Crabbit Faery Tales and Folk Tales of Forumshire

azriel wrote:When these stories start I never want them to end !

Strangely enough I believe PJ said the same thing once.

You know how this was a three part story, and then I assured you all it would be four parts, and then confessed it would in fact be five. Well, its going to be 6 now. Deal with it.


The sun had sunk below the now dark line of trees on the horizon beyond Dave's fields where an early night mist was rising about the boles and shimmering faintly above the Suspicious Vegetables Patch.

The first stars of the Forumshire night sky were out; there hanging enigmatically over the horizon hung Lester's Cat, six stars that twinkled and occasionally dimmed and went out as if slinking off into the night, before blazing forth again unexpectedly with a dancing silvery light.

And high above all else and shining with a cool brilliance was Ally Swift, beloved by folk of Forumshire.

Serenity, beauty and peace were only slightly shattered by the ongoing argument among the Three Little Ambassadors as their cart bumped and trundled along the road.

“I say we go there now,” Figg was insisting, “I want to see that Scotshobbits face when Biffo dumps three 'hussies' worth of rocks on his garden.”

“Are you sure that was a garden?” Leelee queried much to Figg's annoyance, “I saw an old battered couch, any number of discarded, broken, and sucked dry buckie bottles, and lots of old newspapers and porridge boxes, but not a garden more an overgrown rubbish dump.”

“You just described a Scotshobbits garden."

“Its too late and too dark to go building our residences now,” Amarie pointed out, “We should go to Needlehole, its not far away.”

“And stay where?” Figg demanded, “we don't know anyone in Needlehole.”

“I have heard there is a lovely place there we can stay, the Fjordian Viking Bar and Kaffistove,” Amarie replied.

“Do they do food?” Figg asked suspiciously.

“Yes, of course they do, simply delicious dishes.”

“Are they all herring?” Figg asked with a frown.

Amarie, who as an Ambassador for the Dark Planet would never tell a direct lie, not when an obfuscation would serve at any rate smoothly replied, “Certainly not, they have other dishes,” she did not mention that these other dishes were prepared for those poor souls who were in need of some extra help in the boudoir. They mainly consisted of the Fjordian Stygge Stinkende Jævla Kuk Fisk, which, becuase of its physical shape and characteristics was believed to have fertility properties.

Unfortunately it is also one of the most resilient fish in the Fjordian waters thanks to the rigidity of its scales and a nasty trick of spitting a fluid on its attackers, a fluid which if it comes into contact with the skin causes a rash of smelly warts to break out.  

To kill one you first have to wrangle it to the ground, beat it to death with a large hammer for several hours, set it on fire then bury it at the bottom of a cesspit for six months until it has putrefied into a stinking messy fluid- which is then poured into pastry shells and sealed, hopefully forever.

It was also shockingly expensive.

And improbably, when it came to sex drive and lowering inhibitions, shockingly effective.

But Amarie considered it would not have been diplomatic to say so, and she really wanted some Herring pie.

"Fine," Figg said in a tone of voice that said 'for now. But that might change when we get there'.

The cart trundled on in relative peace taking the wide track to Needlehole when they reached the junction just as the stars of Gandalfs Beard swung sparkling up into the night sky before them.

A mile behind them, swaying beneath the immense weight of the rock and puffing steadily along came Biffo.

The Three Little Ambassadors in their cart entered Needlehole through its arched gate, and made their way up its dimly lit cobbled main street.
The town was quiet at this time of night though they did see one fellow of antipodean appearance (he was wearing a wide brimmed hat from which corks swung) was going about their business putting up colourful posters, often with humorous or satirical messages upon them wherever they could find a wall which was blank.

When they finally pulled up to the stables beside the Fjordian Viking Bar and Kaffistove, which was an elegant old building on the corner of the Town Square, in the centre of which was a water fountain and a statue of Eldo from which the water flowed.

