The Hobwit

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Post by Pettytyrant101 on Thu Jul 19, 2018 10:58 pm

"a sense of doom falling upon the troop, if you can call it a troop and not a group of companions"

........................................(a page later).................................................................

"So there they were. Fourteen not very companionlike companions, a troop of them one might say"

{{That reversal is sublime. You utter BASTARD!! Mad Mad Mad  }}}

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Post by Orwell on Thu Jul 19, 2018 11:13 pm

Thanks Petty. It is one of the great joys I have, to write stuff in Forumshire. It has long given me a freedom when writing. I feel I can throw things in, inane, naughty, philosophical, unphilosophical, the sublime and the ridiculous, just as things come into the head without too much thought, hopefully, some inspiration, and just the right amount of editing first up to make it read okay, then without time to second-guess oneself ... need I go on? The thing is, I try things, and sometimes they come off and sometimes they don’t. I’m soooo glad when they do. Thanks again. Thanks Forumshire!

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Post by azriel on Thu Jul 19, 2018 11:39 pm

Im very fond of your wit & sense of style Smile I enjoy reading these stories more than you know ! In fact you & Petty are as bad as each other Smile or, as good as each other Smile You both crack me up Smile Your the Chocolate Buttons to my sugar less tea Smile

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Post by Orwell on Thu Jul 19, 2018 11:48 pm

Chocolate buttons, hey... .... Twisted Evil

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Post by azriel on Fri Jul 20, 2018 12:09 pm

Embarassed

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Post by Pettytyrant101 on Fri Jul 20, 2018 8:09 pm

{{Well I suppose I bear some resemblance to chocolate buttons, in hot weather I melt and become sticky No  }}}

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Post by azriel on Fri Jul 20, 2018 10:05 pm

Ah but, are you smooth round the edges ?

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Post by Orwell on Fri Jul 20, 2018 10:18 pm

Wink

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Post by Pettytyrant101 on Fri Jul 20, 2018 11:26 pm

{{ I dont have edges I have areas of unexpected fall offs! And if you were to take a large sheet of sandpaper and lay it out on top of a cobble stone street and then run your hands over it, that's about my texture! Rougher than a dogs tongue licking a badgers arse, in a desert  Twisted Evil }}}

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Post by Orwell on Sat Jul 21, 2018 5:36 am

Only in Forumshire do dogs do that, and, fortunately, only in the uncivilised desert on the bottom rim (or edge) (or drop off) of our world, which I don’t even think Forumshirans visit (apparently)... Wink

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Post by The Archet Bugle on Sat Jul 21, 2018 6:15 am

Chapter 8... continued...

Bango woke up and he did not know where he was. It was black all around. Well, dark grey. So he thought it must be morning. He could not see far past his outstretched hand, only a few yards. His arm was lying on the ground and he had a painful crick in his neck. Moss was up his nose. Then he realised he was in the Wildwood.

He got painfully to his knees. Feeling his forehead, he could feel wetness. Blood!

“Oh that’s what’s happened. I hit my forehead on a branch while I was running around in a panic, as you do. It always happens in these kinds of tales. And I guess that’s what I am in. I wonder if anyone will tell my story in the future? Though if I starve to death here, lost in a dank and dangerous forest, then no one will ever tell my story. Oooooh..l this is like one of those adventures i’ve head tell of in adventure stories. Shame I’m so tired, bloodied, dirty and hungry...soo hungry. Adventures would be quite fun if it wasn’t for this kind of shit happening.”

His eyes were becoming more accustomed and the dark grey light got a little less dark grey and a little bit dark  whitish silver. Now he could see three metres in every direction. Not much light to go by but better than two metre visibility, and approximately three times better than one. Bango’s spirits lifted at that, though he was well aware he might be a few centimetres out.

“Nothing for it, old Bigguns,” he told himself. “No point quibbling about a few centimetres, not when you’re a Bigguns. We Bigguns have never quibbled about a few mere centimetres all said and done. Not once since the decimal system arrived. So no use starting now!”

And then he thought, “What the f#$k do I do now?”

It was exactly then that he heard not so far off singing. It was a pleasant singing, the kind you once used to hear quite often in remote dangerous forests.

“Elfs!” He cried in delight for he thought they sounded like Naughty Elfs, as opposed to Wood Elves, and that could only mean copywrite issues and having to deal with a style of elf (or elve) about two levels up in the social order of those far off times! Snobby, if you know what I mean, and I am sure you do. But what luck! “Naughty Elfs!” Bamgo cheered. “The best kind!

