Crabbit Faery Tales and Folk Tales of Forumshire

Pettytyrant101 wrote:Bollocks I had forgotten all about that particular Tale

Maybe I should do a different one, plenty of folk tales to choose from, and at the moment all I have anyway is a tile  (and a notion it will contain a lot of swearing!)

Much as I love the Wholesome Tales, I love your stories too, so whatever you write I'm eager to read it.

Amarië wrote:You're saying Petty can't handle a tall order? My sources tells me those are fighting words. Or drinking words.

How IS that next needlehole piece going?

It was going for a long while, but now I think it might have went.

Once upon a time, in the far and frozen north of Forumshire, in that distant realm know as Fjordianland was a river known as Jævla Kulde Drittsekk .

There were many rivers in Fjordianland but this one, unlike most, was not frozen solid and this was because it ran very quickly down from the icy 'Jævla de er høye' mountains.

One one side of the mountains were the populace lands of Lower Fjordianland, where the fjords were slightly less frequent and the ice gave way to mere snow. And on the other side was Upper Fjordianland where the hardy descendants of Vikings yet dwell and where the language is as harsh as the climate.

And a single road connected the two.

And where it passed over the river the Fjordians had done what many other civilizations before them and since have done. They invented and constructed a bridge.

However where this was a perfectly sensible and seemingly a good solution elsewhere it was disastrous for the Fjordians.

For dwelling in the mountains and in ice and snow of Upper Fjordianland there were many clans of troll. And among them were the Tyrant Tribe, descendants of Scottish trolls driven from their homeland by the stiff competition for buckie supplies of the native Scotshobits. And it seemed they were instantly attracted to dwelling beneath the bridges.

At first no one could work out why this should be the case until the trolls began charging tolls of barrels of buckie to cross or face the penalty of being eaten and all became clear.

One particular troll of the Tyrant clan, a huge brutish creature of fierce crabbit and even fiercer stench had indeed taken up his residence beneath the bridge this very road crossed. The troll hated most things, and the things he did not hate were only because he had not heard of them yet. Rest assured once he had he would hate those too. Among the many things he hated was music, which was why this morning he was humming to himself off key, which in any case was the only way he could hum, just to annoy himself. He was that sort of a troll.

On this morning it was also snowing gently, which made a change from snowing fiercely or wildly as it had been being doing the days before, sweeping banks of snow up against the struts of the wooden arched bridge.

A figure approached the bridge, she was wrapped up well against the biting air and had  a heavy backpack, in one hand she held a violin case.

As she approached the edge of the bridge a sign popped up from the wall reading “Toll Bridge. Please wait to pay toll or be devoured. Your custom is important to us.”

And then it popped back down again.

“Ahh fuck!” said the woman, whose name was Norc.

She took a few steps out onto the bridge, her hiking boots thudding on the wooden planks when suddenly up over the side an immense bloated figure appeared leaping.

It landed right before Norc and the bridge creaked beneath it, she looked up and saw that it was a troll, with festering bulbous skin that wept and oozed and a smell that could put a rotting fisk eater off their diet.

A swollen sweating belly rose and fell and beneath it was a scrap of tartan cloth which concealed whatever it was a troll felt it necessary to conceal for its modesty.

From its drooping mouth and from between stained teeth a roll up smouldered.

“Oi!” said the troll, “you can't cross 'ere without paying the toll.”

“Why the fuck not?” Norc demanded putting her hands on her hips.

“Well,” the troll rumbled scratching its head, “because I asks you fer a toll, you pay the toll, then I get drunk.”

“And what the fuck do I get out of it?”

The troll visibly brightened, he knew the answer to this one, “You, don't get gobbled up for my supper.”

“Are you fucking threatening me?”

“Well, um, yeah,” the troll conceded with a puzzled frown, “that is the general idea of this.”

“Well fuck you, I will have you know I was sent to the more civilised lands of Lower Forumshire to a music academy, there to learn to be less violent, sweary and uncivilised through the pursuit of music..”

“I don't see..”

