Hive Offender Talks About Elk Jerk-e

I recently was playing a game of Legends with my trusty Spellsword control deck when I queued into another Spellsword player.  Imagine my delight!  There I was, spreading the Light of the Three to the unwashed masses of House Hlaalu when I suddenly had the chance to debate religion with another man of faith.  Things were going well at first, with our Bruma Profiteers bouncing off one another and our impotent Eastmarch Crusaders arriving and departing quickly.  It was tit for tat until turn seven, when the unthinkable happened – my opponent summoned someone I never thought I’d see again to his side of the board.  Mr. Wiley Encar Nate, noted mafioso and Elk.  This sort of thing should never be allowed in a children’s game like Legends, and I will explain why now.

When I was a younger man, I had frequent run ins with the law.  One time, I was driving back from Galveston to Kansas City, a long but fairly direct trip, 45 to 35.  I was on 35 North, and had just passed Witchita.  It was around 2 in the morning.  I had noticed hours earlier than one of my taillights was out, but I needed to get home and I was stoned, so I said fuck it and kept driving.

Well, my hubris got the best of me, because just north of Wichita, I was pulled over for having that taillight out.  I didn’t see the Riften Lawman on the side of the road, his lights off, but I was clearly endangering the public that night so I can’t be too upset about it now.  I pulled over and rolled down my window, stashing my mushrooms in a Wendy’s bag that I tossed casually into the back seat.  I knew I could talk my way out of this.


The next morning was my first appearance in court, and while I didn’t have to enter a plea, I did have to sit, shackled, and listen to everyone else’s business before having my bond set.  This was the first time I heard word of the mysterious Elk that I would later come to know as the Scourge of Spellsword, the Card Advantage Don.

A woman rose when her name was called and walked to the podium with her public defender.  She, too, was shackled, her hair unkept and her eyes to the floor.  The judge announced the charges she was facing – unlawful possession of an elk.

I stifled a laugh, but not well enough – the woman turned around and glared at me.  I felt her Telvanni magicks rend my soul from its mortal machine and my skin turned white, my palms clammy, and I pooped my pants.

should’ve worn these

Kool-Aid man style, a gigantic elk, probably 10 feet tall at the shoulder, burst through the doors of the courtroom.

“Come, my wife,” his voice boomed, rattling the paintings of Ronald Reagan on the walls.

The accused woman shuffled her shackled legs over to him, and he knelt down so that she could drape herself across his broad back.  He then ignited rocket boosters from his hooves and launched through the ceiling.


The judge was so incensed by all of this that he sentenced me to forty-five years of hard labor.

I spent my decades of imprisonment toiling away in a shop that made license plates.  Periodically I’d hear about Mr. Nate the Elk, rampaging through the country side, kicking ass and drawing cards.  I was given sympathetic early release after 44 years because I developed ataxia and the doctor’s didn’t want me to die in prison where I would create a ton of paperwork.

So that’s my story.  I’ve spent the past few months playing Legends, trying to get back some of the joy I had in my life before I met that Elk… and now he’s here, ruining my Legends experience.  Something’s gotta change.

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