It flowed, in the end, and after Eldo had needed to overturn a Forumshire petition that it should be based on the Danish model, from his outstretched hand. The soft splash of the cascading water echoed round the square and joined the raucous sounds of merriment and feasting coming from within the Bar.

Figg delicately descended from the rear of the cart in a flurry of bustle. She took in the elegant brickwork of the Bar, its classical architecture, and its sign hanging proudly above the door, depicting a Frost Troll being kicked in the snowballs by a valiant Fjordian, set against a rainbow background.

She sniffed at it, “Looks a bit modern to me,” she said stiffly.

“I'm sure its lovely inside,” Leelee reassured and the Three Little Ambassadors crossed the threshold and entered to find out.

Inside was a large open area with a roaring central fire.
Old swords, axes and shields adorned the walls along side anachronistic but narratively demanded horned helmets.

From one wall stared the enormous mounted head of a  troll, it wore a look of perpetual annoyed surprise and its eyes were crossed.

A long bar went along the far wall and a sizeable dining area off to one side where various customers sat at their meals amidst the clinking of cutlery and the aroma of fish.

In fact a distinct aroma of herring hung heavy in the air.

At the bar a group of men stood in the pink uniforms and rainbow emblems of the Fjordian Army drinking from heavy wooden mugs.

And in another section a gaggle of young Fjordian ladies were breaking into a song, the words to which Figg did not know, but which made Amarie blush.

In various dimly lit corners groups were drinking and laughing freely and some eyed the Three Little Ambassadors up and down as they entered. But there was at least no Scotshobbit here.

Still, Figg was glad her valuables were safely secured between layers three and four of her undergarments. Where they were also literally booby-trapped should any daring scallywag try to separate her from her goods.

“Lets get something to eat first,” Figg suggested eyeing up the dining area, “I'm bloody starving.”

They found a table in a discreet corner and a waiter floated up and gave them each a menu.

“Herring pie, with extra herring in a herring sauce,” Amarie said promptly without looking at the menu and handing it back to the waiter, “Oh and two slices of herring bread and bring us a bottle of your best fisk wine,” she added with a smile as the waiter jotted it all down on his pad..

Leelee looked uncertainly at the menu and then decided the safest option was just to say , “I'll have the same thank you.”

Figg snorted from behind her menu, “It's all bloody herring!”

“Well,not quite,” Amarie ventured.

“Oi you m'laddo,” Figg said turniing her glare on the waiter and slapping the menu back into the waiters chest, “Just give me anything you've got that isn't herring.”

“I'm not sure that's a good id ..” Amarie began.

“I don't care what it is so long as not bloomin' herring flavoured. Got it?” Figg ordered the waiter, who nodded and retreated saying, “I hope it helps bring you pleasure.”

“Odd bloody thing to say, it better do sonny or I'll be demanding my money back.”

Amarie buried her head in her hands.

The waiter bobbed uncertainly.

A short time later Amarie and Leelee's herring pie arrived.

It was followed by a waiter in a hazard helmet,whose clear faceplate was pulled firmly down over his face, but behind which is wide eyes shone with a glazed fearful shine.

In his hand he held a plate with a single, large pastry dish on it.

Very carefully the waiter placed it in front of Figg and scurried hurriedly off.

Figg peered at it suspiciously.

Amarie edged her chair a little further back as Figg curiously used her fork to peel back the lid of the pastry lid.

A reek of things long abandoned in dark pits of mud beneath the earth seeped out and began to fill the room, making Leelee's eyes water.

At a nearby table someone began to choke.

Figg sniffed at it with a nose which had got acclimatised to 17th century Paris and was unflinching in the face of a mere dead fish. She peered inside, “Ooh its like some sort of hotpot,” she declared with seeming glee, “I haven't had a hotpot in years.”

“I really don't think,” Amarie began but it was to late.

Halfway through the meal Figg paused and gasped, looking at the others she asked, “Is it me or is it getting hot in here?”

By the meals end she was sure she was having hot flushes, and decided to quell it with a few glasses of fisk wine.

