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The Elves of the Dauriath

Dimah and Djindjinah

By Yichard Muni, Elf bard


Let us meet for real! Name: Richard Trigaux. Artist name: Yichard Muni
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This text is a part of a larger plot, beginning with «The Kiss of the Worlds»

Index of the stories: chronological order, or ordered by creation date



See The audio version and all the information about audio

Background music for this story: Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun, Debussy.

After seven centuries of exile in the Dauriath, the World in the Sky, we were only some years before «The return of the Elves» in the Human world, the Nyidiath. But the Elves in the Dauriath had arranged their world in a wonderful paradise of forests and flowers, where they were happy and safe. So that they had no desire or plan to return to the Human world, and experience again hate and repression. In more, there were rumors that the Humans had destroyed a lot of nature, making their Nyidiath world unpleasant. So that «the Return of the Elves» was thought as a metaphor, to mean the return of wisdom and kindness in the Human world. But most simple Elves had no idea on how this would be done.

Actually, this event would happen when the Horiathon passage between the two worlds would open again. For now a powerful bore wave, reverting with the tides, was forbidding the passage for all boats. But this bore wave was diminishing fast, and this would allow for boats to pass in both direction. The Elven Council knew for long that this would happen, hence the prophecy. Actually it was not a prophecy, but an astronomy prediction, checked with more and more accuracy as the moment was approaching. But they also knew for long what the re-opening of the Horiathon would actually mean: the Human governments would attempt to invade the Dauriath as soon as they could, to relieve their overcrowded and polluted world. And overcrowd and pollute the Dauriath in its turn, in only twenty years.

So that the Elven Council had prepared for this event. Most of them still had painful memories of the repression of the Elves and of the horrors of the Exodus. Several times in History, the Elves were forced to flee, because of their technical inferiority. So that they had decided that this would never happen again.

And they had seven centuries to prepare.

However those preparations were mostly done in the secret, in the farthest place of the Dauriath, the Arlit, the place which cannot be seen from the Nyidiath. In the other places visible from the Nyidiath, the Undar, the Elves had resumed their ancient way of living in harmony with nature, as they did in their former Elven places and islands in the Nyidiath, before the Exodus. This geometrical separation was actually very practical, the Arlit hiding the means, while the Undar was making the purpose clear.

For most of the Elves of the Undar, born after the Exodus, that they had to prepare to fend an invasion was quite an abstract concept. They were simply living happily, apparently useless in the building of an armed force. But this separation was useful even for this purpose. Simply by living happy and meditating, they played a very important role, that no weapon can do: restoring the wonderful magic of the Elves. Before the Exodus, their god MakTar had withdraw his magical protection, in order to force the Elves to accept the Exodus. He knew that this magic would not be strong enough to protect the Elves from a planned world scale extermination. But now this magic was entirely rebuilt, and it was much more powerful than before. Although it is deeper and more subtle, in order to also resist the terrible destructive force of materialism and prosaicism.

About magic, we think at magicians, powerful characters wielding spiritual powers obeying their will. Actually this vision is totally unrealistic. This is why we never see it in real! Magic is when consciousness interacts with the physical world, as if this world was the visualization of this consciousness. Then changing the visualization can change the physical world... sometimes. An excellent metaphor is with a quantum field: when it is weak, it has no effect. But the stronger it is, the more quantum events it will produce. But still random and unpredictable events. The same goes with magic: when it is strong enough, it starts producing unplanned events, like messages in dreams, sudden understanding, or unexpected changes pushing in the right direction. Even when none of these are happening, a weaker magic can still cause subtle biases in the way things are going. But any attempt from an ego to harness or control magic stops it immediately! The reason is quite simple: the ego arises from the brain. And since the brain is a material object, it is bound by the laws of physics, so that the ego cannot have any direct effect on the world. Only consciousness can... if it manages to have its own activities and content, instead of frantically grasping at the content of the brain. But only many years of meditation can free consciousness from this powerful innate grasping. This is why magic is so difficult, and even impossible in a materialistic society where consciousness is systematically bullied, where we are constantly distraught out of ourselves, by blabbermouths, televisions, noise, and all sorts of people gesticulating anf jumping around us trying to steal our energy or attract our attention. There are some workaround, though.

