when Karlingalas arrived in this world, his guardians were startled to discover a pair of gleaming red eyes once they parted his enormous mane of shiny red hair. concluding that they had received a daemon child, they immediately enlisted him with the best school of black magic in Britain and waited eagerly for results. but the child proved to be no great prodigy in the arts of evil: he enraged his teachers by calculating the areas of their pentagons and the volume of their bblack candles, annoyed ghosts and malicious spirits by making poems in praise of their beauty, and got in the throat of everyone with his incessant honesty and good humour.
Karlingalas the Bard
time improved him somewhat, though, and as the years went by he acquired both the power of Sarcasm and that of Jazz. shadows erupted from his hands and the world seemed to be at the red-haired daemon's feet, elegantly clad in red leather boots as they were. he had even got the eViol laugh to a tee, when something happened to upset his plans horribly.
from the book 'His Foodfight' by Billy Bagness, a well-known fraud of a biographer:
Nothing could go rong, Karlingalas thought as he carefully drew the last line under the last calculation which would make him ruler of the world. He had counted on every possibility. Every single one! Yet little did he know the power of CHOKLIT, especially the power of unexpected CHOKLIT cake. He could only stare as a squadron of all-too-identifiable flying objects flew in through his window and started pelting themselves on him, his work, and worst of all, his daemonically stylish outfit. When the singing started, it was too much for the dark elf. With a wail he ran away from his subterranean bunker, never to set his foot there again, or nay other body part for that matter.
no one knows where the elf disappeared to after that. some say he took to playing the trombone in obscure, smoke-filled caf� situated in godforsaken villages in the Czech republic. others claim he went to find the highest tree in the forest and collapsed in despair at its feet when he realised he possessed no herring. then he cracked completely, and slouched off to BURN down Oxford's less architecturally sound colleges. he is also said to have arrived in the isolated village of Balrog Cuttings, where he finally found peace as 'just another one of those weird elves'. but of curse, some rumours are simply too fantastical to be believed.
a sample of the elf's lamentous balladry: Another Balrog Song