WHOLESOME TALES

Weird. Just weird.

Squach wrote:Weird. Just weird.

I have to agree when it comes to the latest story.

That's what happens when you think up ideas and go where they lead. Usually do that writing poetry, and never usually on the Wholesome Thread, but this Forumshire place is like that road Bilbo spoke about, and some fear to tread it!

A fair analogy, but the road always takes us to many new and wonderful places, despite any potential bumps along the way.

I think that would be a great story to share on a suicide blog or something (I mean this seriously!) although a bit odd here, I feel it will really have some potency where it is relevant

This Forumshire is a strange place, let's face it. Suicide blogg? Scary thought. I'd rather come here. People are very accepting here, though, and I have to agree with Odo on this, we're not always respectable here. In some ways, we're a bunch of misfits... But, then again, if we're a bunch of misfits then... well then... well, if we're a bunch misfits getting together to have a chat, then, you know, we're not really misfits after all!

Weird? Don't see it myself. Unexpected maybe, but I like that. Now if it had ended with her just jumping off, that would have been weird.

Weird? Or just sadder (and less hopeful) than it already is?

I think it would have been sadder but weird in the sense it would have been a weird choice of story to post. (Though I personally wouldn't equate that as a bad thing as sometimes being startled by something in a context you didn't expect to find it can make the point hit home all the harder).

Orwell wrote:In some ways, we're a bunch of misfits... But, then again, if we're a bunch of misfits then... well then... well, if we're a bunch misfits getting together to have a chat, then, you know, we're not really misfits after all!

True! Though not as true as saying that we're a strange place.

Well, strange people have to gather SOMEWHERE, otherwise we would reak havoc on the normal world!
(Though the strange people who have survived in the real world do seem to be quite successful...)

THE TALE OF ÓDOÍ THE BLUE

Due Sooner or Later. (Probably when Odo and Wisey's get back from their Mum and Dad's 64th Wedding Anniversary Party).

THE TALE OF ÓDOÍ THE BLUE

Dodo Decides to Go on a Jaunt

Once upon time, long long ago - indeed, at the start of the Third Age, but long after the Elvish Immemorial Age had faded away, and, yet, not all that long after the Second Age had dwindled with the Necromuncher's overthrow - there lived a race of Little Folk on the banks of the Great River, which was later called Anduin but was then called, if only by the Little Folk, “The River”; this because they were a practical people and had no idea what “Anduin” meant, nor had they ever heard it referred to by that name, though, if they had of had a Tardis, they might have been able find out; though, sadly, that kind of thing could only happen in Science Fiction, not Fantasy, at least, back in those days when people had a more respectable notion of what Science Fiction and Fantasy were, and where one ended and the other began, they being more wholesome times, and definitely Pre-Post-Modernist.

The little people were hobbits: Fallohides, in fact. In the bank of the river there were many holes where they lived. One of these Fallohides was was Dodo Banks, (the father of 'Odoi' - later, though) and some say Dodo was born with a death wish. Others say he was “fated” somehow, because he was named after an extinct Mauritian bird, which is of course absurd, because dodo’s weren’t even extinct back then. This is the trouble you have when you read back modern history into mythological history, anachronisms bloom and multiply.

Anyhow, Dodo was an interesting sort. Where other Fallohides stayed at home, fishing in The River and grubbing around for tubers and wild oats in the floodplain, Dodo would spend his days adventuring. He’d pack a sack with tubers, oats and dried fish, and off he’d go, on jaunts, which was what adventures were called then. Not that Dodo went any further than ten or so miles, for he was pretty useless when it came to doing anything for himself, relying on others to feed and clothe him, like teenagers really (though not your Ally type, more your Raspberry Squash type).

Oh he had one attribute, he could make up silly songs (oh yes, he was a Bard). He amused folk with his silly songs accompanied by the nasal sound of his nosethimble. In case you don't know, the nosethimble sounded inferior to a harp, but never as bad as the bagpipes. It was a wonderful instrument really, which, when inserted in the nostrils, could be blown even as one sang. They were shaped surprisingly like modern nose plugs, joined with a clip, and carved from the thighbone of a wild pig, because pigs weren't domesticated yet.

Anyhow, one day, Dodo decided to go on a jaunt to the Greenwood. He had always seen the dark smudge on the eastern horizon, but had never tried to go there. As you probably know, the Greenwood was a dark and mysterious place full of elves and monsters, and enchantment, both light and dark – and occasionally even grey, though some might say that grey more properly refers to “religion” and not magic as such. Anyway, whatever the case, Dodo said to his Grandmother, “I’m going off to the Greenwood, Granny.”

Granny gasped, “Why the dickens would you do something stupid like that?”

