Crabbit Faery Tales and Folk Tales of Forumshire

Once upon a time three little Ambassadors came to Forumshire- they were Ambassadors Amarie and Leelee from the Dark Planet and Mrs Figg of Bree.
And they all sought to set up their new Ambassadorial Residences, paid for by tax payer subsidy directly to Admin Eldo, in Forumshire's green lands.

First they bumped into Farmer Dave in his fields of cranberries and wheat and suggestive vegetable patches.

“Hello,” they said, “we are three Ambassadors new to Forumshire and we are wanting to build our new homes here. Can you help us?”

“Why yes, yes I can!” Farmer Dave nodded, “the very best types of residence we have here are made from straw you know.”

“Straw?” the three little Ambassadors chorused in surprise.

“Yes, indeed straw, and I just happen to have a lot of straw that I, um, no longer need, which you can have for a bargain price.”

“I am not sure about a home of straw,” Ambassador Amarie ventured uncertainly.

“I'll throw in this very fine selection of vegetables for the discerning Lady,” Farmer Dave added, waving his hand at an array of intriguingly shaped veg which alternatively made the Ambassadors smile, blush, wince, and blink sharply before blurting out in unison, “Ok, its a deal!”

Soon the three little Ambassadors were leaving Daves Farm laden with straw and some carefully secreted vegetables.

“Why does it smell of cats wee and sweet alcohol?” Ambassador Figg grumbled wrinkling her nose.

“Um, all straw smells like that when newly cut,” Farmer Dave swiftly replied cursing a certain Scotshobbit under his breath, “it will clear away eventually, with a stiff enough breeze.”

So the three little Ambassadors went looking for somewhere to build their new homes of straw.
And soon they found a low hill of green with a lone oak tree atop it and a wide vista over Forumshire. The only other object in sight was a large, seemingly discarded by its state of repair, buckie barrel, lying upon its side beneath the spreading oak.

“What a wonderful spot,” Ambassador Leelee said taking in a deep breath and only not choking to death because the wind was blowing the fumes from the buckie factory in the valley below away from them, “We should build our homes here.” And the others nodded in agreement.

Soon, with the magic of Ambassadors all three began building their homes and did not cease until there was not a single stalk of Farmers Daves straw left.

But just as they were finishing their task and Ambassador Figg was commenting, “Mine still smells of wee” they heard a terrifying roar from within the barrel beneath the tree- as if some great monster had awoken in wrath.

It was in fact Petty Tyrant waking from sleep within his barrel to a hangover and the realisation the world was still there and still had to be dealt with in some fashion, preferably one which had involved reaching the bottom of the nearest buckie bottle as soon as possible.

His crabbit rage and even more terrifying second yell came upon the discovery he had drunk his last bottle, and the understanding he had been awoken from blissful oblivious sleep to this realisation by a lot of noise outside his barrel.

With his red and wild hair, with each strand at odds with its neighbour as to which direction to grow in waving wildly, kilt flapping and a stained string vest and a face as dark as the cold depths of space and as red as an angry supernova Petty emerged from his barrel and beheld the three little Ambassadors and their houses of straw.


“Whitthebuggery!” Petty immediatley exploded waving his arms around furiously, “Naw, naw naw. Yise cannae put yon muckle hooses here lassies. Naw way hossie!”


Ambassadors Amarie and Leelee looked at him blankly then looked blankly at each other.

“Pardon?” Leelee, ventured.

But judging by the arm gestures and, if the redness of the face was any marker, this only made the figure before them even more angry.

“A says youse lassies cannae put them here, ye unnerstand noo? Ya daft wee coos.”

“It OK,” Ambassador Figg said stepping forward, "I learned some heathen Scots lingo during the bad years of the 80's,” it crossed Ambassador Amarie's mind to ask I that was the Nineteen or the Eighteen-eighties but she thought better of it and remained diplomatically silent as Figg continued, “when roving bans used to raid across the border when their shops ran out of buckie. I can speak to him,” she squared up her shoulders, adjusted her bustle to its jauntiest angle, and strode up firmly to this angry Scotshobbit and prodded him in the chest, “Listen taae meee ya noisy wee yaff, din--nnae yi be geing us any trouble or ye'll find the pointy end o' ma boots intersecting way the dangle bits beneath yer sporran,” she said but with a terrible attempt at a Scots accent.

Petty though impressed nevertheless bridled at the sloppy accent and strode up to the three closest of the three houses of straw, “Yi cannae huve these here, this is ma patch, naebaedy aelseses,” he said furiously, “and whits this,” he plucked a handful of straw out from the wall of the building and burst out laughing.

“Whats so funny?” Ambassador Leelee queried an they turned to Ambassador Figs as the translator.

