How tall was the tallest dwarf?

The answer was six feet tall.

There dwelt a dwarf by the name of Grumbletoe, born into a world where small was the norm and shorter was better… for efficiency.

The rumors flew faster than a dragon on wings - whispers of a dwarf who dared to defy the laws of nature and sprouted to a baffling height of six feet. His fellow dwarfs gawked up at him in disbelief, their disbelief matched only by their envy.

As Grumbletoe loomed over his kin like a cheeky mountain, he faced a whole new set of challenges. Doorways became his arch-nemesis, and low-hanging branches conspired against him at every turn.

Yet, despite the comedic calamities that befell him, Grumbletoe remained undeterred. He strutted through the tiny villages with a swagger that only a vertically advantaged dwarf could muster, leaving a trail of impressed - and slightly bemused - spectators in his wake.

But hey, at least he was hired as the King’s guard now!

"Huh? Me? Really, to the Great Assembly?"

King Wekkoun Anville of Storm Anvil just loved to keep our hero on his toes.

"Yep, I'm bringing you along as my shield. You've somehow managed to out-muscle every other pint-sized warrior in our realm," the King remarked with a hint of begrudging admiration.

And wouldn't you know it, the former tough guy of the dwarf army took a liking to our unlikely hero. Maybe it was his superior genes or perhaps just dumb luck, but now he's getting schooled in the art of Force by the one dwarf who knows a thing or two about flexing those muscles.

So there he was, following the King as his sole guard to the Great Assembly, where other mythical creatures assembled.

As Grumbletoe and King Wekkoun trudged into the elven kingdom within the great forest, they were met with a sight that even the grumpiest dwarf couldn't help but begrudgingly admire.

The capital gleamed in the dappled sunlight, with buildings soaring high, supported by colossal trees that made even the mightiest oak look like a mere twig.

The elven architecture, adorned with delicate engravings and intricate designs, seemed to mock the dwarven preference for sturdy stone walls and underground tunnels. Each structure appeared to delicately balance on the branches, as if daring gravity to even try knocking them down.

The elves, flitting about like colorful butterflies in their flowing garments, seemed to move with an otherworldly grace that would make any dwarf feel as agile as a mountain troll.

And the air! Ohh, the air.

Stolen novel; please report.

It was filled with the sweet scent of flowers and the distant murmur of elven music, enough to make any dwarf secretly wonder if they should switch their mountain homes for these ethereal treetop abodes.

But of course, Grumbletoe couldn't resist muttering under his breath about the impracticality of living perched atop glorified twigs, while King Wekkoun just grunted in agreement, secretly impressed despite himself.

“At least you don’t have to bow your head too low for doorways now, right, Grum?” Wekkoun smiled.

Grumbletoe snorted, his grizzled face breaking into a reluctant grin. "Aye, I do prefer not feeling like a blasted giant amongst these twig-dwellers," he grumbled, though a hint of admiration crept into his tone.

“I heard Master Vlad is telling his child to go to the assembly,” a beautiful voice said.

“Well, then, he’s not going to see us himself?” a deep, dark voice asked back.

“I don’t know whether he’d come or not. He rarely wants to leave the church, right?” the beautiful voice said again.

Grumbletoe and Wekkoun swiveled towards the sound of the contrasting voices and were met with a sight that made even the elves second-guess their own beauty standards.

The female resembled a walking daydream, prompting Wekkoun to mentally draft plans for a statue in her honor. And the male—THOSE MUSCLES were practically giving off their own dramatic soliloquy!

Ah, perfection in living form! The flawless proportions and graceful movements on display begged the question: were these two a walking advertisement for divine genetics?

Despite their modest attire with quaint cuts, attempting to disguise their undeniable allure was as futile as trying to hide a fire-breathing dragon behind a potted plant.

“I wonder how his child looks,” the woman said.

“You’ve never met them?” the man asked.

The woman shook her head, her blonde hair flowing in a gentle sway. “What kind of vampire do you think they are?”

The man shrugged. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well,” the woman hummed, “Like Kissu-Shotto Aserora-Ouriyon Haato-Anda-Bureido~!” She made three poses from three camera angles, stretching her neck up with each phrase of the name as she spoke the reference.

“How do you think they are?” she asked again.

The man hummed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He struck a pose, covering half of his face with his right hand, fingers outstretched. “Like… DIO!” His face was harshly contoured with dark lines appearing randomly out of nowhere.

King Wekkoun turned to Grumbletoe, muttering, “I wonder why those aren’t censored for copyright.”

Grumbletoe shrugged. “Maybe they thought they’d censor it later if we got struck.”

“When you think vampire, you should think of C*astlevania first, right?” King Wekkoun asked. “I will avenge my wife, and shit…”

“Ah, the censorship isn’t working well,” Grumbletoe deadpanned. “And your wife is still alive and well, sir.”

“Wait,” the man suddenly frowned, and the woman, holding his hand, frowned as well.

She shook her head with a solemn expression. “That can’t be. They’re our Master Vlad’s child, so they can’t be that version of a vampire…”

King Wekkoun turned pale too as he listened to the two strangers nearby. The three of them raised their faces, grim and solemn.

“They can’t be like Edw*rd C*ll*n, right?”

Grumbletoe felt like he was reduced to a mere sketch with no color, his face no longer deadpanned but reduced to flying ashes in the wind. “Mr. Asterisk Censorship…” he muttered, “...couldn’t censor that even if he tried…”