In ancient times before the Exodus, Elves had a powerful defensive magic. Invaders seldom dared to enter the Elven lands, and the survivors reported all sorts of inexplicable and terrifying events: nerve-breaking screams at night, flying stones smashing their faces, strangling liana, peaceful animals becoming enraged, abysses opening under their feet, darts shooting from nowhere, and many more horrible stories.

This magic worked well on ignorant and superstitious foes, who were fearing nature and its hidden forces. However, some times before the Exodus, with the spread of materialistic values, this fear receded. Fire arms made the invaders think they were invincible: «bullets fly faster than magic» as they said. So that these invaders easily overcame the elven magic, simply by constantly blathering, braying vulgar songs, spreading trash, bringing porn women, and so on. They did exactly what we are too often seeing on Earth: a simple blathering tourist leaves behind him a trail of subtle wounds in the ambient of nature, just as a tank leaves a wake of crushed trees and plants. This is enough for the ancient magic to disappear, and even for extraordinary places to turn mundane, with just the sound of cars, or when some arrogant fat tourist casts a despising look at them. You now know why magic «does not exist», why ancient powerful places admired for millennia are today mere tourist attractions without any force. Even their inspiriting power has vanished, became a legend. For the few remaining ones, you shall not find any photo, they are even not visible on Google Earth.

But the new magic of the Elves was adapted to the materialistic values of the modern world, and to the fluttering though of its denizens. It was now impervious to scorning, prosaism or sociopathy. Even politician discourses or rap could not hamper it. It seldom produced material effects, but this was making it much more discrete, ideal for operating without attracting attention. In more, nearby all foes believed it does not exist. This made then totally vulnerable, not realizing what was happening.

For this to work, the Elves needed the Undar, as a hefty ballast of magic, a good karma reserve, a counterweight of serenity while the Elven soldiers would be engaged in actions. And they needed this Undar protected. They knew that the Human armies would attack it first, so that they had to respond quickly, and especially to evacuate any innocent before the attacks.

They also knew that a military victory, even when it brings a temporary relief, is just a loss of good karma, it it is not accompanied with a spiritual victory. So that they were preparing both.

How do we win a spiritual victory? By overcoming our own hate. The Elves will have to respect their foe, as living persons. Their soldiers were trained in... non-violence, that is into not bringing hate in the fight. They went as far as impersonating false prisoners, to learn to treat them humanly.

But for this again, they needed the Undar, a huge force of hundreds of millions meditating all together in synchronicity. Already directives had been passed, and radio receptors were being built to equip all the community houses in the Undar, and inform them on what to meditate exactly, in real time.

Another use of the Undar was to protect against spies. Any of them had to go through ten thousands kilometres of keen eyes spotting their wickedness as surely as if they were braying rap. Several had been already caught. But none yet had managed to travel all through to the Arlit. Although things here took a turn few inhabitants of the Undar ever had imagined, as we are to see in this story.


Dimah was a young Elf born about a hundred years ago, in a tiny village of the Undar like thousands others. All these strategies were flying high above his head, literally. His only concern was simply to live happy with his tribe and his wonderful new wife Djindjinah.

This village was called Blue Iris, in a landscape or flat bocage with small fields and orchards, between low forested hills. It was spring, and, under the merry sunshine and blue sky, fruit trees were all shining in white or pink, while millions of flowers were sprawling all around in meadows and hedges. Further, the forest had its most tender greens, with millions bird songs resounding in strange echoes. An elven forest is not like ours: there are no shrubs or brambles, and the ground is covered with soft green moss, with here and there undergrowth plants, flowers of the shadows, mushrooms. A wonderful green light falls from the emerald stained glass canopy, while sun rays bring gold in the clearings. Such an incredible beauty is the work of the egregore and magic of the Elves living here: all the plants grow harmoniously, in order to create this ethereal beauty. The actual influence of magic is tiny, but it accumulates along generations of plants and living cells. Even the ground shapes are influenced, since the plants control them.

Around Dimah and Djindjinah's house, it was even better, with many patchy flower beds around, between small ocher dry stones walls making nooks and crannies, sheltered by bushes and small trees. All sorts of unusual plants were thriving here, with all the water, sun and love they needed. It attracted all the buzzing insects and flapping butterflies, more of course chirping birds: they had handmade nests and more were being build because of the affluence!