One hour later she was atop the bar, surrounded by pink partially uniformed, and equally pink faced soldiers, and various admirers as she broke into a second rousing rendition of “Old Mr Todger's Got an Eel Wrangling Problem' whilst Amarie and Leelee looked on in horror.

Figg finished her song to loud cheers, downed another glass of fisk wine and declared “I have any more of these I'll end up with me legs round me ears” upon which twenty drinks materialised on the bar around her.

Just then the doors to the Bar swung open and a group of young adults entered, you could tell they were young adults because they all had silly haircuts and even sillier clothes.

They were also clearly students, you could tell this because when it came to buying a drink they had to pool together to see if they could afford two small bottles of fisk beer to take with them.

“Fuck this!” one of them, a striking young lady bemoaned.

“What's the matter dear?” Figg cried out from atop the bar and waved a goblet full of fisk at them, “help us down there's a love,” she said to the soldiers and immediately several pairs of strong arms reached up to assist her.

“Mind me pussy,” Figg warned as they gently eased her to the ground and she flushed some more at the rippling muscle surrounding her, “he's asleep in me bustle.” She turned to the group of youngsters who had just entered, “What's all the swearing about?”

“What fucking swearing?” the girl replied with an air so innocent Figg wasn't sure if it was genuine or not.

“Bit skint are you? Students eh?”

They nodded at her.

She laughed and waved her wine at them before taking a long drink and then waving it at them some more, “I remember it well, “ she said with a sigh of longing, “Gay Pari! And romance in Venice, boys and drink, and art, and more boys and more drink,” she reminisced some more and drank some more, “maybe some more boys.”

“Actually we take our studies pretty fucking seriously nowadays. And its pretty fucking hard to live on the money you get too. Have you seen the fucking price of beer and noodles these days?”

“Just like in my day,” Figg said flush again in a world of her own previous exploits, “Boys and drink, and drink, and boys,” she repeated dreamily.

“Look, is there any chance you could buy us a drink?”

Figg's eyes smiled and she draped her arms around the closest two half naked soldiers, “Lets have a party!” she declared.

“Bars closing,” the bar man yelled and rang a bell.

“Bugger!” Figg said experiencing another flush and pinching someone's bottom as they passed.

“Get the fucking drinks and you can come with us,” the girl bartered with Figg, “I'm Norc by the way, and your welcome to come Nachspeil with us.” She indicated her fellow student slouching in a group behind her.

“What all of them? Fair enough,” Figg grinned and downed the rest of her fisk wine. She gave one of the soldiers a hearty slap on the posterior, “If that's what you youngsters are calling it these days,” she added her face flushing so much it was glowing.

Behind her Amarie groaned into her goblet.




The following morning Amarie and Leelee woke to find that Figg was absent from her room.

They went downstairs and found her sitting calmly and collected at a dining table in the restaurant, seemingly having just finished breakfast.

“Um,” Amarie began, her usual diplomatic skills failing her in light of the previous nights events, “how are you feeling?” she ventured and sat down opposite Figg.

“Got a bit of sore a neck. I think that  beds got a crink in it.”

“And you enjoyed your evening?” Amarie prodded looking for some sign that Figg was aware of what had happened.

“It was all right,” Figg said with a shrug, “though I do like those hotpots,” she added more enthusiastically.

“Yes, about those,” Amarie went on, uncertain of how to proceed with delicacy, “do you remember what we did after the meal?”

Figg pondered a moment, “I felt a bit hot,” she recalled, “I had some of that fisk wine and then off to bed. Must have slept like a log, cant remember a thing. Although,” she went on slowly, “strangest thing, when I woke up this morning my pussy was in a right old state. Poor old Meg, couldn't coax him out of my bustle at all, not even with herring. He looked absolutely terrified and like he'd been dragged through a hedge backwards. Can't think what's come over him.”

Amarie didn't dare reply.

