They were brothers—Cult from He and Cut for Helm. They were also rivals for the hand of Cum her Loft. It was obvious from the beginning since Cum her Loft was both a name and a destination. The rivalry had been going on for… forever it seemed. So a joust had been set for the next evening.
“You’ll never lurch me oft,” bragged Cut for Helm.
“Yeah,” said Cult from He. “When I’m done with you, you’ll be loch me turf!”
The braggadocio went on for a prodigious amount of time. So much so, that the Cur Elf Moths were out and most of the audience had departed for their dinners.
Chef Lot Rum had prepared a feast for the two combatants. As usual, he had poured a liberal amount of rum in the food, and thus they fell asleep at the dinner table.
The next day, the torch elf ums lit one side of the field and the torch elf mus the other. Both warriors were resplendent in their cloth me furs with cult for hem.
Cum her Loft sat demurely on the sidelines in a voluminous robe decorated with much floret. What no one knew was that she had decidedly different plans for her future.
The two warriors came to bow before her. The action was short and swift. Withdrawing a sword secreted beneath her robe she rapidly executed a cleft ho rum and a cleft hum or, dispatching the two young men before the page could even fetch lo rum.
Grabbing the helm cut for Cult from He, Cum her Loft pulled herself up on a horse and lit out for the town of Much Elf Ort, where her lover lived; riding as fast as a Cur Elf Moth dies in an em flu torch.