And Bango set out through the forest as best he could in the direction of the singing. Little did Bango know that they were not Naughty Elfs at all. They were, in fact, Notsonaughty Elfs, originally from Notsonaughty Isle near Eleanor.

Before long, the singing grew more distinct and Bango began to make out the words of a gay song they were singing in their beautiful pure voices.

Oh chaste and pure our love must be,
As we dance in our forest evergreen,
Platonic friends, no Naughty Elf,
Will ever be welcome in our house...”

Bango had heard enough and he blocked out the singing after that.

“Just my luck I would stumble over a band of Notsonaughty Elfs out here in the middle of the wild nowhere! Oh well, one must make do; hopefully they’ll have food.”

And so, with those mixed feelings, he pushed through some last branches and stepped into a clearing in the trees, only to be blinded by the flash of bright sunshine. He squinted. His eyes watered. He got a watery glimpse of lots of beautiful people, nicely dressed, demure to the nth degree, genteelly sipping spearmint tea and nibbling neat circles around their forest wafers and only singing when their mouths were not sullied with tea or food. But as soon as they came into some sort of focus for Bango, they all suddenly stopped, frozen in time a moment, and a moment later some unseen hand turned off the sun, and the clearing was plunged into darkness.

“What the...” Bsngo exclaimed in surprise and tripped over a log in the sudden dark. As he lay on a bed of soft leaves he groaned, “Who the hell turned the damned sun off!”

But no answer came in response to his perfectly reasonable question. Bango sat up and grimaced darkly. “Rude bastards! I thought Notsonaughty Elfs had a bit more class than that.”

Presently, he heard the singing start up again some distance off.

“Oh this is going to be one of those days, I see,”  the hobwit complained.

But there was nothing for it. He had to try again. He was hungry and even the dismal prospect of spearmint tea and wafers for breakfast was better than nothing. This time, however, Bango remembered his magic bangle. He pulled it out from his pocket and slipped it onto his wrist.

“This way I can sneak up on them,” be told himself with a smile. “And if need be I’ll slit their throats and drink their blood.. why do I keep saying that? Oh well, no time for self-reflection, it can wait: now where is that obnoxiously pleasant singing coming from... oh over this way I think....”
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Post by azriel on Sat Jul 21, 2018 10:05 am

Very Happy

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Post by The Archet Bugle on Sat Jul 21, 2018 11:19 am

Chapter 8.... continued....

Bango chatted to himself as he made his way.

“This time, I’ll go ever so quietly and look around a bit, see if I can find food, steal it, sneak off into the forest again, eat it, and then go and find out what happened to the dwarfs. With my magic bangle on I can do a lot without anyone noticing. I could even dig tunnels and see if I can find the beginning of things, roots of trees, maybe even the roots of mountains. But for now...”

Bango had just got to the edge of another clearing and, after accustoming his eyes to the bright sunlight (someone having turned the sun on again) he took in a very interesting scene.

There were lots of logs on which sat  lots of Notsonaughty Elfs, this time playing musical instruments and whistling lovely tunes, and humming harmonically about water and stars and beautiful carbuncles, for though wordless, the music was so profound it spoke intelligible words to Bango, and the carbuncles being described were particularly sparkly.

Bango caught sight of the dwarfs. They were sitting next to poles driven in the ground, all of them manacled to the poles and covered in what looked like the remnants of giant spider webs. They looked sickly and pale and bedraggled and unhappy and grumpy and famished, much as Bango remembered them.

Then the music stopped all at once and one particularly tall and angular elf with lovely flaxen hair that had clearly been brushed with exactly one hundred strokes that very morning, moved over to where the dwarfs were sitting.

“Now, my good dwarfs,” said this elf in a gay but supercilious tone. “Would you like some spearmint tea and crispy diet wafers, or not?”

“How about some real food?” Thorny returned on his dignity. “We need pies and cider not health food stuff. You know dwarfs can’t drink herbal concoctions and soy-based wafers, that kind of fluff you elfs eat. It gives us diarrhoea, you know that.”

“But my bearded friend, you know we don’t hold with meat eating or alcoholic drinks. We are, after all, Post Modern elfs.”

“I don’t know that term,” Dwarfen said dourly. “But it sounds anachronistic to me.” And she gave the elf a fierce scowl.

Bango knew Dwarfen could barely tolerate anachronistic dwarfs, but anachronistic elfs were clearly beyond the pale. Though it was not the time for such intolerance, the hobwit felt, as the dwarfs were in a tight spot. Notsonaughty Elfs and Dwarfs of Thorny’s tribe did not like each other at the best of times. What Dwarfen needed was to be on her best behaviour. Perhaps then the elfs might give them some sympathy.