They settled their bill and the Three Little Ambassadors left the Bar into the warm sunshine of a Forumshire morning.

“I am afraid we will have to walk,” Amarie informed them.

“Why?” Figg demanded with a frown.

Amarie pointed across the road to the centre of the square and the fountain of Admin Eldo,”because someone got drunk last night and went off to an after-party with a bunch of drunk sweary students and stole our cart to do it in,” she said as they looked where she was pointing, “and then crashed into the fountain coming back,” and indeed their cart was in the fountain, having collided withe statue of Edo which was now bent double and shooting water at its own legs. Amarie looked pointedly at Figg whose expression showed no sign of recollection only of annoyance at having to walk.

“Well best get started I suppose,” Figg said resigned, “I cant wait to see the look on that Scotshobbits face.”

“Perhaps you should use this walk to allow you time to reflect on not letting this Scotshobbit get under your skin,” Leelee advised, “we don't want yet another crabbit explosion to ensue.”

“Oh don't worry,” Figg reassured, “I'm always in a better mood on a full stomach.”

Amarie paused in her stride, “On a full stomach?” she queried.

“Yeah,” Figg said continuing to walk, “while you two sleepy heads were still in bed I had a couple of those lovely hotpots for my breakfast.”

A fine success Petty!

"
“Bars closing,” the bar man yelled and rang  a bell.

“Bugger!” Figg said experiencing another flush and pinching someone's bottom as they passed.

“Get the fucking drinks and you can come with us,” the girl bartered with Figg, “I'm Norc by the way, and your welcome to come Nachspeil with us.” She indicate dher fellow student sslouching in a group behind her.

“What all of them?” Figg said, “fair enough,” she grinned and downed the rest of her fisk wine. She gave one of the soldiers a hearty slap on the posterior, “If that's what you youngsters are calling it these days,” she added her face flushing so much it was glowing.

Behind her Amarie groaned into her goblet."


I love the pacing and seeing the characters come through in quite short bits of writing (Norc is instantly recognizable) . My one criticism (I think you wanted criticism) is that there isn't much standalone dialogue. What I mean is that often when you see see two persons whose proximity has already been established taking back and forth the "she said"s and "he responded"s are, in part, omitted. It's a fine balance between allowing the dialogue to flow better, and making sure that the reader always knows who is who. Even when just one person is speaking, you could lose to drop a couple "he/she/it said/added/etc." in the writing.

Thanks Forest- glad you are enjoying it.

Yes it is excellent stuff!

(I added brief criticism in the post above).

Feedback always welcome Forest
And I see your point. I shall pay closer attention to my balancing of that particular writing conundrum. Sometimes however it is done consciously if I want for comedic reasons to give a line a particular direction but they may be worth looking at again to see if they are all necessary.

Also there is zero planning going on here- I have no idea what's coming next till it gets typed in front of me- the whole hotpot fisk fertility thing popped out of nowhere- they were supposed to just go stay for the night. Bloody characters not staying under control (I cant even bloody well control Figg when I'm writing her! )

Figg finished song to loud cheers, downed another glass of fisk wine and declared “I have any more of these I'll end up with me legs round me ears” upon which twenty drinks materialised on the bar around her.

Theres something fishy about this tale

I added brief criticism in the post above- Forest

Made a few small changes.

'Theres something fishy about this tale '- Figg

Where's Blue when I need him? Is it possible under Forumshire law to declare legal independence from my own writing for reasons of personal safety?

Bloody Loved it !

""Oh don't worry,” Figg reassured, “I'm always in a better mood on a full stomach.”

Amarie paused in her stride, “On a full stomach?” she queried.

“Yeah,” Figg said continuing to walk, “while you two sleepy heads were still in bed I had a couple of those lovely hotpots for my breakfast.”

my hotpot and sausage eating days are over. according to the world health organisation they are as toxic as asbestos.

I just reread it and I really like this bit : (The "reek of things long abandoned in dark pits...began to fill the room" sounds very Neil Gaiman to me!)

