about the damn hero!
Jerry, shaking his head clear and brightening: "Oh, the hero? Oh, Mr. Liebowitz, you're gonna love him! He's positively super!
Jack, leaning forward menacingly: "Oh yeah? Well whats this 'super' heroe's name?
Jerry: Ah, funny you should ask...
Jack, cutting him off snappily: "Is it?!
Jerry: Well, yes, because, you see, his name is Super...Man!
Jack, leaning back in his chair incredulously: 'Super'.
Jerry: Yes.
Jack: Super...Man?
Jerry: Yes!
Jack: Yeah, alright...whats this Superman do?
Jerry: Do, sir?
Jack: Yeah, what are his powers? What makes him so 'super'?
Jerry: Oh, well, he...can...fly.
Jack: He can fly?
Jerry: Yes, Mr. Liebowitz.
Jack: What else?
Jerry: What do you mean, 'what else'?
Jack, shouting: Are you putting on an act or were you born this thick? What else can Superman do aside from fly?
Jerry: Oh, I didn't realize he needed more powers!
Jack: Jerry, you mean to tell me that you took a month of our lives to come up with the perfect super hero, and you thought and thought and thought and wracked your brain, and at the end of the month, your idea of the 'perfect' super hero is...if I'm getting this right...A FUCKING BIRD?!?
Jerry: No, not a bir-
Jack: Hell! The Nazis probably have soldiers with rocket packs that can fly! Is he a Nazi too, Siegel?
Jerry! No si-
Jack: Is that how you came up with this hero, Siegel? Does your Nazi last name mean 'seagull' in Kraut?!
Jerry: No sir! He's super strong too!
Jack: Oh, so hes a sumo wrestler that can fly?!
Jerry: No sir, he's way faster than a flying sumo wrestler!
Jack: Oh, so he's a big fat flying sumo wrestler thats faster than a speeding bullet?
Jerry closes his eyes tightly: Faster than a speeding bullet and stronger than a locomotive, sir!
Jack: He's flying mass transit now??
Jerry: And he's invulnerable!
Jack: Well he's going to need that because flying mass transit is a terrible idea!
Jerry: And he has x-ray vision!
Jack is dumbstruck. Did the boy just say "X-ray vision"?
Jerry: And he can shoot lasers out of his eyes too!
Jack's head jerks slightly, as if he's been slapped by a toddler. The men are both silent now, as silent and dreamy as the thin blue smoke slowly trailing up from the tip of Mr. Liebowitz's cigar and disappearing into the darkness near the ceiling. Jerry opens his eyes slowly, and it is as if it is his first time in this huge corner office, and it is his first time seeing Jack Liebowitz. He see's Jack as the child he once was, perhaps still is, learning to draw letters. The pride in his heart at spelling his first word. At writing his first story. At publishing for the first time. Everything to make a father he had never known proud. Suddenly Jack Liebowitz is as clear as Venetian glass. His eyelids drop slightly, and a slow, easy smile crosses his lips.
Jerry: And Jack, I haven't even told you the best part yet.
Jack asks in a voice of innocent expectation, the voice he's heard his son use every time they talk about the colorful boxes and bows beneath the Christmas tree: Yeah?
Jerry: He has every super power ever, but you know what makes him really special?
Jack: Tell me.
Jerry: He works in publishing.
And the rest, as they say, is, as they say, history. Superman went on to win the hearts and minds of the world, inspiring generations of people to fork over their hard-earned cashola to buy toys and buttons and comic books and movie tickets and soft drinks, generating untold billions of dollars of income for his corporate owners and affiliates.
And I have no problem with that. Make them moneys, honeys.
My problem is with making hack characters.
BRASS TACKS.
Giving a character every power and ability ruins the fun of playing that character, of watching that character struggle. Back in my day video games had cheat codes. I remember playing Doom as a kid. I punched in the god-mode and all weapons cheats, cranked up the difficulty, and cut a swath of carnage through the pits of hell. I abused the denizens of hell, sometimes with a 40 watt plasma rifle, sometimes with my bare fists. I explored all the secrets. I cut the hulking final boss in twain with my chainsaw, laughing at the stupid look of incredulity and despair on his big stupid face as he pumped hundreds of rockets into my tiny body with no effect.
And after I killed him and the credits ran, I was surprised. I did not feel like a hero. I did not feel like a champion. I felt like I had no business reading the words on the screen that described me as an unstoppable hero. I felt like I had donned a mantle I had no business wearing. I had won a hollow victory. I had won a cheater’s victory.
A campaign with extensive use of elves will taint the whole affair, will give it the sort of elven reek that goblins and their wretched big-faced True-Sons-Of-Cain brethren find so distasteful. Elves tend to replace grit and struggle with polish and ease. They take a life threatening situation and make it seem trivial, cartoonish. Everything becomes more like World of Warcraft and less like Warhammer Fantasy. Rather than a wolf, the game becomes big and soft and fluffy like a furry. Its hard to appreciate grim reality when you're hanging out with weeaboos.
Sure. I’m being hyperbolic. I’ll grant you that. Elves are not the same thing as Superman, particularly in a fantasy story we tell with the aid of our friends and a set of dice. But they are cut from the same piece of cloth, are woven from the same threads as Superman’s cape.
A MODEST PROPOSAL
My personal solution to the elf problem is this: encounters with elves are rare and brief. Elves are mystical, mythical creatures in human folklore and I seek to preserve the aloofness, the otherness, of elves in any fantasy setting. They live far away in inaccessible castles. They may be seen from a great distance, travelling on an impossibly ornate palanquin carried by a column of ten thousand golden homunculi, or flying on a golden bird with a thousand crystal wings. Their language, their customs, their very thinking is alien to any normal human. They cannot relate to mere non-magical mortals. We are to them what ants are to us; try not to step on them, but if you do, ah well...circle of life and all that. Nasa quenya.
If a player is insistent on playing an elf, fine. But I remind them that Dobby (of Harry Potter fame) is an elf, a disgusting, low, stupid elf at that, and his author is much more of a sentimental sap than I.
If you seek to remove elves from your fantasy universe but have players that are insistent on playing the fair-skinned, pointy-eared, ageless weisenneimers, try this: tell your players that all the elves in your fantasy universe died. Yesterday. At, like, noon, or so. And now they're all happily rotting away in the sun like papayas.
IN A BOX, WRAPPED IN PRETTY PAPER, WITH A BOW ON TOP
Look, if you prefer high fantasy and high magic escapism in your RPG/fantasy settings, thats fine. I'll hate your game, but not you, player. Play the game you want to play, player.
Here's me, though: some prefer their fantasy with a splash of reality. I prefer my reality with just a dash of fantasy.
After all, if everyone were Superman, then nobody would be super.
I'll leave my elf-bashing at that for now, but don't worry, I'll circle back around for this; I'm working on a list.
Have Fun. Be Creative. Get Weird.