“Yi daft edjits!” Petty exclaimed, pulling out hunks of  straw.

“Oi! that's my bloody wall! “Ambassador Figg exploded.

“Yi canne build a hoose oot o straw in Forumshire, it'll noo withstand the crabbit explosions, numpties the lot of yi.”

“Well Farmer Dave says otherwise, he says straw is the best thing to make a home out of in Forumshire,” Ambassador Fgg said warming to the argument, “And I feel he is more honest and less drunk than you, and I trust my feelings,” she said with a firm nod.

“Bugger yi're feelings,” Petty replied a snap, “It nae argument against proper foundations, thick walls wi supports that can withstan' the crabbit and no pissing me aff when Im standing right next tae the bloody things!”

“Oh you think I am pissing you off right now,” Ambassador Figg snarled back, “just you wait till I tell you why a house of straw is better because when you are inside it it gives off a lovely feeling of warmth and security.”

“Whit kind of argument dae yi call that?! “Petty cried his face now a deep brain tumour impending red.

“A better one than yours!” Figg replied with a gleeful cry.

And that's when Petty exploded in a crabbit rage.

No one was sure what happened next, when the dust settled or rather the straw began to float back down out of the tempest it had been spun into the three little Ambassadors found themselves knocked flat and alone - they heard only the slam of a barrel door- amidst the ruin of what had moments ago been their three new homes.

“Well,” Ambassador Amarie said, “I thought your argument had merit too.”

“Thank you” Ambassador Figg said plucking stray straw from her hair.

“But if I may venture to say,” Leelee put in surveying the destruction all around them in a wide circle of broken straw, “he may have had a point about straw houses not being able to withstand one of those crabbit explosions. If they happen often round here, and I think they might,” she said with a disapproving shake of her head in the direction of Petty's barrel, “we may be wise to think of something else to make our homes from.”

They looked down into the valley below with its buckie factory and the town of Needlehole nestled among the trees and the harbours to Valinor beyond.

“Well then, I guess we shall have to start building all over again,” Ambassador Amarie observed standing up, and the other two likewise raised themselves from where the crabbit explosion had left them lying.

“I'm quite glad really, “ Ambassador Figg said adjusting her bustle as they set off down the slope towards Needlehole, “my one definitely smelt of wee.”

(though I think I know where this is going).

Glad someone does!

not sure I agree with the 3 subtext. but I will let it go.

Dear Figg, havent you realised by now I'm not deep enough to have a subtext- I just thought it was a good title for a Forumshire version of the story, everything springs from that.

My gawd! Another tale from Forumshire --- and quite possibly seeking to reach the same literary heights as Wholesome Tales! Well... clearly higher heights! What's the world coming to????? {{{ }}}

The world is coming to our lucid imagination & if this is classed as lunacy then Im fooking BATS !!

A new Forumshire fairy tale?! Oh, this takes me right back. A very promising start in its own right as well, Petty. I'm glad you're still writing and sharing with us.

And we have Christmas to look forward to. A great time of the year for snuggling up, fire crackling ( bit hard with radiators but still ?) & having a story !

Three little Ambassadors.. off looking to build their homes of straw.. Yeah.. yeah.. I see what you're trying to say.

It was not long before the Three Little Ambassadors found themselves among the woods that bordered  Needlehole where they came across an extraordinary sight.

Two figures, one male and wearing a neat pink army uniform with a fetching rainbow emblem, and the other female and dressed casually, but notable for the long club she held in one hand and with which she was gleefully beating a troll over the head with whilst shouting things like “Fuck yeah! One new troll rug coming the fuck up!” were in a glade before them.

Ambassador Amarie coughed politely and the pink uniformed one turned to her.

“Hello,” smiled the pink uniform, “I'm Ringo, and this,” he indicated the shouting swearing violently beating a troll figure by his side, “is Norc.”

“Um,” Ambassador Figg ventured after a moment, “what are you doing?”

“We're on Bounder duty for the Forumshire Sherriffs department, keeping out trolls,” Ringo informed them.

“Fuck yeah we are!” Norc cried with a final satisfying clunk on the trolls temple, “Got you, ya bastard!”

“How can we help?” Ringo asked sincerely.

“Well,” Ambassador Leelee began, “we are trying to build our Ambassadorial residences in Forumshire, and we got straw from Farmer Dave, but then we met some awful Scots creature..”

“Ah, I see,” Ringo nodded in the certain knowledge of where this was now going, “and he destroyed your straw homes in a crabbit rage did he?” he ventured.

“Well, yes, exactly, “ Leelee confirmed, “so we have to start again, but with something stronger than straw. Can you help?”

“Blocks of cut ice,” Norc suggested nodding, “fucking brilliant houses, that's what we use in Northern Fjordianland.”

