By Austin Grisham
“What time is it?” The question echoed through the chamber, more command than query.
A cacophony of voices answered, “It’s time for Wise Wizard Warry’s Show!”
Screeches rose from a group of witches in front while a trio of centaurs yelled in a husky baritone in the back. Between them a hundred other species roared excitedly at the start of the most popular talk show in the fantasy realm.
Warry glided into the hall, and the crowd hushed. He spoke into his long wand, which projected his voice to the audience who sat in the great hall before him. “Welcome all. Despite the autumn chill, we have a hot topic today. Today’s show is, ‘I think my neighbor may be possessed by a demon!’” He motioned toward the stage behind him.
An ogre, easily twelve feet tall and with limbs the size of oak branches, sat on the left side of the stage. A large maw filled with yellow teeth dominated his square head. He raised his meaty hand and gave a lazy wave. A group of tree elves clustered to stage right. About four feet at the tallest, each wore a small felt hat, partially hidden by their long pointy ears, and a pair of green overalls. They nodded to the crowd.
“So, let’s talk.” Warry turned to his guests. “You elves live in a tree in an enchanted forest?”
“We certainly do, sir,” one of the elder elves, with a long white beard, spoke up. “We spend our days peacefully in the forest, making cookies and other sweets that we sell to the good townsfolk of our valley. That was, until this pig-snouted brute tore through our forest, smacking down our trees and destroying our home!” He pointed at the ogre. The other elves stared at the ground and placed their hats over their hearts. A group of enchanted squirrels in the crowd nodded empathetically.
Warry raised his chin indignantly, a tear in his eye as he addressed the ogre. “Is there any truth to this?”
“Every word of it!” the ogre yelled.
A collective gasp came from the crowd. A harpy near the front motioned for Warry. Running over he gave her the wand to speak into.
“It’s been a long time since I was a hatchling, but let me tell you the first thing my mother taught me in the nest was to have respect! Some creatures ain’t got no common decency no more!”
The crowd erupted in applause. Even those who didn’t have hands found a way to participate, like the pair of phoenixes who stared contemptuously down their long beaks at the ogre.
The ogre stamped on the stage. “Now wait, you don’t understand! I don’t want to forage in the forest, but I have to, because of them!” The ogre pointed toward the elves. “I used to live under a bridge, like any self-respecting ogre. I didn’t bother nobody, and I ate fish from the river. That was until those elves destroyed it. They want you to believe they make all those cookies in their trees. That’s a lot of bullocks. How do you even make cookies in trees? You have to use an oven, with a fire. In a tree made of wood. See the problem? No, they have a big old manufacturing plant to knock out their sugary sweets. And they dump the waste in the river under my bridge. It’s gotten so bad it’s killed off all the fish. And so now I have to find rabbits and birds in the forest. Yeah, I knock down a tree or three when I’m hunting, and maybe part of it is because I’m angry. But I got every right to be!”
A thunderous applause ran through the audience.
“This ogre is just trying to survive!” a warlock in front yelled out.
“You wear those green overalls and call yourselves tree elves, but you don’t care two hoots about the forest,” another added. “You’re vile! The ogre is the real hero!”
The applause was deafening.
A centaur stomped his hoof indignantly. “I have to say, your hypocrisy is contemptible. How many of those teeth-rotting treats do you need to produce each day?”
“Wait, you don’t understand,” the elder elf spoke again, “taxes keep going up—”
“I hate taxes!” It might have been one of the centaurs in the back; it was kind of hard to tell because the crowd once again broke into raucous applause.
“We can’t cut production,” the elf said as the crowd subsided. “We used to have a lake full of serpents who would eat all of the waste from our plant, but then a group of werecrocodiles moved in and gobbled them up. There are barely any left.”
“You said werecrocodiles?” As he spoke, the ogre licked his lips. “They’re an ogre’s delicacy.”
“Wait, I just had an idea.” Warry beamed as he stroked his chin. “You,” he pointed toward the ogre, “could eat the werecrocidiles. And then the serpents can repopulate and eat all that disgusting refuse. I’m sure the fish would return in no time, and you”—Warry nodded at the ogre”—could stay far, far away from the elves’ trees. What do you say?”
The elves and the ogre looked at each other warily for a second. But then the ogre held out his paw. The little elves danced over and shook it, each small hand engulfed by his.
A muscular dwarf yelled, his voice resonating through the chamber. “Warry, you are a bloody genius! The way you put the dots together is amazing! You’re the wisest man in the land!”
“Warry! Warry! Warry!” As the crowd chanted, Warry looked on proudly, having solved another dire issue of the realm all before going to a commercial break.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Grinned all the way through this at the analogy to talk shows. The message was also perfect for today’s divisive culture.
And all before the commercial break! Hilarious story, Austin!
Werecrocidiles? Eating serpents? That’s ridiculous. It’s obviously the work of a weremongoose.
hysterical and delightful!
I laughed aloud at this one. I don’t watch talk shows normally, but I might make an exception for Warry…
This story was great fun! Would love to see what other shenanigans Warry helps with!