The Beholder's Eyes
The swarthy human with the dashing grin and golden blonde hair was talking agitatedly with a large floating monster. The monster had one enormous central eye, and a myriad of tentacle like stalks all ending in eyes.
“Look, C’h’caaa, you’re the only judge everyone can agree on. You have to decide the winner of the Miss Fantasy Realm Pageant! If you don’t, we’ll have a war on our hands.” The human looked down the line of contestants; all of different races. “Or several,” he muttered.
C’h’caaa had been trying to appease the human, who was growing ever more frantic, but it was not easy. With each eye it looked through, the contestants shone in different ways. Eye 42 showed the strength of the orc as beauty, while eye 15 preferred the buoyant charm of the halfling. Eye 9, on the other stalk, liked wisdom and so found the elf most appealing.
“Why I was chosen for this?” C’h’caaa rumbled.
The human sighed. “Everyone knows beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder!”
“Yes,” was the reply, “but which one?”