“Don't you fucking interrupt me or I will reassemble with my boot whatever it is you keep beneath that scrap of tartan. Have you fucking got that?! Now where was I, oh yes, I am now returning home to play my first major composition before my own people, and to meet my boyfriend, whom I plan on spending a pleasant Christmas with fucking his brains out. And you are not going to stop me, got it?”

“I has to follow the rules,” the trolls explained, “toll or eat.”

“I wrote a composition whilst I was away,” Norc said slowly and delibratly with an air of innocence, “its rather bleak and dark,” she began unclippimg her violin case.

“Now hold on,” the troll said waving its huge arms about.

“Do you know what's its called?” she opened the case revealing the violin beneath, “Fuck You!”

The troll, with surprising speed leapt forward and slammed the lid closed again.

“No, no!” the troll said hastily, “I tell you what if you don't play anything I will consider not eating you.”

“That's a bit fucking better.”

“On the other hand I am very hungry,” the troll mused, “Maybe just a nibble eh?”

“You don't want to eat me anyway” Norc cried as the troll lurched out a great hairy arm for her, “There are others not far behind me on the road, and they are older than me, and fatter.”

The troll paused, “fatter?”

“Oh yes," Norc went on nodding, “much fatter and tastier.”

“I do like fat” the troll salivated, “thick fat, with gristle and nodules in it, an' bits. Lovely!”

“And I am young and stringy.”

The troll looked her in contemplative study for a moment, “You're the youngest here? Really”

“Yes, since Squach and Ally left,” Norc confirmed, “everyone else is older and fatter and juicer than me and unlike them I'm in my prime now and fucking like a rabbit. They are old and never get any. I have no calories left, look at me, its all lean.”

“And you promise not to play that, thing?” the troll pointed at the violin case and grimaced.

“Of course, I've fucking well said haven't I?”

“Right, go across then, but don't go telling folks I let you go.”

Norc nodded and trotted across the bridge grinning to herself, when she was safely over the other side and a little way up the road she took out her violin and with a cry of “Fuck You!” she played her composition whilst the troll tried to stuff his ears with mud and went and hid under his bridge.


A short time later, when the terrible screeching and wailing had finally ended the troll, crouching in angry crabbit despair with grumbling belly and no buckie beneath the bridge heard the familiar sound of footsteps on the planks above, the clip clop of hooves and the creaking of a carts wheels.

This time the troll was getting his toll or a good supper.

The troll bounded up over the edge and landed squarely on the bridge, scrap of tartan flapping, startling the Fjordian upon it so much that he dropped the heavy tome he had been reading as he walked. The man, primly and neatly dressed and with a wave of hair was leading a small donkey pulling a cart laden with similar thick and heavily bound books.

He looked up at the troll, “Ah!” he said, “are you the lease holder for this structure? I am not at all sure that toll sign of yours is entirely legal. I cannot seem to find it in any of the bylaws or Transport Laws of Forumshire and Associated Nations,“ he paused contemplatively, “I have only read up to volume 2 of 150 however. My name's Blue. Could you tell me where you file your tax receipts to, that might help clarify the matter as to which jurisdiction laws you might be working under.”

The troll stared at Blue, and continued staring as its brain tried to process all the words, at least half of which it had not understood,” Urgh,” it said and then with  a change of expression from bafflement to decision added, “Right, that's it! Sod the toll! I think I'm just going to eat you from the off,” and he reached out to grab Blue by the scruff of the neck.


To be continued....

I am enjoying it so far.  And see, you can right really fast! (so don't let up now )

Its not the writing that takes me the time, its finding the time do it that takes the time!

Fantastic!! \o/ \o/ \o/

Blue ducked beneath the grasping trolls arm, swept up the heavy book of law he had been reading and with a swift swing up the way he clocked the troll sweetly on the jaw and its teeth clattered together neatly severing its roll up in half and shattering one rotting tooth.

Blue darted backwards holding the book of Law before himself like a shield and scuttled backwards to his cart.

