The Hobwit

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Re: The Hobwit

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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Re: The Hobwit

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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Re: The Hobwit

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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Re: The Hobwit

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

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

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Re: The Hobwit

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

Embarassed

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Re: The Hobwit

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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Re: The Hobwit

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

Ah but, are you smooth round the edges ?

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Re: The Hobwit

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

Wink

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Re: The Hobwit

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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Re: The Hobwit

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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Re: The Hobwit

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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Re: The Hobwit

Post by azriel on Sat Jul 21, 2018 10:05 am

Very Happy

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Re: The Hobwit

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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Re: The Hobwit

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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Re: The Hobwit

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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Re: The Hobwit

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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