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Welcome to "WHATEVER THIS STORY IS CALLED":
an epic tale featuring the mysterious ways of the mysterious Trelf--a species both troll and elf... or perhaps neither... hence the mystery...
Today's episode is brought to you by Kyrinn and masked-phantom.
Settle into your seats, grab some popcorn, and prepare to be ENTERTAINED. Or else.

Um. Once upon a time, there was a castle on a hill…
in the middle of a plain in a country by the sea.
There were a lot of turtles in the sea… because they were sea turtles.
In the castle upon the hill in the middle of the plain in the country by the sea, which was filled with sea turtles… lived a trelf… who was placed under a spell which made his face constantly look like… that... expression... thing.
The trelf never left his castle, because when he did, the villagers would all point and gawk and gasp and stare and in general act like idiots at him, because they thought he was a turtle.
The turtles found this very insulting, because, having beak-like mouths, they couldn't even make such an awful face.
The trelf also found it rather insulting, since he didn't have a beak-like mouth and therefore clearly did not look like a turtle. But villagers are ignorant, so you'll have to excuse them.
Indeed.
Quite.
In his castle, the trelf gathered his most loyal of companions, who, over time, had learned how to stifle their giggles while in his royal presence.
Obviously, I am not included amongst them.
Nor I.
The trelf's companions included his captain of the guard and official toast-maker, whose name was...
Alkarnisvaen.
But everyone called him Al for short.
Alkarnisvaen did not like onions one bit. They left a nasty aftertaste in his mouth that would just not go away. He did make awfully good toast though.
In fact, his toast was so good, that it had been used to lure away vicious dragons a century before, but we shall not get into that, for it is another tale for another time… and yes, trelves live for centuries… obviously.
Yes, well...moving on...
One day, Al decided to go for a stroll in the rose garden, which His Highness did have, being half elf and all, when he suddenly came upon...
a very large sized bug. And, also being half elf, he shrieked like a little girl and jumped upon a bench as it skittered around underneath him.
His Highness, meanwhile, who was mournfully contemplating his horrible cursed expression, heard the incredibly high shriek, thanks to his sensitive elf ears. With a most severe frown, he hollered, "AL. COME HITHER."
Al, still quaking upon the bench, sniveled, as he neither wanted to jump down into the clutches of the immensely large insect, nor disobey the orders of his liege. Thus, he started crying in dismay.
His Highness face-palmed, and looked out his window to see what was taking the captain of the guard so long to obey his summons. With his amazing elf vision, His Highness soon realized Al's dilemma and stomped out to the rose garden himself to meet his toast-maker, which would have been very impressive if he had not had that expression on his face. Alas.
Hands set upon his hips, His Highness attempted to glare at the six-legged creature, which was running about in circles, and ferociously, he drew a flyswatter, which was sheathed at his hip. Just as the royal trelf was about to swat the bug, the thing looked up at his face. And it died of laughter. Problem solved.
His Highness's eye would have twitched if it hadn't already been in a permanent twitching setting, and the trelf cleared his throat in an attempt to salvage some of his lost dignity. Meanwhile, Al sniveled a bit and wiped away his tears.
His Majesty scoffed, rolling his eyes, though his face was still transfixed in its usual expression, and handed Al a lacy handkerchief.
Al accepted the hanky and blew his nose into it, then offered it back to his prince/king/royal person, who chucked it into one of the decorative trashcans by the side of the path that looked like a skull mounted on top of a stake in true troll fashion. Actually...it probably *was* a skull mounted on top of a stake.
But anyway!
His Majesty said, "Al, I have noticed that your pansy-meter has been increasing of late. Now, I have tolerated this, since you make some awfully good toast, but I believe your elven side is getting the better of you. What have you to say for yourself?"
Al gaped, and then quickly covered his mouth with his hands in a feminine fashion, which was not helping his case. Nor did the sudden blush of pink that rose to his cheeks. "It's because of the floral cologne I'm wearing, isn't it?" he whimpered softly. "I only wanted to impress you..." the trelf whispered, looking up at the... royal guy... through his eyelashes.
Said royal guy stepped back.
And he crossed his fingers in front of himself for good measure. You could never be too careful.
"Never mind the floral cologne," the royal guy said, averting his eyes lest Al's...pansiness could be passed on through eye contact. "Singing Broadway show tunes while taking a bubble bath every Wednesday night is not likely to make me very impressed."
"I do believe," His Majesty continued, "That you have a bit too much elf blood in you. Quickly, do something manly and trollish!"
Al thought for a moment, and then commenced to tap-dance.
His Majesty face-palmed for the second time in the past 15 minutes. Perhaps that was the real reason he had a face condition. He wouldn't be surprised.
His Majesty quickly stepped back another ten feet, then yelled across the distance, "NO, Al."
"You have one more chance to prove your manliness to me, or else I will soon be holding auditions for a replacement captain of the guard and official toast-maker."
"I... you... WHAT?!" Al suddenly snarled, and lunged himself forward at His Majesty, eyes flashing like fire as he tackled him and dug his nails into the royal dude's shoulders. They tumbled to the ground, and pinning His Highness to the ground, Al growled in a very trollish manner. "You will never. ever. ever. find someone who can make toast as well as I can."
His Majesty flailed about as Al's claws grappled for his throat, and the royal guy remembered why he had made Al his captain of the guard in the first place.
He also vaguely wondered whether all trelves were this bipolar.
And of course, he had that expression on his face the whole time.
Ironically, it was that very accursed expression that saved his life.
Al, deeply enraged, was about to tear out His Highness' throat after giving him a good throttle, and thus, looked into the royal guy's eyes so he would have the complete satisfaction of conquering his enemy.
But it is very difficult to do so, when your enemy has that expression upon his face.
So instead, Al burst into laughter, and snorting and giggling, he fell off of the princely guy and rolled about on the garden path.
The royal trelf face-palmed again, and half-wished Al had strangled him then and there.
His Majesty contemplated committing suicide for about half a second, but his attention was diverted by a pretty butterfly fluttering across his path and the sudden urge to write sonnets praising the creature's beauty.
Meanwhile, His Majesty's scribe/scholar person back up at the castle had just finished his amazingly amazing plan.
It was quite amazing.
In fact, this plan was so amazing, that we cannot tell it to you, because it would physically blow your mind.
And that would be messy.
And we do not wish to clean up messy messes.

Will His Majesty's face ever be cured?
Will we ever discover the scribe's amazingly amazing plan?
Has Al proved his manliness well enough to remain the captain of the guard and official toast-maker?
Find out in the next episode of whatever this story is called!