“I'm surer that is illegal!” he cried, “Threatening behaviour, threats of violence,” he mused and ran his free hand down the bindings of the books in his cart, “haha! Got it! “he cried as the troll lunged for him again and again he swung his Law book as hard as he could knocking the hairy arm aside.

“I am protected by the Laws of Forumshire! And I am a lawyer!” he ducked and swung again, “well, very nearly” he added.

“No laws are bloody well protecting ya 'ere” the troll yelled and tried to reach for Blue again.

“Article 47a, section 4b, sub-paragraph 14d footnote 4 expressively forbids threats as a means of offering services! Banks verus Petty, the Coal Scuttle case, FR 12”

“Eh?” the troll replied with a frown that caused several weeping spots to explode.

“Accordingly,” Blue went on, “all services must be agreed through negotiation.”

“You wot?”

“If you want to charge me a toll for crossing this bridge, which I believe falls under the heading of a service, then you must negotiate for it with me, talk.”

“Can't I just eat ya?”

“No! Not unless you want to face formal investigations, reviews, have to file reports, face a possible suing or a case of murder even not to mention the aforementioned breach of the law on offering services via threats of violence,” Blue tutted, “Just think of the paper work alone. Are you good with a pen? I wouldn't want to be in your shoes if you do eat me, or if you wore shoes for that matter.”

The troll seemed to consider all this.

“So how do we do this, negoshiations thing?”

“You tell me the price for the services and we see if we agree, its simple.”

“OK then,” the troll nodded unsure, “give us yer buckie to cross my bridge.”

“I don't have any.”

“Right yer getting eaten then!” the troll replied and reached for Blue again.

“No! No! Have you forgotten all the paperwork?”

“Oh” the troll said stopping, “so what do we do now in this negoashing?”

“I don't have what you want, so ask for something else.”

“Well, wot ya got?”

“Nothing. Well save my books, but I doubt you are the reading type.”

“Right so I eat you then,” the troll concluded.

“No! No!” Blue cried again, “you don't want to eat me anyway.”

“Why not?”

“Well look at me,” Blue said waving one hand over himself, “I'm young, and I've no fat on me.”

“Hold on,” the troll muttered to itself, looking at Blue properly now and in light of Norc's promises, “Wot ya mean yer young? That Norc Fjordian said you was older and fatter.”

“Older yes,” Blue confirmed, “But not by much.”

“So you getting lots too?” the troll asked wiggling it eyebrows suggestively and erupting several more boils and welts.

“What?” Blue said blinking and slowly realising what the troll was getting at, “No, I'm only a trainee lawyer, you have to be qualified before you can afford the drugs and prostitutes of your peers.”

“And your not fat neither? Nor rich? But you said you was a lawyer!”

“I'm just in training as I said, we don't get much money and no buckie. I eat mainly bags of uncooked Joika minis and fisk even other Fjordians have discarded. And I spend most of my days in stuffy old rooms reading stuffy old law books. I'd be no good to eat at all, but” he said “I know who might be.”

“Oh,” said the troll, “and who might that be?”

“That's what we can negotiate for,” Blue said with a grin, “you let me cross your bridge and I will tell you who is coming and why they will be good to eat.”

The troll considered this, “OK, you promise?”

“Legally binding promise I assure you,” Blue lied smoothly, “the person coming behind me is someone of great stature in Forumshire and importance. Logically therefore they are well fed and housed.”

“An' older and fatter?” the troll asked licking its cracked swollen lips.

“Well certainly they are older,” Blue said, “beyond that I cannot comment.”

And with that Blue took the reigns of his donkey and cart and led it past the troll and over the bridge.

“Oh, one last thing,” Blue said turning back to the troll, “remember, negotiation, if you want to stay away from the paperwork!”

“Right, good advice,” the troll nodded uncertainly.

“Ah, so you agree its advice then?”

“Well, I suppose so,” the troll shrugged.

“Good, then you can expect a bill.”

“Fer wot?”

“For my legal fees of course, for legal advice and services rendered. Good day to you.”