Then good old Bwalin interceded. “I don’t supppose you folk would have some good old apple pie and non-alcoholic cider?”

The elf brightened. “Oh lots and lots. Back at our secret cavern town. What we’ll do is blindfold you all and take you there. Mind you, our king - who doesn’t actually have a name but may indeed have one sometime in the future  we just call him, the Wood King, or Sire in his presence - will not be glad you have upset our woodland banquet. It is our day off, you know, and he is a fair and benificent king when it comes to his day workers, slaves and elite staff. He might just kill you all first and then ask questions later. Not that that’s possible, but he can be a bit of a reactionary at times.”

“Yes, and if I was the one wearing his slippers and camisole, I would be tetchy about unwanted trespassers too,” Bwalin said in his usual friendly and empathetic manner, “but what about those apple pies and that non-alcoholic cider? They do sound yummy.”

“He may give you some of those, but you will first have to answer his questions about what you are doing snooping here in his leafy realm, and why you’re covered in giant spider webs to boot. Why are you covered in giant spider webs by the way?”

“What does it matter?” Snodgrass grumbled. “You nosey bastard!”

“We can be thankful that a lovely young chap saved our lives,” Bwalin intervened swiftly, always the tactful one. “A strange grangrel chap, to be sure, but he did save our lives.”

“Fat good our hobwit was when we needed him!” growled Growly.

“F#$(*$g hobwit!” agreed Fowly.

Bango felt a bit annoyed to hear this. If he had been conscious he was sure he could have saved them. Not that he was anytning but terrified of spiders. He now wondered who the helpful chap was and why the bangle on his wrist was beginning to throb...

“Helpful chap?” The elf leader asked suddenly on Bango’s behalf, or so it might seem, though it was just a coincidence. “What helpful chap?”

“Some helpful chap who asked the spiders to let us go, threatening to tell their mother on them if they didn’t, and then asked us if we knew a hobwit with a magic bangle,” Bwalin told him. “Of course, we didn’t know any hobwit with a magic bangle. Anyway, he seemed disappointed with that and took off immediately into the trees, sniffing the ground like a bloodhound, and we didn’t see him again. That’s when we heard you singing and we came here to see if you had any appple pie and non-alcoholic cider. Sorry about our earlier misunderstanding.”

Bango stood transfixed hearing Bwalin’s tale. Spiegel! The little bastard was after him! He felt around in his pocket and felt the comforting haft of Pigsticker. ‘I’ll slit his throat and drink his blood if he comes anywhere near me! It’s my Special not his Special! I bet you he wants to slit my throat, drink my blood and steal it! The thief!”

And so upset by the thought of Spiegel coming after him with the intent of stealing his special bangle, Bango was barely in time to notice the elfs leading the dwarfs away from him out of the clearing by a path into the trees. They were all blindfolded now. Not the elfs, nor the trees, the dwarfs.

Bango  gritted his teeth and girded his loins and quickly padded after them. If it had to be apple pies and non-alcoholic cider, then apple pies and non-alcoholic cider it would have to be! So, you see, Bango was not quite the selfsame hobwit who ran puffing down the hill outside his hole only a month (or thereabouts) ago who would never thought apple pies and non-alcoholic cider as particularly satisfying after you had been trudging around the Riding all evening looking for enticing things to perve onor hoping for trysts under the Evenstar with beautiful vagrant elfs. He was now a cunning, determined, resourceful, sneaky fellow... well, he was the selfsame hobwit, but now he had a magic bangle....


Last edited by The Archet Bugle on Tue Aug 07, 2018 2:08 am; edited 5 times in total
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Post by halfwise on Sat Jul 21, 2018 11:22 am

I was as excited by the thought of naughty elves as Bango was. Mad

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Post by Orwell on Sat Jul 21, 2018 11:57 am

Now, the tale started as a young person’s sort of take, Halfy, but now, as it grows in the teling, as you probably have noted, it is becoming a more adult type of tale. Nod

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Post by The Archet Bugle on Tue Aug 07, 2018 2:26 am

Chapter Nine: By Bangle and Bargepole

Bango had to trot quickly to catch up with the elfs and their prisoners and only did so just in time to see them disappearing through the ornate gate of a tunnel into a small mountain, not a hill, covered with trees, not a tall mountain, and not your normal mountain size not your hill size, though both mountain and hill sizes can vary, I know; but still, as I said, this was a mountain, for the Elf King was known as the King under the Mountain - which does sound familiar for some reason - and not the King under the Hill.