The couple had a planks house, with a simple rectangular shape and a two slopes roof covered with a layer of turf on a tarp. This was one of the many new ways of living which were appearing in the Dauriath: simplicity, small houses they could burn when they were decayed, and leave the land as they found it. These houses were easy to enlarge, by adding frames, so that they grew in length. Some more frames were on the works. Here they had their living room, food reserves, bedroom, and a sewing workshop, where they made clothes for the community nearby. The enlargement in progress was for a painting workshop. Their idea was to make some small wearable paintings integrated into clothes, showing Elven saints, their Dharsham characters, or icons for their common Shelenaë temple.

Well their plank house was not so simple: beams were sculpted and painted, with vines, flowers, saints, nature nymphs and satyrs. Although in a light tone, in clear wood. What they had original, though, was their paints: new modern paints imported from the Arlit, which was at some kilometres only. This made with very vivid colors, and unalterable, light fast and impervious to damp and mold. Since some years, these things were spreading fast in the Undar, as a much better expression mean for artists and builders. Hence the need of a new workshop.


Actually, the real geometric limit between the Undar and the Arlit was not straight: hills were hiding some parts, while valleys allowed to see further toward the Arlit, from the Nyidiath. That was making a complicated line. From this criterion, it was in theory easy to check in which part we were: if we see the Nyidiath, as an orb above the horizon, then the Nyidiath sees us too. Still this did not worked well, with the opacity of the air at low angle, refraction, and even a small libration effect between the two worlds. All this complexity made that the Elven Council had simply drawn a circle, enclosing in the Arlit all the places they were sure could never be seen from the Nyidiath. This was the official limit. Between the straight official limit and the sinuous real limit, was the Twilight Zone, still part of the Undar.

Well, you all know that official limits are intended to be passed through. There were some hidden but interesting stuff in the twilight zone, and even much further in the Undar. Especially there was «something» on the top of a hill, at one hour walk from Blue Iris village. It was hidden in trees, so that nobody could find it, unless trespassing the «Hermits meditating» posts. (Actually, proof that the times were changing, it was a more humorous «Hermits at work» panel). They knew that it was forbidden to go there, and even to speak about it. And they would certainly not go, in order to avoid spoiling their magic.


Blue Iris village was one of the numerous happiness villages of the whole Dauriath. It was essentially made of the same kind of low houses spread in a kind of English garden, gathering rare species of trees separated with edges and dry stone walls. In spring this lawn was all blue with flowers, and it even changed color as the spring was progressing. It was not uncommon to see does and other small mammals like squirrels and raccoons. Even wild life was enchanted with all this beauty, and they came to gaze and enjoy, resting in the same place for hours. Obviously they loved the company of the Elves! But they had their own charm too, although totally ingenuous.

Not to speak of birds, marveling the places from the early morning to dusk. Some touching and poetical ones started to celebrate the new day as soon as a hint of light appeared in the east. Others were merrily chirping the sunshine symphony. Some kept their warm solos for the evening, and even kinds of nightingales were enchanting the nights with limpid notes.

Without any light pollution, nights had fantastic starry skies. Even without moon, it was clear enough for walking on paths marked with clear stones. This was quite nice, late in the evening, when they were coming back from the Dharsham toward their house, to walk in a nearby total darkness, seeing the stars as if they were in the cosmos. Under the trees, when the weather was rainy and it was really pitch black, they had small lanterns burning alcohol, bringing a small but sufficient light to find one's way in the dark, toward their house to the bed. It they wanted to light a workshop, they had larger models. But when there was not enough light for work, they preferred to meditate or to discuss, learn, etc.


The idea of alcohol lamps for lighting may seem counter-intuitive, as alcohol produces only a weak blue light. But the lamps had lime mantles into their flame, glowing bright white with the heat. Which gave them a magical look, of a white glowing cylinder without visible flame. The elves in the region of Blue Iris had a good supply of alcohol, by brewing. Oil or bee wax were more difficult to obtain, so that they were used for food or for waterproofing. To have strong enough alcohol, they had low tech distillation towers. Well, in a low tech setting, we more readily imagine a still, instead of a modern item like the distillation tower. But there was no reason not to use modern principles, and a distillation tower is not more difficult to build than a still, by a basic blacksmith. The complex engineering calculus were done only once, in the Arlit, and plans of a working device were passed in the Undar. Distillation towers can produce a much higher degree of alcohol than a still, while using less firewood. It is said that similar ideas were passed by MakTar Himself. Both MakTar and the Arlit engineers had the exquisite art of translating advanced concepts into simple means.


