A being argued that the eternal elf Wraithvine likely kept massive amounts of gold and gems, huge amounts of treasures kept away from those desperately in need. Surely an immortal being of such power likely was a greedy as the rest of them! The person snarled over their drink.
Then a soft voice spoke up to say, "Would you like to see my treasury?" And shocked the sullen drinker with a treasury of what seemed like mere junk to most, but were the most precious objects in the world to that being. -- Anon Guest
"Run around forever and you get everything," grumbled the barfly. "Stands to reason. Dragons have hoards. Elves sit on one patch of property and just suck in wealth. Never need to spend 'cause they already got everything. D'varuv have entire rooms made of gems. Immortals gotta have a fuckin' ton of treasure. Selfish bastards."
Ordinarily, this diatribe would be allowed to continue until the barfly either ran out or passed out. Not this time.
"I know where to find one immortal's treasures," said the stranger. They wore a patchwork Wizarding hat and appeared at first glance to be a crossbred Elf. Otherwise, they were an unassuming figure. Clothing made to last, and perhaps a couple of centuries behind the current fashion. Typical for an Elf. "You're going to be disappointed, though."
"Putcher muscle where yer mouth is, Elf," snarled the barfly.
"Steady on, Georg," said the bartender. "Let help be help, and be grateful you get any."
Georg remained belligerent, but remembered some manners. "You better not be leading me on a goose chase. I got powerful people on my side."
"No word of a lie," said the Elf. "I can show you to an immortal's treasures. You and anyone you wish to bring along."
It became a parade. Georg and the barmaid Daisy, Constable Otto of the local Watch, and a gaggle of children who had nothing better to do. They all followed the Elf to the Commons, where ze summoned a door from an object ze kept in hir hat. It had a knocker shaped like a bird's head holding a ring in its beak.
The Elf knocked, and the door opened. On the other side was a rather humble looking cottage. Spacious, and capable of holding many visitors, but otherwise homey. There was a large, fluffy cat slumbering by the hearth.
A hearth that didn't need firewood.
As each person entered, the accommodations changed themselves to fit. The room and table enlarged. The chairs multiplied like amoebas. It was obvious that this place was a Wizard's Tower, but like no Wizard's Tower anyone had heard of.
Two of the children broke off to pet the cat.
"The treasures are this way," said the Elf, gesturing the curious through another door. Beyond was an impossible chamber. An art gallery of eons, with each item on careful display. Little trinkets. Worn blankets. Children's drawings on birchbark, on clay tablets. On scraps of parchment. On pulp paper. Careful thankyou letters. Bronzed booties. Decrees and honours, true, and medals or trophies from polities long lost to history. All set aside without any sign that one was more important than the other.
There were a lot of tiny handprints in plaster. And clay.
"The fuck is this?" slurred Georg.
"My treasures. Gifts of thanks from all the people I've helped through the eons."
"Where's the gold? Where's the gems?"
"As time goes on," said Wraithvine, "one learns that wealth is only good for spending on others' needs. I have no need of financial assistance. My knowledge and skills are wealth enough."
"Ah, you're stupid," grumbled Georg. "I'm gonna find a real immortal and get their treasure."
Wraithvine could only wish him luck. He'd need it.
[Photo by Elsa Lilja on Unsplash]
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