The most decadent delights Fang has to offer are but pale and clumsy reflections of the arcane symphonies of pleasure that I remember from the buried cities of the dark elves.  That doesn't stop me indulging.  It's been decades since I've been home, and more than a year since I last saw another of my kind, and you will find that - once you have managed to consume a sufficient amount of their dreadful wine - that human food and song and sex is pleasurable enough.<br/><br/>(http://img337.imageshack.us/img337/6261/drowbylokai2000.jpg)<br/><br/>I wait impassively for my turn to enter.  Most of the others fidget and fret, but the wood elf and I have lived for a long time and we have learned how to wait gracefully.  I spend most of the first hour staring at the bitch, and hoping that, when I step over her corpse, her face is frozen in that same priceless expression of fear and agony I remember from the first wood elf I ever caught.<br/><br/>The minutes tick by, and she enters the dungeon, followed by several others, until it is my turn to take The Walk.  I'm underground: home again.  There is something very comforting about caverns and tunnels when compared to the vast emptiness of the sky world.<br/><br/>After a few minutes, I reach the box.  The diminutive form of my name is carved on its lid in the crude and ugly language of the humans:<br/><br/>B R I Z A<br/><br/>I open it cautiously, taking care not to stand directly in front of it.