The Arlit was an only some kilometres from Blue Iris, one hour walk. Living so close was not without some mysteries. At times, they were seeing auroras at night, on the horizon toward the Arlit. There also were strange sounds in the sky, but this always happened when the weather was cloudy, so that they had no idea of what it was.

There also were Elves of the Arlit coming along regularly, discussing informally on what was going on in the twilight zone. They used to show kind and friendly, but they were keen to know about anything unusual, strange people appearing, bizarre stories, etc. Djindjinah told them about the noises in the sky, but they just acknowledged, without any comment other than not to worry about that. And not to speak of that to anybody else.

Happily there were more normal Elves going to or coming from The Arlit. There was no kind of forbidding or check point, but voyagers avoided speaking of what they saw in the Arlit. Whose who did emphasized that there were extraordinary things, but not so extraordinary as the biblical peace of the Undar. The Elves of the Arlit had an aura of mystery, as of extraordinary creatures. But they insisted that they still were ordinary Elves loving nature and each others. Just in a different context. Especially the Arlit was as beautiful and flowery as the Undar, and they insisted to keep it that way. When asked of differences, they were becoming evasive, explaining that modern technologies changed a lot of things. But they did not changed their kindness and wisdom, their love of nature and of beauty.

It is from these exchanges that, since some years, the new modern paints were brought in the twilight zone of the Undar, or hard steel for tools, good glass, thinner sewing needles, and other stuff. But all this still had to be carried by horse, so that it was not penetrating deeply in the Undar.


One nice afternoon, they were busy in their sewing workshop, when they started to hear some low rumble in the sky. It was entirely blue, and nothing was visible. But only some minutes after, a sudden loud crash of broken branches and banging metal rattled the windows.

They looked at each other, as to check if such a strange noise was real or an hallucination.

Then they ran, to see what it was.

They did not had to go far, only two hundred metres.

What they saw made them mute with surprise.

It was in the middle of an orchard with small trees, well separated in order to keep place for their future growth.

From a tangle of broken trees emerged a simple but oddly shaped metal thing. It was crumpled, and even in some places rip open, showing complicated internal details, as of an open body. It was profusely bleeding a pungent smelling transparent liquid. It some places the metal was clicking, as when a stove was just stopped. And indeed it was piping hot, with even some smoke, although happily nothing was actually burning.

That thing had gouged a path in the grass and cut a fifty metres wake of broken trees, mowed like grass. But how did it arrived here? The other trees around were intact, and there was no path large enough for it. They had no idea whatsoever of what it was, but it emanated an awful vibe of immediate danger and catastrophe.


«Help! Heelp!» made a feeble voice.


There was a strange man, all clothed in brown jacket and trouser, with a khaki round hat and pieces of dark glass hiding his eyes. His hands full of blood, the was clumsily trying to extirpate himself from inside the thing, through a hole which looked like some lid. As one single mind, Dimah and Djindjinah hurried to help him to get out of the mass of broken branches, to the ground. He was bleeding from shards of glass, and his face was shocked, quickly becoming swollen and red.


«F... flee... danger! fire!» he uttered, still groggy. Dimah and Djindjinah did not wanted to know more, all this looked so fearful and dangerous, needing to scamper off as fast as possible. They started to drag the man away, while the other inhabitants of the village were arriving, signaling their way with short shouting.


They brought the man to Dimah and Djindjinah's house, and laid him on a table. They had to remove his clothes to check his injuries. But he protested «cut them» instead. It was more easy to say than to do, as this fabric was very hard, and they had to use their strongest scissors. Once he was naked, they could see that he had cuts on his chest, arms and face. None of the injuries was really serious, but blood was still dripping from many places. They attended to stop it with pieces of fabric, but it was not easy.

Suddenly they heard a horn. The horn of the Arlit Elves, the ones coming to check on things! They had left a similar horn in the village, to be used in case they needed them. Indeed sound was the only way to communicate, in this country of orchards and hedges, were sight was seldom more than some tens of metres. The villagers blew their own horn twice, to signal that they needed something. Soon they heard horses coming. «We must warn them not to stay besides the thing, it is dangerous», they thought.


When the horsemen arrived the first thing they said was «Do not go near the aircraft! It can explode at any moment!! We smell the kerozene from here!». They were the Elves of the Arlit, the agents serving them kind visits to know what was going on in the twilight zone. And avoiding to display high tech, like in using horses. At this occasion they also showed very well organized and efficient. Finding the injured man, the first thing they did was to seize his gun holster, that the Elves of the village had simply posed on a table besides, not knowing what it was. One of the visitors took the matter in hand, saying: «Ok you did a good job with the pilot. He needs a lot of stitches, but Marlin can do that right here, this will avoid transporting him. Unfortunately we have not enough anesthetic». At once, the one called Marlin started applying lamp alcohol as an antiseptic, and then to place staples on his injuries. This treatment must be very painful, thought the Elves. But this pilot was a tough guy, and they could get only some grimaces from him.

Then they explained: «This man is a spy from the Human governments. He was trying to enter the Arlit by flying above the Undar with his plane. We shot as his engines with our own aircraft, to force him to land. We knew he could be injured or even killed, but well he knew it too, before engaging in this activity. Nobody forced him».

Long explanations followed, on what are planes, pilots, engines, and especially spies, a thing which looked more bizarre even than a heavy metal machine able to fly in the sky. With of course warnings not to repeat anything of that beyond the village. Then:

«With his injuries, we cannot transport him easily. He needs to stay here for some days. Can you keep him? Do you have any room with a lock, to make a jail?

-Err, no, we don't have locks. Oh well the room with the stills has a lock, because it can be dangerous.

-What side of the door a lock must be, for a jail? Inside of outside?»

The Elven agents looked baffled to see them so ingenuous. Then they laugh!

«At least, we succeeded in one thing: keeping the Undar Elves innocent and free of ulterior motives, ha ha ha»! Then another added: «I shall stay with you. For now he is quite inoffensive, but he may not always be so. I seized his pistol, and I can use it against him, in case he tries to do the naughty. Now we need to interrogate him.»

Well, at the idea of a spy interrogation, we imagine the worse. Not with the Elves: the one called Marlin was also able to control the prisoner's will, so that he obediently gave them odd series of numbers, and his name, Dunkan. All what they needed. This took only some minutes. Then they explained him:

«Ok, Dunky, you knew the law before accepting this mission. You knew that the whole Dauriath is forbidden to any Human without authorization. Modern aircrafts may soon replace life exile with expulsion, but as a spy you shall remain our prisoner, and you will remain so until the Horiathon re-opens and the situation is settled. Waiting for this, we take at heart not to mistreat you or do anything wrong, instead we shall treat you in a humane way. But we won't let you escape, and now I have your revolver in case you try to play it rough. Remember: bullets fly faster than magic!» The other Arlit agents chuckled at this reminder, kind of funny little revenge.

Marlin continued: «Well, as we cannot transport you, for some days you will be the guest of these people here. So that you shall have first hand proof that we are not the cruel sadists in black latex clothes described in your movies. Enjoy the Elven hospitality and kindness, and try to discover what makes us happy in such a wonderful place, so that you can have better motives in your life, later.»

They went out, but the village Elves could still catch some sentences:

«We shall examine the plane, when the fire hazard will be gone. The last time this happened they had powerful cameras and radio spying devices. After, we shall have to clean it up, so that no injury remains in this wonderful place.

-Do you think he saw the laser com relay on the hill nearby?

-It is a possibility. One more reason for him to stay in the Dauriath. The installations are well camouflaged under trees and grass roofs, but we cannot hide the photovoltaic panels. Just they were placed in a field bellow, not to give away the true location».


Finally the Elven agents left, save Rosy in charge of the prisoner. The village Elves brought him in the central building, and finally they locked him in... the MakTar temple, the only room in bricks. They pushed heavy furniture to block the door from outside. Usually the MakTar temples are used for defensive magic, and they have some scary wall painting, not to be shown to everybody. Happily this one was still in construction, and not yet decorated. There has been a request from the Elven Council for building MakTar and Shelenaë temples in each village, with a specific meditation program to be done during the expected Horiathon battle.


The first day, the Elves left the prisoner here on a mattress, only bringing him food, changing his bandages and other necessities. Later on, he could start to get up. Rosy sensed that he was not aggressive for the moment, and she decided that he would have his meals with the other Elfs of the village. That was much better this way, as he could see how nice the Elven life is. They even managed to make him wander in the surrounding, although always with Rosy ten meters behind, with his pistol. Indeed Dunkan was showing quiet and collaborative, but he was not really inspiriting real confidence. Something was off with him, although they did not knew what.


First, they had to find Dunkan clothes, since his pilot suit was totally ravaged. He had to accept a lilac pant and shirt, that he looked suspiciously before putting them on. The Elves had filled a small bag with his papers and personal belongings, like a family photo. «Your wife?» He did not replied. Rosy explained: «Normally we should contact her. Unfortunately, due to the nature of his activities here, his capture must remain a secret, so that his wife will have to wait for being reassured. This is unfortunately the situation he created». She had an oblique look at the pilot, who did not acknowledged.

So, in an awkward silence, they visited the wonderful spring orchard, all pink with cherry blossoms, resounding with the merry chirps of thousand birds, with here and then the melody of a blackbird. The sun was playing with the fresh new foliage, still in its tender greens, illuminated from inside like stainned glass, before the heats of summer makes them hard and shiny. They went around the village, following some of the numerous foot paths. Usually the Elves would moan with pleasure, or start singing. Djindjinah had brought her flute, and she played some notes. But she felt unwelcome to do so. «Such a beauty deserves the best art» she uttered, but she had not the heart to continue.

Usually they don't put words on what is so obvious for all of them: just enjoying this powerful vibe of happiness. If they could enhance it with music, it was still better. Otherwise, silence was the way to enjoy it.

The meal was a great moment too. Since the Elves eat less than the Humans, they do only one or two meals a day, lighter than Human ones. Rosy told them that Dunkan needed much more. Out of kindness, they decided to keep him company to the meals, taking turns to do so.

And they did things in great: an exquisite salad of green and orange garden veggies, decorated with pink petals. For the main dish, several grains cooked together, with potatoes, filling the whole building with a delicious appetizing aroma. The secret was several spices, that they too cultivated themselves, kind of colored berries and powdered dried leaves. For the dessert, they were still having apples from the last season, that they got out of the sand. For the Elves it was a feast. Little they realized that for Dunkan, used to strong meats and heavy sauces, it was a penitence. But he had a greater problem, which was starting to make him nervous.

Seeing Dunkan clutching his bandages, the Elves decided to bring him back to his mattress, in the improvised jail. He was still very weak anyway, and it is not recommended to make sport when we have fifty stitches and we lost one liter of blood. His body was reminding him of that.

Later in the afternoon came Emerily, priest of MakTar, from the neighboring village of Pashir. He was a tall and gangly Elf, with wavy light brown hair, always moving and always funny. Typically the kind of oddball to be successful in MakTar priesthood. Hearing noise in Dunkan's cell, he knocked at the door. «Yes?» was his surprised reply: in the whole Human world, nobody ever knocks at the door of a jail to ask the prisoner permission to enter! So Emerily entered, closing the door behind him. He remained a moment like that, alone with the prisoner. That makes Rozy nervous, as she was responsible of the safety of Emerily. When the later went out, he poked Rozy's gun through her clothing, laughing: «A MakTar priest can fend for himself». Rozy was stunned: nothing allowed him to know that she was wearing a hidden gun. How did he knew? Oh, he is a priest of MakTar, they always do strange things like that.

«His problem, started Emerily, is that he has no cigarettes. And well, we don't have any either, do we?

-Cigarettes? What is this? asked Dimah.

-A drug for the Humans. It makes them insensitive to the vibrations of nature, lose their introspection capacity and block their free will. It also brings serious health issues and suffering. But if they miss their dose, it is even worse: a deep frustration, agitation and anger, and even painful symptoms. This makes that they are compelled to smoke their cigarette again and again, even if it disgusts them. In his case, he needs twenty a day.

-Oh what horror, it really is a Niszun thing», said Djindjinah. (In this world, Niszun is the equivalent of satan. The Elfs avoid pronouncing his name). So what can we do, then?»

Emerily replied: the next tobacco shop is at 12400 kilometres. Run!» he laughed. Then, seriously: «The withdrawal is already making him nervous. They can become angry and violent. Better to leave him in his cell, and bring him food. Forget showing him the beauty of nature. He is defo not in a state to enjoy it anyway, even not to feel it. The cigarettes scream much louder.»

The priest had an expeditious language, claiming it was a quality for MakTar priesthood: «That Dunk pooped in the temple. I am not cleaning before he leaves. And the sooner the better, there is no benefit for him to stay here.»

Rozy replied: «I was well sensing something wrong. So this is why. Indeed the situation is unstable. Tomorrow my colleagues come to inspect the aircraft. Let us bring him there, so that they can take care of him. Before, we are going to make him a stretcher, so that he will not re-open his wounds with walking or with horse-riding. And for safety, we tie him on the stretcher. He will have blinders too. He does not need to see our electronic experts at work.»

So it was done. They quickly made a solid stretcher, of which Dunkan would be unable to escape. The next day, they bore him like a parcel, to the aircraft wreck.

The Arlit technicians were already at work, cutting branches and metal sheets to get access to the spying equipment.

«Do not approach! There are remains of kerozene in the wings. We pumped at best as we could, into these jerrycans. But some may remain.»

Seeing Dunkan tied on his stretcher, Marlin looked relieved. «Oh it is much better that you brought him here. We should have done that at first. We spoke with our hierarchy. The pilots have a whole program to resist what they call brainwashing. Trying to help him was useless, he would never have opened his heart to the beauty and kindness of our world. In more, they have instructions to escape and join back their base by whichever mean they can. Once loose in nature, who know what he would have done to unsuspecting villagers.

-To go through the whole Undar?

-He may try, indeed. Although, he has thousands of kilometres of forests, two oceans and the Horiathon to traverse. A desperate undertaking, but in his mindset there is no other option. We already had a case, although when he tried to threaten the sweet mon-Violent flower-loving Elfs, they made non-Action on him. As a consequence, they now have to keep him for six months, the time all his fractures heal.

-Wow! I hope I don't have to do that.

-Better not. The hardest thing in non-Action is not to put anger in it, to avoid engaging our karma.»

Dunkan muttered something, apparently angry.

«Oh Dunky, he was your friend? Sorry for you. But be reassured, you will have several years to spend with him.

-Where are you bringing him?

-in a jail. Do not worry, it is nice little places, they each have trees, a garden and all. Watching prisoners is a very tedious job, and so deleterious for our karma. So we arrange things in such a way that they can get anything they need, while being physically unable to escape. They also cannot speak with each other without surveillance, in order not to hamper their positive evolution. Some heal, indeed, and become Elfs, or at least positive Humans.

-And what about his addiction to this thing, cigarette?

-The best course is not to give him any. It is a painful way, and he will suffer for several months. But it is the only way for him to heal his addiction. Same goes for wine, meat, etc. We shall do our best to help him overcome his craving, using magic if needed. This can work, but we cannot force his free will. He has a decision to take himself, in order for our help to be really effective.»

Dunkan manifested his disapproval with some foul language. Without any effect: the pristine Undar Elves simply did not knew any of these words. «Ha ha ha!» made Marlin.


The following days, the village resumed its normal life. For a week a greyish mood was floating over it. They did not realized, but they had been confronted to a war action. Even if it brought no injury or destruction, its mere nature of war act had a painful effect on the egregore of their merry village. Yet the Arlit agents efficiently ensured their physical safety. They also took a great care to protect their positive mood and their sweet vibration. The happiness in Blue Iris would heal in some weeks, although somewhere a stain would remain on their pristine innocence.


Even if they avoided to go to the aircraft wreck, they were hearing strange moaning noises coming from it. «Off-road truck» said Emerily, who knew the Arlit and often went there. But they had enough of all that, and they did not wanted to know what a ofroatruck is.

After the experts seized the electronic devices from the plane, they were dismantling its structure, and picking up all the debris around, up to the least shard of glass. With the end of spring, the grass was now growing vigorously, healing the wounds of the earth.

The fabric of their egregore was being repaired too, with a lot of paintings, songs, Dharsham communion, flowers gazing, flute playing, love and tender nights embraced together under the poetical light of the stars.

For several months, the small spring feeding the village was smelling the kerozene, forcing them to fetch water further in the Pashir village. But it went of this as with all the other things: the smell ended to disappear, and it became a memory.


The next spring, they had replanted the broken trees, and no trace remained of the crash. The sun was shining again in their hearts too! This incident did not durably impacted their lives.


About two years after, they received a letter from... Dunkan! In simple words, he was thanking them of their warm hospitality, and apologized from having been a boor. He would remain in jail for several years more, but Marlin explained that they had a reeducation program for the prisoners, and regular visits from high Elves. Some of the prisoners were evolving positively, but others not...


Blue Iris also received a radio equipment, to synchronize their meditations during the Horiathon Battle. It was a small transistorized radio, running on a solar cells generator. The high Elves knew well the terrible power of radio and television: to make tens of millions of people think at the same thing in the same time. Then immediately jump at something else, in order not to give our critical thinking the time to operate. This gives all the bad news the destructive impact of a giant satanic ritual. They used this power too, but only with consenting people, and only for the good.


The Horiathon Battle was the last real war ever. The Elfs had prepared, during the seven centuries of their exile in the Dauriath. They did not needed the Nyidiath anymore, but they were able to dismantle its whole armament industry, making large wars forever impossible.


In the following years, some low footprint but high usefulness technologies were allowed in the Undar. like the Internet. This is how Dimah and Djindjinah found back Dunkan in a virtual world. His wife had waited for him until he was liberated after the Horiathon Battle, instead of just re-marrying. She had no information on him for all this time, but she was sure that he would return. She was of course happy to see him free of the jail, but the delicious surprise was also to see him free of any drug. Total surprise too for his daughter Jina, who had no memories of her father.

Dunkan was still a Human, but totally changed: a happy grandpa, merry gang leader of an exuberant bunch of grandsons and granddaughters. Since they all lived in different places, they used this virtual world to reunite, playing a village of Tinies doing parties, mischiefs and pranks. One of the beauties of virtual life is that we can be whatever we want, a Tiny, or an Elf. But in the Nyidiath, chances are that the virtual Elf also is a real one! Dunkan had kept the diminutive «Dunky» for his Tiny character. And he had told many times to all his family the epic story of how he crash-landed in the wild wild wild Elven lands, fighting bare fists against hordes of screaming disheveled Elven warriors, being captured only under their sheer number. «Is this true?» asked the grandchildren, when they invited Dimah and Djindjinah in their funny mushroom-shaped virtual house. «Hem hem yes, of course» replied Djindjinah, and they all laugh.

This is how the Return of the Elves really happened. With friendship and waffles, not by war.


Da end.

Audio reading and musics

On demand from my readers in virtual worlds, several of these stories are in voice:

Background music: any nature music is suitable for the story of Dimah et Djindjinah, especially Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun, by Debussy.

Music plays an important role in these stories: to give the vibration. For this reason, I recommand hearing some while reading or playing the audio. Some were the source of inspiration. However few musicians allow derivative works. I then gladly tell how to hear these music, with links.


First story -- Next story -- All the stories: in chronological order -- by creation date

La génération de cette histoire (Spoiler alert!)

Cette histoire a été écrite en mars 2023. Elle a pour but d'illustrer de manière concrète ce qui différencie les bonnes personnes, symbolisés par les «Elfes», des futures bonnes personnes, symbolisées par les Humains. Dans la plupart des jeux vidéo, des jeux de rôle et des films, les Elfes sont représentés avec des cheveux longs et des oreilles pointues, ce qui leur donne un air cool. L'arnaque ici est que ces faux Elfes ont en fait le même ego tyrannique et la même psychologie désastreuse que les personnages de séries télévisées, pourris de névroses de haine et d'attachement, tout en étant dépourvus de tout libre arbitre et même d'introspection élémentaire. Ce que font les Elfes dans mes histoires, c'est simplement de contrôler cette psychologie délétère, afin qu'ils cessent de briser leur vie à chaque coin de rue. Et dans le silence paisible laissé par l'absence d'ego et de névroses, naissent le bonheur, la liberté, le libre arbitre et la magie. Il n'y a rien d'extraordinaire à cela, et nous avons tous les outils sur Terre pour faire la même chose. Et pour devenir des «Elfes»...

Mes histoires ne sont pas dictées par l'actualité mondiale, et je fais très attention à ne pas laisser d'occasion à celle-ci de les gâcher, même subtilement. Cependant, il y a parfois des coïncidences sérendipiteuses. Aujourd'hui, avec la situation en Ukraine, nous voyons comment le fait d'éviter de haïr indistinctement tous les citoyens d'un pays a transformé une dispute de frontières sans intérêt en un combat pour les valeurs humaines que tout le monde soutient.

Le nom «Djindjinah» est ce qui arrive lorsque les paroles de la chanson «Jean Genie» de David Bowie tombent dans une oreille Française.





Scenario, graphics, sounds, colours, realization: Richard Trigaux (Unless indicated otherwise).

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Modified in 2024

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