The Curator

Of all creatures in both the heavens and the earth, there are none so detestable, so worthless, so utterly reprehensible as elvish kind. Their existence has always disgusted me, their very nature an affront to the virtues that should and would define all things in a truly just world. They are an insidious kind of evil, an 'innocent' apathy that saps resources and suffocates innovation, all while hiding under the guise of 'wisdom' and 'patience'. Abhorrent drivel! A pathetic excuse to waste their naturally long lives on frivolous and meaningless pursuits!

Ah, that's the heart of it, isn't it? I think I could tolerate them if they were not so long lived. But to watch them spend century after century of choosing ignorance again and again while we humans do so much in our short lives is too much for me to bear. I have long believed that those with the capacity for intelligence are obligated to acquire it. It is the mind that separates a man from a beast, the mind that drives us, fulfills us, and completes us. And elves, by not harnessing this capacity, have shown themselves to be little more than loathsome animals. They are lazy, subhuman cretins, unrightfully stealing land and resources from those with real use for them. They are unfit to hold a say in worldly matters, unworthy of sharing a table with their betters. Why would someone debate a mindless hog over what rights it has? To entertain such notions is a laughable act of barbarity!

My dream of elvish enlightenment, to lift them from the mud and force them to see the light, is a gracious act of pure benevolence. But my proposed calls-to-action to educate the elves continue to be ignored by the cowardly diplomats who would rather appeal to ideals of stability and the status quo. Human traitors dismantle progress from within, labeling me as fringe and radical, not understanding that they are the cruel ones by denying elves the firm hand of humanity around their neck. It is a sad day when tradition reigns over pragmatism in the heart of men, and I am deeply disappointed in my own kind's horrible lack of foresight. But it is of no matter. Even if I cannot find widespread support, I am still more than capable of taking matters into my own hands. Elves, simpleminded as they are, will not be hard to manipulate and reshape to suit my own ends.

And I am not completely alone. There are sympathizers in powerful places that recognize that I am on the right side of history. Through them, through their influence and their funding, I have overseen the construction of a grand library, which I have named the Archive. Outwardly, the Archive is a presented as a bastion of knowledge and a safehold of information built to weather any catastrophe. Stone walls as thick as a man is tall contain a pristine copy every book or document I could acquire. Historical records, philosophical texts, alchemical research notes, and even cooking manuals - it's a glorious footprint of intellectual progress. Human progress, that is.

But such a secure location also doubles as a prison, and of course this is the true purpose the funders intend for the Archive. In the same way a madman must be institutionalized for the stability of their own faculties, the elvish animal needs a stern mentor peeling back its eyelids to show it right from wrong. The corrections will be targeted and efficient. The elves claim a farcical connection to nature? Deprive them of it. No distractions. The elves have no passion for learning? Boredom and curiosity are blood brothers, and I think even an animal would prefer reading to nothing at all. If that fails then hunger and torture are always powerful motivators... Although, I suspect I will have to fine-tune the harshness of my punishments to ensure the animals do not bite off their own tongues in grief. It is a necessary evil for the sake of enlightenment, and I will not mourn for the departed. Creatures insistent on being animals are not worthy of emotion. Would I mourn a beast slaughtered to make my gruel? I think not.

And finally, after years of planning, building, stocking, and preparing, the first specimen has been delivered to the Archive and is awaiting my inspection in the central chamber. Approaching from the overlooking balcony and peering downwards over the railing, I can see its ugly elven form sprawled out on the floor. It's obviously still under the effects of whatever sedative the smugglers administered to it. I do not count on the sedative to last very long, but fortunately, I can see the creature has already been cuffed and chained. Its metal leash runs into a hole into the center of the room, presumably connected to the crank already. Excellent work by my lackeys. The crank is a crucial part of my ingenious design for this place, and I cannot wait to explain it to my new prisoner. I primly descend the spiral ramp, walking past the rows and rows of bookshelves that are built into the walls. My stride is casual as I close in on the elf, but I make no attempt to hide the hatred etched on my face.

"Rise, cur. I don't care if you've been drugged. Laziness is not something I will tolerate from you. Rise and take stock of your surroundings." I order, throwing out my arms to gesture grandly at the Archive around us. "These are not the meadows and woodlands to which I'm sure you are accustom to. This is the greatest repository of knowledge this world has ever seen. You should feel honored, but an ungrateful beast like yourself probably won't. Regardless, get used to living here. You shan't be going anywhere else for a long, long time."

I kneel in front of the elf, scanning over its prone form with morbid curiosity. I have not been allowed near elves for a long, long time on account of some... incidents, but here in the Archive, here in MY Archive, the rules are little more than ill-thought suggestions offered up by fools and cowards. And now, seeing an elf before me in the flesh, I feel justified in this entire endeavor. It looks so human-like, aside from its grotesque ears. Surely, if not for the chronic laziness innate to their breed, it would reach similar capacities of thought as a human. It's just a matter of having the right motivations, and I am more than happy to provide that aspect. Reaching down, I grab its ear and crank it backwards with a sharp twist, forcing the elf to look up at me.

"Can you hear me you pointy-eared freak? You had better be listening. Now is your chance to prove your horrid race is worth something." I sneer, grinding its ear between my fingers. "I'm going to explain the terms of your new residence."

I release its ear, standing up and stepping back. My focus shifts to the thick metal clasp locked around their throat, and I give it hard kick with the tip of my shoe to call attention to it. The metallic clank reverberates back to me, echoing up through the towering emptiness of the Archive as harsh reminder of how truly alone my guest is. No one knows it is here. No one is coming to save it.

"You see this? This chain is attached to a pulley. And of course an idiot like you doesn't know what that is, so let me spell it out for you. The chain gets shorter or the chain gets longer depending on how much intellectual aptitude you show me." I explain simply. "If you are able to test well and my answer questions correctly, I'll lengthen the chain. This is a good thing. With a longer chain, you'll be able to walk further up the stairs and access more of the Archive. The higher you go, the more advanced the learning material becomes. There are side rooms like an alchemy lab and an observatory that you'll be able to reach if you ascend high enough, and if you manage to make it to the top of the tower, you'll find the key to your shackles. At that point, you'll have proven yourself to be more than an animal, and you'll be freed. Of course, with the amount of knowledge in the Archives your meager intellect, I expect it to take several centuries. I'll be long dead by then, but time shouldn't be an issue for a creature like you."

"Of course, the reverse is also true. Should you fail to show any prowess, I'll shorten the chain. You'll quickly find out won't like that." I continue grimly. "Don't think for a second that I wouldn't enjoy pulling back the chain bit by bit, watching your leash become shorter and shorter until there's no chain left. It would be a lovely sight to watch your neck break as the pulley forces your head through that tiny hole. Now, I suggest you start studying. There are nine levels in total, and this first floor contains foundational literary knowledge. I will be nearby for any asinine questions your feeble mind can muster for me. Are we clear?"