How Pointy is an Elf’s Ear?

t isn’t polite to say this, but elves and humans do look similar. Sure, some elves have green hair and some humans have dark skin, but the main difference is that elves have pointed ears and humans have round ones. Medically, there are a number of internal differences, but outwardly it’s all about the ears.

Some elves will be offended and say that ear shape is a major distinction, but when you’re walking through the crowded streets of Brexia, the distinction just isn’t as bold as others. For example, we dwarves are significantly shorter than humans and elves; maybe we don’t talk about it a lot, but everyone knows it’s true. And those blasted giants always stand out in a crowd; there’s no mistaking them. Goblins are short, scrawny, and their green skin is a dead giveaway, but it’s an honest mistake to confuse elves with humans—it happens all the time!

The city of Brexia is a really special place. It’s a place of commerce, it’s an island in between the five nations that isn’t owned by anyone, and it has its own culture where people are generally accepted. If you step outside Brexia, all giants and dwarves hate each other, but in Brexia there is some level of tolerance. I’m not saying you’ll see any dwarf-giant weddings, but they’re not trying to kill each other, and that’s saying a lot.

So, here’s the meat of it: there was an elf that, for personal reasons, wanted to change his ears so that they were round like a human. This might sound harmless, but this small action upset a nation and colored the opinions of people across all of Atruxia. This is a sad tale with no winners, but perhaps telling the tale will help future generations.

There are these humans called Clarions. They’re a huge group of people who believe that the very first wizard of legend, Atrux, was a human. It’s kind of a close-minded view; all races have an ancient story of Atrux, and it’s a little bold to say he was definitely a human. They also believe that Atrux is reborn every now and then and is the rightful head of their group. They call it “religion.” Well, there is this Clarion Church in Brexia that, for what it’s worth, is a real good place for those who have nothing. These Clarions give out bread to anyone who asks, they treat injured folk, and generally take care of whoever asks for it. Even though they have a very close-minded view about the legend of Atrux, when he could just as easily have been a dwarf, they don’t seem to mind helping the less fortunate across all races.

There was an elf who grew up in the heart of the Drasylvia Forest, or as the elves call it, “the Motherwood.” This young elf was Privet Wyrleaf. You may have heard of him lately. He was branded a criminal. I can’t claim to understand elf culture, but somehow, young Privet was banished by the Wyrleaf family and essentially kicked out of the Drasylvia Forest. I’m not really sure what a nine-year-old elf could have done that was so bad, but the little guy found his way to Brexia and was living on the streets.

Over time, Privet found his way to the Clarion Church in the Brexian slums, and the humans there took care of him. People tell me that the old priest who ran that church was like a father to the young elf. He taught the boy how to read, how to do basic math, and how to stay out of trouble. And wouldn’t you know it, that young elf got along alright. He got a job at the docks as a clerk and started to make some serious coin.

This is where things took a turn. Privet was now a young adult with a promising future, and I’m told that he had a more extreme personality. He liked grand gestures and making big statements, even if he didn’t really mean them. He was quite loud for an elf and mostly hung around humans. He even had a human girlfriend; I don’t know what happened to that poor girl.

One day, Privet came to me with a medical request. He came into my office, as a picture of health, and asked for an operation. He asked if I could cut off the tips of his ears and round them so that they looked human. As a medical professional, I of course warned him about the dangers of unnecessary surgery: I warned him of a potential loss of hearing or scarring. I had never heard of anyone performing such an operation, but it seemed harmless—frivolous might be a better word. I remember thinking it was a stupid request.

I politely declined, but Privet explained that he had already tried other doctors, and they had all turned him away. He explained that he felt more human than elf and that he wanted people to look at him as human. He hated being identified as an elf and wanted to identify as human. This of course was not a good enough reason for me, but when he talked about that old priest at the church, he found my soft spot. I too had an adopted father who shaped my life far more than my real pa, and funny enough, he was human too. Privet seemed sincere, and I truly thought that the only person who could potentially get hurt was the lad himself.

It was a strange surgery, so I needed a few days to research elf ears and make sure there weren’t any vital nerves in there. In the meantime, Privet bragged to all of his friends that I had agreed to perform the surgery. If he hadn’t been so loud about it, things might have gone differently, but the next day an elf came into my office with some official-looking document saying that I was forbidden from going through with the procedure. Now, I’m not intimidated by fancy jackets and sealed scrolls. That document was issued by the high elven council, so I laughed that elf out of my office; the high elven council has no rights in Brexia. Maybe I should have warned young Privet, but I didn’t think enough about it.

The one time I met Privet’s human girlfriend, she came to my office asking me to come down to the guard station. Privet had been arrested, and also badly beaten. I of course rushed down there, but I was prevented from seeing him. It disgusts me, but I knew these types of city guards, especially the dwarven ones. They had been paid to arrest Privet in as rough a way as possible, I’m sure of it. I made a ruckus at the station, but I still couldn’t see the lad for a few days. He was malnourished, bruised, but luckily didn’t have any broken bones. He lost his job though. I offered to refund him for the surgery—he had paid in advance—but he seemed more determined than ever. He was hoping to have the surgery the next day.