There was a drawbridge across a swift forest stream to that gate and Bango sprinted over it and then through the gate with it closing behind him just in time. He stopped and puffed just inside the silent magically closing doors, trying to get his bearings. He wasn’t sure, but he thought to hear a strangled upset kind of voice somewhere back across the stream sobbing and cursing. What was that he heard? ‘I hates that Bastardarse Bigarse forever... forever! Now how to I get across this swift forest stream, I wonders...?’

Bango’s bangle was throbbing again. That was curious. As he contemplated the golden piece of jewellery on his wrist, he also contemplated who Bastardarse Bigarse was... but no time for it now he decided and set off to find the dwarfs...
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Post by Orwell on Wed Sep 25, 2019 3:32 am

Came to recover this tale with a view to continuing it in another place. Must say, there is nothing like coming here after a long time, having forgotten just about everything you wrote, and getting to read it like someone else wrote it. Is it lacking in humility to admit I giggled a few times?

NB Note this down as a Moderator visit. Just so you know I take my Moderator duties seriously. As you were! Carry on! Nod

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Post by Pettytyrant101 on Wed Sep 25, 2019 4:21 am

{{{{ 'Continuing it in another place? Suspect
Why don't you try continuing here so we can read the bloody thing you ridiculous OZhobbit!!! Mad (that aside good to see you about the place Nod }}

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Post by Orwell on Wed Sep 25, 2019 4:37 am

I keep an eye on this place now and then still, sometimes two, sometimes bloodshot, sometimes clear-eyed...

Tell you what. I can still put new bits here. The rest has gone to my notes on iPad so I can do some editing when i’m of a mind.

I got a message via fan fiction. Turned out to be an unknown person wanting to date me or similar. I suspected a scam. But I read the prelude and chapter of this sordid tale while there and one had to laugh. Which prompted me to grab it all from here and put it somewhere safe.

Incidentally, the edited version here is inferior (prelude and chapter one only) to the one on fanfiction. I must try and copy it. I feel like Tolkien trying to do an ‘improved’ The Hobbit. At ‘tidied’ Hobwit would have been better. There you go.

Anyhow, how are you, my craggy hard nosed crabbit bow-legged Friend? All well, I hopes?!

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Post by azriel on Wed Sep 25, 2019 10:47 am

Hello Orwell Wave speaking of craggy things, & I hope yours are not or sitting down is going to be uncomfortable, I think a spiffing yarn with many a good jape is just the tonic we need to this miserable Brexit stuff so, once Australia is the correct way up ( in which I mean the British way up Smile ) a page or 3 would be nice ? Smile Its all too normal at the moment.

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Post by Orwell on Wed Sep 25, 2019 10:27 pm

You know, ever since Odo Banks and the Clan disappeared mysteriously, though in a financially lucrative manner, according to whispers, things have swung to a state resembling respectability here. Amazing when Odo worked so tirelessly, but ultimately futilely, for so many years to make this place Respectable (note the capital). Then you got all respectable after he had gone! What an ironic universe we reside in! Shocked

Hi yourself, btw. Very Happy

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Post by The Archet Bugle on Thu Sep 26, 2019 12:06 pm

Chapter 9 continued.... (note: decided to change ‘elf’ for ‘fairy’ and will update older copies when I edit. Also decided to change dwarfs to midgets...I already am giggling to myself with the possibilities the changes offer a demented mind.... ....)

Bango, tiptoeing as quickly as he could, now followed the shackled midgets with their guards down passages and across quadrangles until they came before the Fairy King.

The Fairy King was a big fairy. Bango had already seen some big fairies, Almond being one of them if you remember, though I forgot to mention back then that Almond was quite a big fairy.

The Notsonaughty Fairy King sat on his grand throne which was equisitilely made of coiled gold and silver and lapis lazuli, the latter coiled by means presumably impossible, except in tales like this. He was a handsome king, if somewhat pale skinned, angular jawed, and supercilious of eye. In case you don’t know what that means, it means his skin was very white, almost translucent.

“Midgets!” The King said on spying Thorny and his bedraggled crew. “How dare you come sauntering into my forest!”

“Who says it’s your forest!” Growly growled defiantly.

“And who the #$*& are you accusing of sauntering!” Fowly cussed defiantly.

“How very dare you!” The Fairy avowed in a seriously high voice.

“Now now, cousins,” Bwalin put in pliantly. “We are guests of this grand Fairy. He may not own this forest, but he thinks he does, so shouldn’t we be generous and placate him?”

