It really bothered me (Patreon)

the way these lowfolk were making assumptions about their right to boss me around .. but on the other hand, they were pretty much my only chance of survival until I figured out a better way to get food and supplies.

But Fuma blast me if I was going to play fair with them!

If they wanted to do the old "guess my name" routine, then I suppose I could play along.  Elves of the Long Ago must have invented that shtick for a reason .. but I was going to work it my own way.  Under no circumstances was I letting these filthy lowfolk bandy my actual royal name about.  No, I would have to be tricky and deceptive.  How would Estvan handle this?

I thought for a few seconds and devised a plan.

"Ye blitherin' idiots!!" I yelled, in what I hoped was a convincing Sidhe accent.  "Dolts!  Dullards!  Addle-witted spalpeens!  Sure an' how can it be that ye've never heard o' Lord Randall?"

I pooked down behind the lowfolk, and they seemed suitably impressed.  I tried not to be intimidated by their formidable height, and kept talking loudly.

"Sure an' hand me that book, sirrah, that Chanson that ye speak so hoighly of.  Tis simply implausible that a book about elves should fail to mention me."

The male lowfolk handed me his copy, and I flipped irritably through it, scanning the pages and muttering random words like "preposterous" and "hogwash" and "poppycock."

"Hey ... is your name Randall?" the female asked after a few minutes.

"What?" I snapped back.  "What??  Irrelevant!  Forget oi mentioned it."

"It is Randall, isn't it?  You're Lord Randall!  You're Lord Randall!!" she cackled while hopping inelegantly from one foot to the other and pointing at me.

"Faith an' begorrah," I groaned in mock defeat.  I deftly slipped the book into my elfintory, and spread my hands in despair.  "What an embarrasin' slip-up.  All roight, colleen, sure an ye guessed fair an' square.  What is it ye moight be wishin for, then?"

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