“As to that,” Dodo said mysteriously (possibly even obliquely), “I cannot say.” And with that he walked away from his comfortable sandy hole in the bank.

Granny stood at the entrance to her hole, watching as her grandson disappeared into the long grass of the floodplain. At last, she shook her head gravely. “I have absolutely no idea why he would do something like that.”

And, you know, neither do I.


To be continued...

BIG BOOK OF WHOLESOME TALES
Published by The Bugle
Sponsored by Odo R. Banks.

Wonderful story this. Just wait to you see part two. Even better!

I await with baited breath the next instalment and the wonders of the Greenwood. (and I will let the slight against bagpipes go- this time. Don't make me grab a cat and pipe it!)

Excellent response, Mr Tyrant. Just the kind I warmly receive (even from someone I'm Feuding with). The next installment is brilliant. The ... err... anonymous writer tells me, in fact, it will be better than brilliant... err... when he writes it, that is... and you can't get a better endorsement (from me) than that, Sir - nor will!

Mr. Banks, your publication continues to excel on the fictional front! Loved it!

Well Odo feuding is one thing but a good tale is a good tale, so long as its not like that Banks family tale 'The coal scuttle thieves in skirts', that is a misuse of story!

THE (TRUE) TALE OF THE COAL SCUTTLE THIEVES IN SKIRTS.

Once upon a time there were two clans in Scotshobbiton-up-the-Vale, not far from Scotshobbiton itself. One family was a Respectable Clan, and the other Unsrespectable.

(((((If you happen to ever read this, leelee, it was the McBankses and the McTyrants, the latter formerly Erinhobbits from Erin, but for proprieties sake, the Anonymous Author won't name names in the unencrypted part of this tale:-Odo R.Banks, esquire))))).

The members of the Respectable Clan were very respectable. They never drank buckie, or wore short dresses, and never wore kilts. The members of the Unrespectable Clan, however, drank buckie by the bucket, and wore short dresses which were kilts.

Now, in the early ages, the Respectable hobbits were good to those foreigners, who, as is well known, had emigrated from Erin (((((that's Ireland, leelee, just in case you didn't know)))), giving them all the food they could eat, and a warm hearth to sit by in the cold evenings when the Evenstar was shining. They not only fed them, they taught them all about Correct Behaviour and Appropriate Etiquette, and Modest Dressing Habits. This, of course, did not register at all well with the Unrespectable hobbits, who liked their revealing clothing and their unbecoming buckie fueled antics, which often involved farm animals, and sometimes Wargs and Goblins, though not hyenas, because hyenas did not exist in Forunshire, and still don't, as a matter of fact, though they might lark about in Furthest Harad for all I know.

Now, no matter how naturally unrefined the Unrespectable hobbits were, the Respectable hobbits treated them well, like beloved unruly children, however uncomely and rude they were. This was because Respectable folk should always be tolerant of those from the Lower Social Orders, and in this case, the Lowest Most Commonest Order.

As you might imagine, things went on as well as could be, and so long as the Unrespectable hobbits dug coal, and tillled the barley fields, and cleaned the outhouses, and befriended the Respectable hobbbits' sheep (secretly), the two clans got on well enough, each clan accepting it's respective place in the natural hierchy of Scotshobbiton-up-the-Vale.

But this cosy situation did not last - and it was the Unrespectable hobbits' fault of course that things turned sour.

You see, one day one of the Unrespectable Clan, who we will call Noktha Nee Nelly for convenience, happened to be digging a deep seem of coal when he found a curious scuttle - a coal scuttle. As it turned out, it had absolutely no magical qualities, no matter what some modern day Scotshobbits tell you. But Noktha Knee Nelly thought it a lovely coal scuttle, while more sensible Scotshobbits thought it merely a rusty pail.

What's that? Oh it's getting late. I'll finish the story later.

This thread is becoming a bit like Unfinished Tales.

continued...


THE BIG BOOK OF WHOLESOME TALES
Published by
The Archet Bugle
Sponsored by Odo R. Banks, esquire.

"Befriended" the sheep?

More tales, please

If I had read that, which obviously I didn't after the Health Warning in the NotP, I'd be furious at such a blatant misconstructing of the truth. And they were magical talking sheep, perfectly ok to befriend them!
As to your pop eyed insinuation Ringdrotten what do you think we Tyrants are? Welsh?

Pettytyrant101 wrote:As to your pop eyed insinuation Ringdrotten what do you think we Tyrants are? Welsh?

You Brits and your crazy territorial rivalries.

One of my old neighbours (who ran a farm) had sheep, lots of them. I saw them out of my window, now I wish I had gone out and communicated with them! I love sheep! And leeks.

Ally wrote:I love sheep!

This will not end well.