“Bugger that!” Ambassador Figg exclaimed, “I want central heating and hot running water and a wine cellar.”

“You could try to build out of wood instead of straw this time,” Ringo suggested looking round at all the trees.

“Oh that's a good idea,” Ambassador Amarie agreed, “My Feanor builds ships out of wood all the time and they survive storms.”

“Well I'm not about to start to cut down trees,” Ambassador Figg protested, “not in a bustle.”

“There must be somewhere else we can get wood?” Ambassador Leelee mused.

“You could try asking Admin Eldo,” Norc piped in, “I've heard lots of people say he gets wood all the fucking time. Maybe he can give you some.”

Ambassador Figg stared  at Norc's innocent expression before finally saying, “Perhaps not.”

“I know,” Ringo exclaimed suddenly, “of course, why don't you go to the Harbour, Queen Tinuviel has shipwrights there and they have lots of wood.”

And so it was decided.
Leaving the Bounders to their work they set off for the harbours of Forumshire.

A few hours later and soon the Three Little Ambassadors could smell the salty tang of the sea air and then as they came over a low rise in the land they beheld the sparkling blue of the sea before them, and directly below them golden sand dunes that stretched off towards a quaint harbour of white stone at which a white beautiful ship, with a graceful prow carved like a swans arching neck, was moored.
The distant sounds came to their ears of the ship wrights at work with saw and hammer.

Excitedly they hurried off down the slope and soon their toes were gently pressing into the warm soft sand of the dunes.
Which was precisely when a small white ball shot up over the edge of a neighbouring dune and hit Ambassador Figg squarely in-between the eyes.

“Bugger!” Ambassador Figg cried before falling over backwards, her bustle sinking deep into the sand.

Two figures followed the ball over the edge of the dune, one was a huge burly man with muscles which shone in the afternoon sun and an expression of permanent gentle bafflement, the other was an elvish woman with long cascading hair of jet black, and yet here and there it sparkled as if from deep within, like stars glimpsed on a summers night through a net of drank branches, her face was beautiful, ageless and radiant and it had the most exquisite nose ever seen anywhere by anyone at any time. Ever. And she also wore a crown.

“Terribly sorry about that,” Queen Tinuviel offered, “should have shouted 'Four!'”

Figg, with some help from her fellow Ambassador who had to dig the bustle out of the sand first, struggled to her feet, and then seeing who was addressing them she curtsied with the rest, Ambassadorial instincts kicking in.

Queen Tinuviel smiled at them, “Ambassadors Amarie, Figg and Leelee!” she cried, knowing by some mysterious Queenly power instantly who anyone in her realm was, “excuse my aim, I was practising my bunker play, got a big game coming up in Valinor tomorrow,” she explained waving a golf club at them, “and I cant practise in Valinor without someone spying on my game with a palantir, so I come to Forumshire to practise.”

“Can't they spy on you here too?” Ambassador Amarie asked surprised.

“No, the News of the Pure delivery and export office is just over there,” she pointed, indicating a ramshackle building on the edge of the dunes near the harbour, “and they have a very illegal device which can hack and block palantir's, and which they kindly allow me use of when I am practising,” she said smiling sweetly, “and in return for which I don't cut off any of their heads,” she added, still smiling sweetly.

“Very, civicly minded of them,” Amarie said diplomatically, realising the Queen had just shared a secret with them she didn't care about losing just to see what they would do with it, she was a smart cookie, this Queen, Amarie considered.

“May I ask where you were heading?” Queen Tinuviel inquired of them.

“Actually we were hoping to get some wood from the harbour to build our Ambassadorial residence with, if that is fine with Your Majesty,” Ambassador Figg said.

“It's the least I can do considering your head,” the Queen replied graciously and indicated the perfect round red mark between Figg's eyes where the ball had struck.

“What the buggery is wrong with my head?!” Ambassador Figg demanded.

“Where were you considering building your homes?” Queen Tinuviel continued smoothly ignoring Figg.

“Well I like it here,” Ambassador Figg said firmly, stretching out her arms towards the sea and throwing her head back in the gentle warm breeze.

“You may wish to relocate further from the News of the Pure export offices,” the Queen advised, “it is where Petty works, and Petty can be, rather territorial. And he doesn't like to be disturbed, especially when he is drinking.”

“And when is that?” Ambassador Leelee asked.

The Queen for the first time looked somewhat taken aback and a momentary confusion crossed her face, “I see you don't know Petty very well yet.”

“Well enough,” Figg snorted, “That windbag crabbit Scotsobbit? We are not afraid of him!” she cried, her dander engaging, “let him moan, who cares if we disturb his drinking, this time we will be building our houses of wood, he can huff and he can puff his crabbit all he likes, but his crabbit will not tear our houses down this time!” she declared triumphantly, dander now firmly up and activated.

