Dark Planet Day Challenge: Forumshire fanfic

Tired out beating up perps on nightshift I fear.

Hahahooooh dear, that is so wrong Good thing this is a non-politically correct forum. (If we ignore the pro gays, the male care worker and the female naval engineer that is. Details schmetails.)

Amarië wrote:Hahahooooh dear, that is so wrong

Indeed

LOVE IT!!!!!!!!!! Where are your pictures from Mrs. Figg????

Ally looked everywhere for her dear friend Orwell, but felt she was running around in circles.

Petty's nightmares had taken a strange turn since that annoying Amarië had nagged about some birds in his digital artwork.

DI Eldo and Sgt. Herring had become quite popular with the ladies of the Shire, but the fan club sometimes had to wait hours before they were allowed into the office. The ladies didn't mind, they admired the policehobbits' work ethics and it always sounded like they were very busy in there.

Ooh, those are great! DI Eldo and Sgt. Herring can't escape the rumors, can they?

Di Herring and Eldo and the strong arm of the law sent the ladies all a quiver. OOOOOOOhhh! yeah!
btw Tin the paintings are mostly Victorian and preRaphaelites which are my favourites. Yours, Norcs, Daves and Chris's are by Waterhouse, and Pettys by Burne Jones.

Great paintings ^_^

Eldorion wrote: Ooh, those are great! DI Eldo and Sgt. Herring can't escape the rumors, can they?

Never!

(My first two pictures are by M.C. Escher, and the last one is by the Norwegian painter and writer Christian Krohg.)

Think the picture book is looking great. I've been struggling with my writing, my celtic thing is mutating in my brain, so I'm giving it time to percolate. In the interest of trying to kick start myself I had a go at this.....

Isolation

The woman opened her eyes slowly and peered into the darkened tent. She waited for her eyes to become accustomed to the dim light, searching the shadows of the tent - something had woken her. She shivered, cold running the length of the beast drawn on her back as the cool nip of the morning air caressed her skin. It was early, well before dawn and the moisture of the night left its trail across the few possessions scattered around the circular space. She dragged the wolf skin around her shoulders, clasping it tightly in front of her as she sat up. A murmur from the other side of the tent drew her gaze to the coltish girl asleep, buried from sight under layers of furs. The woman froze, to be sure not to wake the child and then resumed her inspection. There was nothing out of the ordinary, maybe the disturbance came from outside.

Quickly dressing in her shift and shawl, the lithe young woman stepped to the laced entrance of the tent. Sleep conspired with the damp to ensure fingers fumbled and faltered. The woman huffed as her face scrunched. Her brow creased and the tip of her tongue began poking through her lips as she fought to undo the knot. As the strings finally gave she pulled firmly, causing a tangle of the two lines and her eyebrows to shoot up as she rolled her eyes. Ducking through the flap quickly , taking care to close it and keep the warm air in she turned to face the valley.

“Wha..”

Her mouth hung open as she gazed about her, turned to stone by the sight in front of her. Where there had stood a busy, crowded tent village, now there was nothing. The fire she had sat by, the child beside her, idling plucking on the strings of her lute – gone. Not even blacked earth or cooling ashes remained to show it had sat there. The scrap in the bank to her right, that had held a makeshift reed shelter, was barren and empty. No cluster of branch covered domes housing the many scions of one family or crisp linen covered wagons of other members of their growing community.

“Good morning”

She spun towards to voice. No man was in sight. Instead propped in the ground by virtue of a large stake was a bedraggled looking scarecrow.

“What?” was as far as she got before tailing off in confusion once more.

As she watched the figure tensed, no longer blowing in the breeze, but taking on pretence of life.

“This village is now the property of Dark Enterprises, building safer homes for all. In the interest of safety and the most effective allocation of resources this village is now closed. All property held within is forfeit. In exchange you will be allocated rooms in our deluxe new town. In the interests of hygiene you will be expected to undergo a period of quarantine, after which you will be permitted entry to the city. Directions are on the parchment scroll attached.”

Having delivered its message, the scarecrow began to smoulder, burning away to reveal a scroll pinned to the stake.
Confused and befuddled the woman sank to the ground and dropped her head to her hands. She scrubbed her eyes, to no avail. Her shawl slipped to reveal red and gold scales glinting in the first rays of the rising sun.

Hope you like!

Ooooooooo! Me like! This sounds very promising! I'd love to see more.

That's really good! It took me a minute to recognize it for what it was but I'd love to see more too. And the tattoo is a great way of incorporating the dragon theme; I may have to keep that in mind.

Loved that Kafria! A nice take on that evil day!

Well thankyou, it certainly seems to be doing the trick from my end. Can't stop at the mo!

So next little bit,

“Freya?”

The woman blinked rapidly as the spell that had held her immobile broke. The scroll flapped noisily, banishing any hope that the isolation around them was from a dream. Freya rose to her feet, stumbling before she struggled to stamp some more life into her feet. Tearing the scroll from the post she pushed her way back into the haven of the tent.

“Here Rue.”

Dropping the scroll to her sleeping skins she turned to re lace the entrance. To the left a pile of twigs sat ready, further piles of thicker branches next to them. She chose several and crouched by the fire pit, sweeping ashes and debris aside as she built a new tower. After adding larger branches around it to form a pyramid she bent swiftly and blew. A swift jet of flame, almost white in its heat, flicked towards the tower. Sticks crackled as they dried and caught. Freya jumped back as the intensity of the blaze jumped rapidly, singeing her skin. It flashed red, before gold rippled across her cheeks and dulled back to normal.

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath Freya took an inventory of her domain. The skins that carpeted the tent were cool, heat leeching into the ground beneath. The uneven ground poked at her feet with ridges and sharp stones she and Rue had missed when they cleared the site on arrival. The air felt damp, hairs rising on her skin as the warmth from the fire began to create currents, small gusts that made others feel uneasy. The bright show behind her shuttered eyelids intensified as the sun burst through the cloud layer to bathe the tent in light. The rising smoke carried its pungent aroma to the fore masking its companion smells of earth and body, adding an acrid taste to the air she pulled into her lungs. The quiet prelude of dawn was swelling into the raucous song of morning and accompanied by the fluttering’s of the fire.

Feeling centred once more she opened her eyes with determination. Morning jobs first, mysteries later. Ignoring the scroll she pulled a skin over to the small stump to one side of the fire pit. Lifting the small leather pouch on top she filled it with water from one of the sown skins, before lifting it and using the laces to hang it from a small tripod, which she place over the retreating flames.
While she waited for the water to boil she unwrapped the salted venison. Her hand dropped to the recess in the stump for her flint, meeting bare wood instead. She glanced down and around, hands paddling across the ground to search for the knife. She sighed, teeth biting into her bottom lip. She glanced quickly at the child and then back to her hand. Flexing her index finger she waited as her nail extended, sharp and curved. She hurriedly scored the haunch, two rashers falling to the stump, then relaxed her fingers allowing the talon to retract once more.

Boiling water had her returning to the tripod and moving it away from the flames once more. Dipping their drinking bowl in, she half-filled it, before replacing it on the ground and adding some herb leaves to steep. The morning meal prepared she approached the dozing child.

“Kettle’s brewing, time to shift yerself,” she said, pulling back the top skin, searching for the giveaway long black tresses. Brushing them back gently she began stroking the face revealed.

“Come on Rue, I know you’re awake.”

Rue squirmed, mouth widening into a long yawn. