By Myron Faylor

Yeah, I’m Myron Faylor, and I was there at the Vlargsfjell Incident. We call it the Longhouse Riot, we call it because Vlargsfjell is just a nightmare to try to say, even worse to try to spell. It doesn’t matter so much when you’re the silent type like me and Glibbit — let’s just say that just because we don’t talk, that doesn’t mean we can’t talk.

Me and Glibbit, we’re what’s called Svartalfar — dark elves. We had already been part of the dark elf realm for, I don’t know, a couple of infinities. It was cool, but the pressure to be mysterious and ethereal was intense. It was just so dark, man. We needed a change. 

So, we decided to blow off a little steam and try to figure out a way to get the hell out of Vlargsfjell. That fateful evening, we were down at the Longhouse. That’s kind of where you hang out when you’re in Vlargsfjell. It’s a notorious place, famous for its Viking shenanigans. And there we ran into Skrymir, who is a Norse giant. His dad was a full-on, no-shit god. And his mom must have been upper management at least, because this guy was a beast. But despite his fearsome reputation, Skrymir was a nice guy. We had a passing acquaintance, and I could tell he was a good dude. But that good dude is one bad dude, if you know what I mean. Easily as big as five big Vikings, with a reputation to match.

At the longhouse that night, we sent a horn of mead over to Skrymir’s table. A big one. He was grateful and acknowledged us from across the room. It’s easy math for us. Remember, we’re about 30 inches tall. Together, we weigh about 40 pounds. You don’t have to be a dark elf genius to figure out that when you’re in a room full of rowdy Vikings, it’s good policy to buy drinks for the giantest giant among them. We got lucky on this one. Skrymir, what a dude. The soul of a poet, that one.

You could tell he was going through something, an existential crisis of sorts. Being a giant has its perks, for sure, but I think he was tired of being defined by his size and strength. It seemed like he was looking for something more. Maybe to write a novel, or perfect his lingonberry jam recipe or something.

So Glibbit and I get to talking, scheming, looking for an angle to bust out of our rut, when a wild free-for-all suddenly broke out. Amidst the chaos, we noticed two familiar faces — Gurney Poe and Odal. These were fun guys, always surrounded by people having a good time. They paid for the drinks, and they seemed a bit supernatural. Not entirely magical like us, but definitely not ordinary. (By the way, Odal’s name has changed over the years. He’s now known as Z Kooper. Most extradimensionals change their names every 200 years or so. Even Skrymir goes by Goliath these days. So, if it’s all the same to you, for the sake of this lovely story, I’m going to call the big guy Goliath, and Odal I will call Z Kooper.)

Glibbit had the genius idea to go all in on Team Goliath. We scrambled into his vicinity and went straight-up nuts on the place, swinging from the rafters, zipping around and causing mental distortions with our sweet dark elf magic. A bit of parkour, a bit of fourth-dimensional judo, some minor time sorcery, and a few old-school confusement spells. Man, it was amazing. You could tell by the look on their faces – they never saw us coming, and they sure as hell couldn’t figure out where we went.

Strangest thing, though. Goliath, who had been keeping an unnaturally low profile through all this bedlam, leapt into the big brother role instantly. He was our protector, our champion. He fought like he was possessed, all seemingly to save me and Glibbit. It was amazing. He was in our corner, but even with all our smarts and his muscle, it didn’t seem like it would be enough to save us from the storm of Viking anger coming at us.

Let me paint a picture for you. Vikings are not small people. They’re big and they’re burly, and when they’re angry, it’s like a force of nature. But Goliath? He towered over them like a mountain. When things got hairy, he stood in front of us like a living fortress. 

Goliath was a whirlwind of motion, his massive form a shield against the raging Vikings. He deflected blows, intercepted attacks, and effortlessly moved us out of harm’s way. It was like watching some wild angry nine-foot-tall master chess player, anticipating every move and countering with brutal precision. He effortlessly tossed aside anyone who got too close, his strength a force of nature. He was a protector, a guardian, ensuring we remained untouched amidst the chaos.

It was insane, like something out of a freaking legend. This giant, battling impossible odds to save our little elf butts. He moved like some kind of warrior dancer, all power and grace, making the whole brawl look like a ballet.  I tell ya, the sheer awe of it all nearly knocked me off my tiny feet. 

But it wasn’t just his strength, it wasn’t just his speed, it wasn’t just his unlikely grace. It was his protectiveness. You could see it in his eyes. He was determined to keep me and Glibbit safe, no matter the cost.  I mean, it was like watching an artist at work. Each move was purposeful and efficient.

We could barely keep up with him, and that’s saying something because, well, like I said, me and Glibbit are something to see and we are pretty damn good if I may say so myself. But Goliath was the linchpin. He kept the Viking storm off of us, giving us a chance to do what we do best — create chaos and look for a way out.

Now here I’ve got to tell you about Z Kooper and Gurney Poe. These two characters, they glided through that riot like shadows slipping through moonlight. While we were in the thick of it, fighting for our lives, they moved with a lazy, loping grace. They ducked and dodged effortlessly, holding doors open for dazed Vikings like gentlemen. They behaved like two men immune to conflict. Their calmness was unsettling. It was like they were puppeteers, pulling strings the rest of us couldn’t see.

Z Kooper, that charming shark, wove through the chaos, his voice a mesmerizing spell that rose above the din. He cracked jokes, performed card tricks, and spun tall tales. He had even the angriest Vikings stopping in mid-swing to pick a card, their rage melting into curiosity. His words were like silken ropes, binding the crowd into some kind of weird, temporary peace.

Gurney Poe, in the meantime, was a figure of quiet cunning. I couldn’t figure it out at first. He moved around the room with deliberate purpose, stacking these giant stone tables, shifting furniture, and opening and closing doors and windows with subtle precision. At first, it seemed random, even foolish. But soon it became clear he had sealed off sections of the room and created a little getaway path for us. His seemingly mundane tasks were a master class in misdirection, guiding us to a concealed exit just when we needed it most.

Gurney Poe had herded us all into a corner and, in a final flourish, whipped back a curtain revealing a brand new door. We raced through it — backwards, as Poe instructed — as the angry Vikings rushed forward, and the next thing we knew, we were alone, safe on a hard dirt path outside Morocco.

Goliath had defended us without promise of reward, and that meant something to us little guys. From that moment on, we appointed ourselves as Goliath’s eternal posse. 

And Z Kooper, he had defended Goliath and us when there was nothing in it for him. Goliath pledged his eternal allegiance to Z right then and there.

So there it is. The origin story of this weird trio. Me, Glibbit and Goliath, we’ve been carrying Z Kooper’s flag since that day, committed to righting the dumbass wrongs committed to the timeline and bring our best selves to the fray to put it all right. 

Z Kooper was there for us. We’ll always be there for him. And for dark elves, always is a very long time.