The Web-Footed Elf of Susselfen

an artist's rendering of the Web-Footed Elf - strangely missing the eponymous anatomical mutation

The Web-Footed Elf is a folk figure of the red elves of the Fethil and the surrounding region. Many of his exploits are supposed to have taken place in Susselfen, and many revolve around a common theme of making do with what one has, or the using the inherent cleverness of elves to turn a weakness into a strength. Here is one such tale as told by Jellihondor:

Ah, ye be wishin' for a story, then, do ye? An' one 'bout the Web-Footed Elf, no less, eh? Yeh've come to the righ' place then, have a seat.

Everyt'ing ye should know 'bout the Web-Footed Elf is already in the name - 'twas born wit' long willowy fingers 'n' toes, wit' great flaps o' skin between 'em. Growin' up, they were nothin' he be proud an' ye can be certain he did endure a host o' mean names and mockery. But he ne'er let it get to him as he knew tha' those strange digits could prove more useful than anyone expected. There are many a tale I could tell ye 'bout tha' but I won't, since ye asked me to stick to the point....ye do know tha's a hard, cruel t'ing ta ask o' an elvish storyteller don't ye?

Ah well. We'll skip ta him already bein' in Susselfen fer brevity's sake then. So. The Web-Footed Elf grew up an' settled in Susselfen, in part as it be a town known to be rather acceptin' o' strange folk wit' weird feet. One day, he was havin' a drink in a local tavern an' overheard massive bloke a-weepin' inta his ale. The Web-Footed Elf, suspectin' summat good is always ta be had when big folk be blubberin' so, pops up and sits down next to 'im, an' orders him another drink.

"What ye be a-weepin' fer?" he asked. The big bloke snuffled an' looked at him wi' big weepy eyes and moaned 'bout how he was certain ta be killed as he had lost summat very important in the river. "Well," said Ol' Web-Foot, "were ye to tell me what it was, I could find it for ye."

"Oh no!" said the bloke. "Ye could never find it! Went over the falls, an' anyway, tha' river be treacherous. I t'ink it be lost forever."

Ol' Web-Foot smiled, then, as he was a crafty one. "I'll tell ye a secret...I be a shaman. I can commune wit' the spirits that live in these parts, an' I may be able ta' persuade the spirit o' the river ta give back wha' e'er he took from ye. But, I should warn ye - he's a mean one, ill-tempered as a billy goat, an' he'll be demandin' some fine tribute. Trade's a trade to 'im."

The bloke agreed an' sooner than ye could blink gave the Web-Footed Elf 10 peices o' silver - 10! can ye believe it? - an told him to ask about a crate dwarvish ale. The next day, the Web-Footed Elf swam down through the murky waters, propellin' himself along lightnin' quick wit' his mutated feet, until he found the crate. The crate was caught in the reeds and fronds, but he used his long, ropy fingers to pluck it free and pull it to shore. Then, he grabbed a few bottles o' the ale and stashed them amongst the undergrowth o' the forests afore dryin' himself off and carryin' the crate back to town. After findin' the weepy bloke, he explained that a few o' the bottles must ha' busted on the way down the falls, but that everythin' went accordin' to plan and the river-spirit handed o'er the crate. The big fella, well, he was o'ercome wit' gratitude an' handed the Web-Footed Elf a few more peices o' silver and a couple o' bottles o' wine in thanks.

An' tha's why we remember Ol' Web-Foot: 'tis the way o' elves ta use our cunnin' and charm to keep ourselves well fed an' well kept. An' 'tis our way also ta' remember tha' possessin' such cunnin' means tha' we're resourceful enough to use even summat as strange as webbed feet ta our advantage. Ye sure ye dunna want another story? Like the time the Web-Footed Elf convinced the king o' the mersprites tha' he was the deity o' the Great Land Sea in order ta get revenge on a spiteful fisherman? Ye sure?