“Nicely put, you sweet talking midget,” the Fairy King declared grimly, though Bango detected a friendly glint in his eye as he beheld Bwalin, “but nonetheless, I have a bone to pick here. Who is your leader?”

“We have no leader, we are just a group of travelling musician midgets who have lost our way in this forest you call your own.”

“Musicians? What brought you here? Not after our Magical Mushrooms are you? They’re for our inspiration, not for the use of mortal midgets!”

“No, we leave those for mental midgets,” Snodgrass offered with a wry grin.

“Now, Snoddy,” Bwalin intervened in gentle rebuke. “You’re probably not helping the situation here.”

Ignoring them, the Fairy King asked Thorny, “What name do you go by, midget? You look familiar? Like the Midget under the Mountain of years gone by. That Horny midget... Horny Greatgreaves....”

“Have no idea who you are talking about,” Thorny answered quickly, eyes narrowed. “As I said, we are musician midgets. Sadly, we have lost out instruments in the forest. Otherwise we would play you a sweet tune to ease your foul and inhospitable temper.”

“How dare a vagabond midget speak so to me. Well, I smell a rat, and if you have one on your person, I want to see it.”

“I carry no rats,” Thorny shot back, standing to his full height and thrusting out his beard like a dagger. “Perhaps you just have a dead and rotting rat scurrying around your palace!”

“How dare you! You only make things worse. We have no dead and rotting rats scurrying around the palace! And anyway I was only speaking metaphorically!”

“Metabolically?” Bumburr asked, confused. “Mind you, I could eat the crotch out of low flying dead rat at the moment - or a duck.”

“Metaphorically,” Ignory told him, tersely. “He said, ‘metaphorically’.”  It was quite a strained moment, so I guess we can forgive Ignory for being a bit terse just then.

“Concentrate!” Thorny told Bumburr. “If you can’t say anything sensible keep your mouth shut.”

“Mmm...” the Fairy King said thoughtfully, stroking his sharp chin and addressing Thorny. “You have the mark of leadership on you. You are no mere musical midget.”

“He’s not that good, honest,” Poin offered helpfully. “But he does get to have a harp solo now and then. We usually go out and have a beer or a squirt when he does.”

“Silence!” the Fairy King instructed him, eyes squinting with ire. “Guards! Take them away. If they do not wish to tell me the truth - and yes I know they lie, lost in the forest, what a lot of crap that is - yes, there is much more to this than meets the eye. Take them away and let them ponder on their intrusion and their manners!”

And so the midgets were led off, shackles clanking. But Bango was not in a position to follow where they went this time. There were too many fairies in the hall and he was bound to be detected trying to pass through them. And he was suddenly alone, even if there were hundreds of fairies around; and lonely days were to follow, always invisible, and always at risk of detection.

The inside of the Fairy Kings Mountain Palace was incredibly neat. Bango quickly learned that the Notsonaughty Fairies of the Wildwood were very precise and accurate in all things, including cleanliness. Non-alcholic beverages were rarely spilled - and incurred the death penalty - and crumbs dropped incurred fingers crimped. Even beheadings and crimped fingers were done with neat strokes of axe and scissors, respectively. And nothing naughty was allowed. All wall paintings were of nice forest scenes with nothing that looked at all like rude bits of fairy bodies, not one broken nob-ended branch or stray pair of oranges. And accidental boob displacements or penis flop-outs were ignored; the Notsonaughty Fairies did not think those things appropriate, so therefore were unheard of, and, of course, it follows logically, unseen. Some as say the Notsonaughty Fairies were the first Christians, but anyone who says that is clearly trying to be provocative for no better reason than being incorrigible, and this has no place in a tale meant for childish minds. And as to Magic Mushrooms, if you’re wondering, they were only used to to get closer to Alluvial, who they saw as a universal spirit and not as an awesome interstellar gas like Almond’s fairies did. This is, of course, a matter for serious theologians, and not for childish minds either.

Now, as I said already, Bango did not know where the midgets had been taken at first. But in sneaking around invisiblized by his bangle, searching for something to eat other than non-alcoholic wine and wafers - which after four or five days gave him diarrhoea, invisible, mysterious, and nasty underfoot - he eventually found his way down to the very bowels of the Fairy palace. And that’s where he discovered the dungeons.


To be continued...

[a bit rusty...mmm....but a start...]
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Post by azriel on Thu Sep 26, 2019 12:22 pm


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Post by halfwise on Thu Sep 26, 2019 12:49 pm

What Az said.

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Post by Orwell on Thu Sep 26, 2019 1:17 pm

I have no idea what Azriel means.... scratch

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