On winter's eve cold snow glistened, all hands warming around the fire, and to the rooftops all did listen throughout all of Ettermire. T'was not with hope, or joyful cheer, their faces all upturned, but sinking dread and outright fear of a half-elf who was spurned. It was years ago, they like to say, on a night much the same, when it was that he first learned to whom he would lay blame. T'was not of humans, or fair-skinned folk, that he began to tire, but those dark of skin and sharp of ear that truly earned his ire. He was locked away, and there he stayed, 'till sprung free by another, but 'ere long he did return under night's black cover.

Darkness cloaked, for moonlight choked, on the smog of industry, and perched on edge of grit-stained ledge, was the one of prophecy. A wicked grin spread above his chin, but he did not come for fear, though. Mercifully, he sought to free; this city needs a hero. Worked to death and breathing fumes, these people had no lives; from that fate the dark bastards freed, a blessing in disguise. So trod he then upon tiled roof, his footfalls all a-patter, to nearby chimney, so finally, their peaceful sleep he'd shatter. Though most belched smoke this one was clean, so into it he slid. Found he then much soot within, descending with a skid.

Blackened now from head to toe, the half-elf spied his hated foe. Eyes a-flutter as slumber passed, the dark bastard rose now from his bed, the hero still was much too fast, and with eagle's shriek drop-kicked his head. Dagger drawn as he rose from the fall, the half-elf was wary of a trick. To their skyward relics he'd send them all, as they cried 'arch-heretic,' and with a pair of sticks, covered in shit, he'd skewer them through their eyeballs and snap the sticks off so he could- no, no, a calming breath would be what's best.

"Why are you rhyming?"

"Aha! I stab you through the chest! And now your blood is on my vest."

"...what's wrong with you?"

"Shut up, you should've rhymed with vest. I stab again!"

"Oh gods, my chest!"

"With malignant glee the knife kept falling, but in the house a voice was calling. The hero grinned, and with each stab, his blackened garb became less drab. Covered now in brightest red, he violently hacked off the head, but as his trophy hit the floor a woman burst in through the door. At her dark skin he slowly rose, then-

"You maniac!"

"Damnit, woman, now I'm off-track. If you'll just stand- Shit, come back! I chase that bitch into the hall. She's at the stairs and going down, so o'er the rail as I yell 'Cacaawww!' and elbow drop her to the ground."

"...s-somebody help!"

"She calls for help as my grip tightens, and flails uselessly, but she will learn as her eyes darken that I'm the hero of this story. She stares now at my face in fear, and I slowly lick my lips, for two dark elves is a buffet, and I'm really quite fam-ished."

"The half-elf then bore her upstairs and gazed upon his enemies, and the lovely sounds as he cut them up were, to him, a symphony. A burlap bag sufficed to drag their pieces to the fireplace, but by that time blood within had soaked through to the floor, and came a banging from below at one of the doors. Up to the roof the hero went now, crawling at a quick pace, and black and crimson he emerged onto the cracked tiles of the poor. Into the night he skittered then to skies that were more clear, but vowed he then he would return, each and every year.

So it was, that on that night, the half-elf earned his infamy, but even then his reputation is only in its infancy. Return he will to maim and kill with his sweet karate, so he is known, and feared by all, as Ettermire's most naughty.