The next day came, and Privet was escorted to my office by a group of his friends. These young folks seemed ready for a fight; most of them carried swords, except for one lady who was studying to be a wizard at Brexia University. She insisted on painting symbols on my windows; she promised they would wash off afterward.

Looking outside, Privet seemed to have a lot of friends, but I later found out they were sympathizers. A whole crowd had gathered in support of Privet, most of them were human, but there were a few dwarves and elves too. Around the corner, a gang of spear-carrying elves appeared, and they were looking for blood. Many elves have long hair, but all of these elves in that crowd had their hair tied back, displaying their ears for all to see. They were chanting something about protecting their culture. They held signs that called Privet things like a “Pervert,” “Traitor,” “Maniac,” and “Criminal.”

It was surreal. I closed the blinds and asked Privet to sit down in that chair over there. I rubbed a venomous cream to numb them, then I marked the cut lines with ink. With my scalpel, I carefully cut along the curved lines, leaving some flesh to fold over for the helix; that’s the fleshy fold at the top of an ear. It was a relatively simple procedure, and sewing the cartilage into place was surprisingly easy. After bandaging the ears, Privet looked up at me with a smile. He still had bruises on his face, but he seemed genuinely happy. I asked him if he could hear me alright, and he said yes. I don’t know if he had any real loss of hearing, but if he did, I don’t think he would have admitted it.

For the next few weeks, I received a wave of death threats. One of the death threats was enchanted, and it actively attacked my secretary when she opened it, giving her numerous paper cuts. A week later, that official looking elf with his official documents returned with an actual government official. That’s how I lost my medical license, and also how I was almost arrested for aggravated assault.

All this hatred made me want to check in on Privet to see if he was healing alright, but he had been kicked out of his apartment. There were signs of fire, and numerous arrows still stuck into the side of his old building, but the most obvious sign of trouble was the word “Sug’glew” written in elvish. I couldn’t read it but could tell it meant no good. Someone later explained that this was a hateful elvish word which roughly means “a disease on all elves.” I asked the landlord where I could find Privet, and she didn’t seem to want to help. She was furious about the trouble he had brought her.

I went to check out the Clarion Church. Privet wasn’t there, and neither was the old priest. The beggars nearby told me how the heads of the Clarions recalled the old priest from Brexia, and that they were going to assign a new priest there. Some of them said that they dragged the priest away in the night, but others said that’s an exaggeration.

Then, roughly a month after the surgery, there was an explosion near the docks. A cargo ship in the harbor lit up the night sky, then sank to the bottom of Lake Brexia. The elven nation claimed that “the extremist known as Privet Wyrleaf was caught stealing a ship and blew himself up instead of submitting himself to another arrest.” I happen to know the harbormaster, and he informed me that Privet had been staying on that ship with permission from the owner.

The captain of the city guard requested that I come down to the station to look over the body. The captain of the guard, Throdd, is one of the very few giants I respect. He knew that the boy was murdered and that people in power were actively looking to bury Privet as a lunatic or an extremist. Despite the boat fire, the boy’s body was barely burnt; the explosion on the boat likely threw his body overboard before the flames could get him. The killers were probably counting on the fire to cover up the quiver’s worth of arrow holes in his torso, which were clearly the real cause of death. The arrows had been plucked out too. Someone wanted to cover their tracks. I gave my report to Captain Throdd. The governor happened to be in his office when I delivered it, and I believe he looked it over too.

There was no story in the city paper. A few city guards were fired, but the only narrative that persisted was that Privet Wyrleaf was a disturbed young man; his family had rightfully banished him as a child, and he had had trouble with the law. Recently, I heard that some kids have spun Privet’s tale into a ghost story, saying that he steals the ears off little elf kids at night.

That ending didn’t sit right with me. Privet’s story should have been one of an underdog defying the stagnant powers that be. He was here in my city, making a life out of scraps, I really wanted Privet to win one for the little guys. And maybe I feel guilty because I played a part in his death. Maybe I’m mad because a bunch of snooty elves messed with my business . . . We dwarves are known to hold a grudge. To be honest, it’s a mix of all of those things, and it’s enough to get me to act.

I could have done more for the kid, and when he died, me and a few like-minded people felt that we didn’t want this to ever happen again. Those friends of Privet’s have not forgotten him, and they won’t let the authorities forget him either. Most people have seen the graffiti that reads “Privet the Man,” “Elves Can’t Hear Change,” or maybe have seen the humans who wear bandages on their ears at public events. But what few people know is that this group now helps banished elves start new lives among the humans.

I’ve perfected the procedure now. I don’t even leave scars. They still need to wear bandages for a bit, but people just think they’re making a political statement. I don’t even charge a fee. The procedure is just so simple. And when I’m done with them, those people join society with new names. Sometimes they move to the human kingdom. I heard one became a sea captain. That’s a big deal.

For now, they can have their ghost stories and fancy declarations. And the more they cast out their own, the more that history will remember Privet Wyrleaf as a man ahead of his time.