And Blue turned and went on his way up the winding road into the mountains, leaving behind a troll who was fuming and crabbit but uncertain why or what had just happened or why he still had no buckie and a grumbling stomach.

He went back under his bridge to sulk to himself and awaited this person of age and fatness and standing.

It was not long before he herd the clip clop of a horses hooves on the wood above and quick as a flash he was up over the side and astride the bridge.

Before him, astride a magnificent black horse was a woman clothed in a deep rich black fur that went from her hooded head to the ground when she swung down from the saddle.

When she moved her dress gave the appearance she was gliding along the surface.

“Hello,” she said smiling broadly, “My name is Amarie, Ambassador Amarie of the Dark Planet. I don't believe we have met before.”

“An Ambassador!” The troll lamented and threw his hands towards the ground in appeal (had he been hobbit or human he would have thrown his hands to the air, but troll religion, being creatures of stone, is a lot more ground centric than human) “Right” the troll said squaring his shoulders in trollish determination and remembering Blues advice he had just paid an unknown price for, “Are you any good at negoshitions?”

Amarie grinned broadly in reply.

It's me!!!!! And that's not even the main reason why I love this tale. This is awesomeness!

Bloody brilliant, is what it is.

Yeah, this is actually rather good. (Which isn't faint praise for a lawyer, you know. )

How you knew I was buried in dusty books however, I don't know.

Love it ! More great fun

“So, what is it you would like to negotiate?” Amarie asked throwing back her hood to reveal cascading brown hair. The white of the snow reflected back from the lenses of the glasses she wore, making her eyes unreadable, which was their point.

“Right,” said the troll trying to remember Blue's advice, “yer want to cross my bridge, yer have to either pay the toll of buckie, or I eat ya.”

“Would you care for a snack?” Amarie smiled and whisked from somewhere about her person a silver platter immaculetlyy preprepared with a doily and a pyramidal stack of expensive chocolates on it.

“Um, ok,” the troll said not sure about proceedings and reached out one clumsy hoary hand which snatched a a handful of the treats at once and demolished the pyramid.

“I think your idea is a wonderful one.”

The troll paused mid swallow, “Wot idea?”

“That we negotiate a treaty between your domain, this bridge, and the Dark Planet, allowing safe passage in perpetuity for all Dark Planet Ambassadors to cross in safety in return you shall be compensated fairly for your trouble, “ she smiled sweetly, “its brilliant! Well done you.”

“Is it?” the troll said scratching its broad cratered chin, “I suppose it is, isn't it?” Although in truth he was still not sure what it was.

"That is what you were suggesting is it not? Such a clever idea."

"Um yeah, of course it woz."

“Of course,” Amarie agreed nodding and going to her horse she took a large sheaf of papers from her saddle and a small square piece of wood which, when Amarie touched it, a black light engulfed it and it sprouted sudden legs and became a small table, Amarie spread the papers on the table, “You just need to sign here.”

“Wot?” the troll said, “wot am I signing?”

“Your brilliant treaty, to let all Ambassadors pass unhindered.”

“Yer, but what do I get out of it? I haven't eaten all day and ain't 'ad no buckie neither, and its starting to make me very crabbit indeed,” the troll punched the side of the bridge and the whole structure shook.

“Well you don't want to eat me,” Amarie said, “I am an Ambassador and may not be assailed.”

“We'll see about that!” the troll roared, “I'm bleedin' starvin'”

“But you have not yet heard what I am offering, something to quench even your hunger,” Amarie cried.

“Wot?” the troll said suspiciously stopping mid-swing at Amaries head.

“For my free passage I will give you a feast,” she grinned and her glasses flashed the white of the snow reflectively at him.

“Wot sort of a feast?”

“Behind me on the road comes the caravan of Bungo, the Mayor of Forumshire, touring the nations of Forumshire.”

“So wot?”

“He is Mayor,” Amarie pointed out, “his main job is presiding over banquets, like all other mayors before him since taking over the job he has become immensely fat. You could dine on him for weeks, not to mention those who travel with him,” and despite the foulness of the troll stench she drew conspiratorially close to him, “and to show my good faith, I will not sign this treaty until the Mayor is here and delivered to you.”