'A short time later Amarie and Leelee's herring pie arrived.

It was followed by a waiter in a hazard helmet,whose clear faceplate was pulled firmly down over his face, but behind which is wide eyes shone with a glazed fearful shine.

In his hand he held a plate with a single, large pastry dish on it.

Very carefully the waiter placed it in front of Figg and scurried hurriedly off.

Figg peered at it suspiciously.

Amarie edged her chair a little further back as Figg curiously used her fork to peel back the lid of the pastry lid.

A reek of things long abandoned in dark pits of mud beneath the earth seeped out and began to fill the room, making Leelee's eyes water.

At a nearby table someone began to choke.

Figg sniffed at it with a nose which had got acclimatised to 17th century Paris and was unflinching in the face of a mere dead fish. She peered inside, “Ooh its like some sort of hotpot,” she declared with seeming glee, “I haven't had a hotpot in years.” '



It builds beautifully off of the earlier bit:

' Unfortunately it is also one of the most resilient fish in the Fjordian waters thanks to the rigidity of its scales and a nasty trick of spitting a fluid on its attackers, a fluid which if it comes into contact with the skin causes a rash of smelly warts to break out.  

To kill one you first have to wrangle it to the ground, beat it to death with a large hammer for several hours, set it on fire then bury it at the bottom of a cesspit for six months until it has putrefied into a stinking messy fluid- which is then poured into pastry shells and sealed, hopefully forever. '

I think I see some new Forumshire memes a'building.

Memes are Forumshire's lifeblood! {{{And fisk hotpot now it's dish of choice (apparently). Julia is a sure fire fashion setter... but sometimes.... you know... }}}

The first stars of the Forumshire night sky were out; there hanging enigmatically over the horizon hung Lester's Cat, six stars that twinkled and occasionally dimmed and went out as if slinking off into the night, before blazing forth again unexpectedly with a dancing silvery light.

And high above all else and shining with a cool brilliance was Ally Swift, beloved by folk of Forumshire.

One sure gets nostalgic, one does...

She laughed and waved her wine at them before taking a long drink and then waving it at them some more, “I remember it well, “ she said with a sigh of longing, “Gay Pari! And romance in Venice, boys and drink, and art, and more boys and more drink,” she reminisced some more and drank some more, “maybe some more boys.”

They were fine days, they was.

Fisk hotpot, doesn't sound so bad on the whole. Fisk wine though.. We don't make wine from fish.. we make liquor from potatoes.

Petty would like someone to liquor his potatos

Does that mean.. what I.. think it means..

Anyway, here are some pointers for Petty if he wants to give it a go.

https://translate.google.no/translate?sl=no&tl=en&js=y&prev=_t&hl=no&ie=UTF-8&u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.arcus.no%2Fno%2Fbrennevin%2Fen-verden-av-brennevin%2Fakevitt%2Ffremstilling%2F&edit-text=

Fisk wine though.. We don't make wine from fish.- Blue

Its a Forumshire tale Blue!- so Fjordians only eat herring, drink fisk wine swear a lot are sexually morally dubious and their army wears a pink uniform with rainbow emblem. Got it!!! (Bloody readers, everyone a critic! )

{{Plus this way I dont have to do any actual research into the real culture and can just have another buckie instead   )

What would "liquor his potatoes" mean?
Pour buckie on him while he's naked or something?

That's enough of that imagery I think!

Well.. I just figured liquor might mean something else.. and I wish I had stopped there..

Its starting to sound like an alcoholic rub you put on your arthritic knee or, horse liniment ?

Firstly I am NEVER naked, well only beneath my kilt.
Secondly what a shocking waste of buckie!! Anyone tries pouring buckie over me the only part thats getting wet is the inside of my mouth!

News Flash.......... Petty likes getting wet..... who's the one to do it ?

Petty likes getting wet- Azriel

Like buggery I do! Reminds me way too much of bath-night - and thats not due again now till next Spring!