"This is how we deal with interlopers in Albric Tor," (Patreon)

I muttered as I whipped my bow out of Elfintory and instantly elf-shot the blabbermouth bird right between the eyes.  I couldn't have him revealing my true name to this lowfolk wench, no matter how infatuated .. no, ESPECIALLY because I was infatuated by her uncanny Wiles!

"Wow," Ethel stated quietly behind me.  "I'm not even going to ask where you keep that bow, nor why you thought it was necessary to kill that guy.  All I'm going to say is, that was an amazing shot."

"Thank you, my dear," I replied curtly as I stashed the bow back in my Elfintory.  "But he's not dead, only temporarily incapacitated.  It is traditional among my people to play pranks on lowfolk while they are unconscious from elfshot.  It looks like he managed to fall behind that menhir, and I can't step outside the circle.  If you'll be so kind as to drag him around to this side, then you can help me stitch his pant-legs together and fill his hat with mud."

As we approached the stone, suddenly a very similar-looking bird with a mustache slunk around the corner and faced me.

"Who are you?" I demanded.  "And where is your companion?  Hand him over immediately or you'll share his fate!"

"Uh .." Ethel interjected.  "Are you serious?  That's the same guy."

"Nonsense!" I insisted.  "It's clearly someone else!"

"Nope," she stated flatly.  "That's definitely P.J. Gobelet with a fake mustache on.  He's the lazy layabout grandson of the Percy who wrote the Chanson.  What he's doing all the way out here is a mystery, since it is common knowledge that he abhors anything that smacks of work.  Exertion and effort are anathema to him."

"You wound me, madam," the bird replied breezily.

"Speaking of which," Ethel said, "how are you not wounded?  I saw him shoot you right in the face with an arrow."

"Twas an Elf-Shot," the bird declared.  "I am warded against most forms of Elvish attack, thanks to grandfather's research - I mean Old Percy of course, not my own grandfather since I am most definitely someone else.  Yes indeed, I'm quite relieved to learn that the old fellow's notes were correct in every particular.  Ha ha!  Why, I'm impervious to every form of Elvish magic except the Wiles of a beautiful elf-femme!  Oh.  Oh dear, I shouldn't have said that.  Please disregard -"

"Oh stuff it, you pompous windbag," Ethel snapped.  She grabbed the bird by the front of his shirt, then snatched the mustache off of his beak and tossed it aside.

"Your Lordship!" she called, addressing me.  "As General-in-Chief and War Marshal, am I authorized to interrogate prisoners?"

"Huh?  Oh, yes, of course," I replied absentmindedly as I picked up the false mustache.

"Start explaining why you're here," Ethel growled.  "And keep it concise.  I've already had a very weird day and am in no mood for more nonsense."

"Whoah, whoah!" P.J. squawked.  "There's no need to hurt me!  I'll tell you everything!  The truth is, I'm tired of being called a lazy layabout and living in the shadow of my illustrious literary ancestor!  Plus the family fortunes are beginning to be, er, somewhat depleted.  Sales of the Chanson are slumping; everyone has already read it.  The market demands a new, up-to-date guidebook of Elfin lore.  I can write just as good as anything that old codger churned out!  I just need some source material.  So I heard Jerry's talk of elf maidens here in the Tulgey, and it got me thinking .. and then when that strange forest suddenly surrounded Percysthorpe I knew for sure that something magical was afoot -"

"Hold on," Ethel interrupted.  "So it's true?  There really is a forest that suddenly appeared?"

"Sure is.  When I left, they were pelting the Duchess's villa with rotten apples.  I had to use all of my wits to get out of there unscathed!"

"Hear that, Lord Randall?" Ethel asked me.

"It's amazing," I murmured as I examined the mustache closely.  "So small, so simple, and yet such a convincing disguise!  Could this be Vulpitanian technology?"

"I say, Your Lordship!" Ethel barked, interrupting my reverie.  "It seems the hostile ambulatory forest does exist after all.  That's something I never expected to hear myself say.  They are weaponizing their own fruit, but the good news is they are focused entirely on the Duchess and leaving the periphery of the town undefended.  Even this shiftless cretin was able to get out without any problems."

"Hey!" P.J. exclaimed in an offended tone.

"Now's the perfect time to hit them," Ethel continued.  "But you need a weapon that will work against trees."

"I hear what you're saying, my love," I grinned as I quickly used Gramarye to persuade Matholwch's shovel to become an axe.

"I of course cannot leave this circle," I added as I handed the weapon to Ethel.  "So I'm trusting you, War Marshal, to do your best.  Go give 'em Netherhells!"

"I don't think one femme with a hatchet is going to be very effective against an entire Shrub Army," Ethel muttered.  "I was hoping for something more along the lines of a swarm of wood-boring pests.  We can sap the enemy's will to fight by .. well .. draining their sap.  Don't you have an army of bugs at your command?"

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