The troll thought of about this, which took some time as the snow continued to slowly spiral down about them. Eventually he took up the quill that Amarie had laid out upon the table and placed a large X on the contract.

“So where is this fat Mayor then?” the troll grumbled.

“I believe I hear him now,” Amarie said and indeed to their ears came the sound of several carts creaking slowly up the winding slope to the bridge atop it.

And soon after into view came the Mayors grand wagon, gaudily coloured. The Mayor himself was within it snoring loudly and dreaming of  not having to be at a banquet. It was a happy dream.

The troll turned and made for the edge of the bridge.

“Where are you going?” Amarie asked puzzled,.

“Got to do things right yer know,” the troll said and disappeared over the edge.

Amarie turned and stood on the centre of the bridge and the Mayors wagon and the three cart retinue following it ground to a halt before her.

The driver of the wagon took a staff and thumped it on the roof of the coach.

“What is it?” the startled out of sleep Mayor Bungo cried from within in a muffled voice, then his head appeared out the window and took in Amarie standing before them, “Ambassador!” he cried in surprise, “I thought you had gone ahead to announce our arrival and to ensure no one was planning any banquets?” he shook his head in annoyance.

“I am very sorry Mayor Bungo,” Amarie replied coolly and the white glinted, “but there has been a change of plan.”

The troll leapt over the parapet and onto the bridge between Amarie and the Mayors wagon and roared his fiercest and smelliest roar.

“I say!” the Mayor exclaimed and hastily withdrew into the wagon and pulled up the shutters.

“Right!” cried the troll, “yer buckie or your life!”

From one of the carts behind the Mayors wagon a figure leapt down.

It was the head of the Mayor's Fjordian army guard, Ringdrotten.

He strode between the other carts and passed the Mayors wagon. Ringdrotten was lean, dark and with steely eyes but a respectable face. He stared out the troll. Who was trying not to laugh.

It was Ringdrotten's  attire which had so caught the trolls attention and funny bone and made him smirk. It was theuniform; in a pale shade of pink, with rainbow emblems at lapels and chest, and atop the lot was an overlarge and over-tall military style hat decorated in the striped rainbow colours. The overall effect was that of a wedding cake explosion ata Gay Pride March.

Ringdrotten stood alone and seemingly small before the hulikng figure of the troll.

The Mayor partially raised a shutter peered out then slammed the shutter closed again.

The troll grinned down at the figure, “Wot? Am I supposed to take you seriously?”

The figure grinned up at him,”No,” he smiled amicably, “not at all. At least, not until I do this!”

And with one swift and clean gesture he swept out his sword and cleaved the trolls stomach open on the spot.

“Bugger!” the troll exclaimed, “I didn't expect that!”

“I did,” Amarie grinned, nodding at Ringdrotten who made himself immediately busy hacking the trolls head off for a trophy and everyone cheered as Amarie quietly signed and gathered up the now complete treaty.

“What's that then?” asked the Mayor who had emerged from his wagon now the danger was over, and whose political sensors had detected something in the air.

“Just a treaty between the Dark Planet and this troll for safe passage across the bridge for all Dark Planet Ambassadors.”

The Mayor looked over at the now decapitated corpse of the troll, “Such a shame it will be of no use to you,” he said.

“On the contrary,” Amarie grinned, “ the treaty stipulates in perpetuity. Its a condition of any resale or future tenant or operator of this bridge. Enforceable by the usual Dark Planet stipulations of utter annihilation. I thinkk my Lord Taz will be very happy,” and she slipped the treaty into one of the many hidden pockets in her robe.

Together they crossed the bridge safely into Upper Fjordia, with a rather startled and embarrassed trolls head mounted on the front of their wagon.





Christmas came and went and the snows and ice became first thicker and wilder and ever denser, then slowly as the light returned it receded. Enough so that the passage over the mountains and down to the bridge was once more open to travellers.