“As you wish,” the Queen said softly.

“What do these offices export?” Ambassador Amarie asked nodding towards the building on the beach with 'NotP' painted in bright red letters on its side.

“The largest, best selling, Forumshire newspaper,” the Queen replied simply.

“Oh, I think I'd be interested in reading those,” Amarie replied.

“Yes,” Tinuviel smiled back, “I do rather think you would be,” she smiled knowingly and then turning declared, “practise waits for no Queen, not even me. Good luck with your new homes.”

And then she was gone back over the golden dunes in the blink of an eye and a shimmer of light.

Soon the Three Little Ambassadors were among the bustle of the docks, and indeed Ambassadors Figg's bustle was several times stuck in the bustle of the docks as they made their way to the wood wrights.

Word had somehow already reached the carpenters and smiths from Queen Tinuviel and their wood was waiting for them. Even though looking back Ambassador Amarie could still see that Queen Tinuviel was practising among the dunes, indicated by small plumes of sand that occasionally rose and fell, and every so often, when a succession of increasingly violent plumes of sand had followed one after the other, there would be a flash of light and a curse in elvish, and the dune would instantly sprout thick green grass dotted with meadow flowers. A moment after which a golf ball would serenely pop up over the dunes edge.

Thanking the carpenters for the wood they made their way back to the beach and set about the task of making their new wooden homes, sawing and hammering far into the evening, when Petty arrived to take delivery of the latest issue of NotP.

“Aw naw!” he immediately cried, “Nooo youse agin! A'll noo huve aw this racket, this is ma place, fur very important business- sae piss aff!”

Ambassador Figg, who was just hammering in the last nail and who was very happy with her new place and that it did not smell of wee turned to him, “No, you can piss off,” she countered, “we are staying here, whether you like it or not.”

“Ooh is that richt?” Petty said and strode up to her house, “whits this, wood? An nae internal crossbeams? Are yi mad lassie?”

“Oh no you don't” Figg said waggling a finger dangerously at Petty, “I have designed this house to fit perfectly with each of my moods.”

“It cannae huve that many rooms,” Petty snarled back.

“And it is perfect!” Figg finished through gritted teeth.

“Perfect?” Petty said, and with his large iron shod boots he kicked the side and put a neat hole in it, “you've no goat oany foundation posts.”

“Its ascetically pleasing,” Figg replied.

“What goods that if the structures all wrong?”

“It makes me feel good when I'm inside it,” Figg said as if the words were bullets individually loaded and fired.

“Feel good?!” Petty cried his face going from angry red to explosive red as his crabbit once more boiled over in a whirlwind of fury, “Whit kind of argument's that fir building a hoose!”


The slamming of the door of the NotP shack was the final accompaniment the Three Little Ambassadors heard as their wooden homes feel in matchstick sized pieces all around them following the explosion of crabbit from Petty.

“I think I am starting to see a pattern here,” Ambassador Leelee said, glancing at the hut and then at Ambassador Figg.

“So now what do we do?” Ambassador Amarie asked looking around at the mess of splinters on the surrounding beach.

A figure appeared in silhouette against the skyline, hair flowing in the wind. It held out a hand to them which bore a small rectangular card, “Here this might help,” Queen Tinuviel said.

Amarie took the proffered card and looked at, it was a business card, “Odo Banks Esq, Respectable Stone lined Holes for All Types, Hardly damp at all” she read, “Also Jelly” she added then frowned and looked up but Queen Tinuviel was gone.

“You could try asking Admin Eldo,” Norc piped in, “I've heard lots of people say he gets wood all the fucking time. Maybe he can give you some.”

Ambassador Figg stared at Norc's innocent expression before finally saying, “Perhaps not.”

I'm loving this story, Petty!

"lots of people"?

"Amarie took the proffered card and looked at, it was a business card, “Odo Banks Esq, Respectable Stone lined Holes for All Types, Hardly damp at all” she read, “Also Jelly” she added then frowned and looked up but Queen Tinuviel was gone.

I see that the jelly begins to thicken!

You mean the plot begins to jelly.

moody? moi!

No?

This is gold. Pure, shiny gold.

Glad folks are enjoying this, probably be tomorrow before the final part though- just off a back shift and back on an early tomorrow!

I've been doing those kinda turnaround shifts pretty regularly lately; my sympathies, Petty. {{{But don't keep us waiting too long! }}}

Well its partly written, just I have no idea how it ends yet!

Lack of literary effort, mmm? Not planned the ending? I don't know who your influences are, but I assume they're those lazy types who just wing it all the time!

That would be me then. (Who is conspicuously absent from this story chock full of fjordlandians. )