I love the idea of elvish smiths' reputations for doing fine metalwork and flowy, graceful designs being a bunk stereotype.
Like, you set out to get some beautiful swooping mithril armor, and just as you get there it's fuckin'. BAM. A breastplate like you've never seen that weighs at least 50 lbs on its own, covered in half-inch-thick plates and spikes and shit, to the point that they replaced the normal little leather strips on it with iron chains because they just pop under the strain, and stretched over that is a tattered crop top made out of a scorched and bloodied battle standard that's been painted with the image of a brutal warrior bare-handedly ripping the tongue out of the open mouth of a monster.
And you ask the elf that's made it why it looks like that and not all pretty, so he tells you that there was a master elvish smith like two hundred years ago that got absolutely teeth-grindingly fed up with having to make the same fucking armor every godsdamned day, who decided that he'd ditch the norm and make something for himself for a change, before fucking off for like eight goblin lifespans and when he came back, he shocked everybody by presenting armor that looked like someone covered a siege weapon in tar and rolled it off a hill covered in spear heads, but it was new and exciting and the look caught on so now all the elves are making crazy chunky armor and wearing tattered clothes and making an art out of breaking things, and before you know it, you're the third human to discover the elves' thriving punk/grunge scene.