Alone under the bridge sat a troll.

This troll had a bulbous elongated head, and a mouth which drooped so low that when he was standing the down-turned corners of it were upon the ground.

It was also a hungry troll but now it heard someone approaching.

A figure, swathed against the freezing air approached the bridge coming down the path from the high grounds of the mountains, returning to the plains and slightly warmer climes of Lower Fjordianland.

A sign popped up which read 'Thank you for your cooperation and/or body parts. This toll bridge is operated on behalf of the Banks Forumshire Wide Business Partners PLC, making you poorer and us even richer.'

The figure stepped out onto the bridge and immediately the Banks clan troll leapt over the side and stood astride the bridge with a cry of “Your jelly or your life!”

“Oh for fucks sake” said the figure wearily setting down a violin case, “not a-fucking-gain!”

Thanks Azriel.

Your welcome It was a great read ! I love these stories.

A MOCKERY!

Worst case of Archet Bugle Fan Fiction I've ever known - and all the worse for being hilarious and plainly out doing the Archet Bugle at it's own game!

Sue? Of course we will!


Lesbo Proudfoot
Editor in Chief
The Archet Bugle

Pish tosh, bugger the bugle for being hoity-toity! I thought it was great Petty! 
If anything I was rather sad to see the troll rid of so easily, and in the same manner as the movie!Great Goblin?? I was not expecting that!

Ah well you not expecting it was rather what I was hoping for (although I also admit to a writers perversion here of wondering if I could one up PJ by using the same scenario, the same ending and same sentiment in dialogue, but also have it serve a plot purpose rather than just be a lame gag line- in this case, affirming if it were needed, that Amarie was perfectly aware all along that Ringdrotten, Forumshire's troll slaying one man army, was escorting the Mayor).

Plus the troll in the original tale gets it pretty swift from the third goat too and that was in my mind.

In this case - if I'm interpreting things correctly - is that the Third Goat - in this case Amarie - doesn't do her dirty work directly but through a proxy. Also I notice the writer in this case has descended to plagiarising PJ. And I mean descending... I mean... plagiarising PJ? Petty? You of all people!

the Third Goat - in this case Amarie - doesn't do her dirty work directly but through a proxy- Orwell

Naturally, she is an Ambassador. Amaries hands are perfectly clean, Surely you would not suggest otherwise? She explains the terms of the treaty and she holds to her side of the bargain. Events just happened to unfold in a manner which just happened to be productive for her and the Dark Planet- this is why sheis so good at her job


As to plagiarising PJ, well I am very very drunk

Bravo, Petty!  I loved it.  I was giggling throughout, but I think my favorite part might be how there's still glimpses of the wider Forumshire world/mythos even in one of your shorter stories.

Glimpses? Talk about understating the case!

Poor old Bungo is seen as a cowardly Mayor & Ringo is seen in a completely heroic light. He is elevated to Super Ringo, Troll Hunter Extraordinaire, And very right & proper that a Lady does not get her hands dirty ! One could almost see one's self in that Troll ? Confusion being my 1st word, I get confused over everything & at heart he seemed a rather submissive if not materialistic Troll   Can we not let plagiarism sneak by ? after all, Petty was merely showing peejers the CORRECT way to deal with plot & story !! I liked Blue's description. I see in my mind a kind of Dickens young man, lacy cuffs, knee boots & stiff collar, bumbling thru arm fulls of dusty crusty books

Thanks everyone, glad you enjoyed it.

Azriel- I wouldn't say cowardly, Mayor-like. He knew his personal guard would take care of it, and he just shut the window so as not to have see anything to unpleasant (probably worried someone would a throw a banquet for him for slaying the troll!).
And thatss pretty much how I imagine the Forumshire tales version of Blue too (inspired by his avatar).

Coming soon(ish- and I mean that this time!)-

Gingerlocks and the Three Crabbit Scotshobbits!

starring a young Mrs Figg! (its set long ago!)

Seems like a logical next choice!
I don't suppose...
that there's any chance...
of my getting... 
a role?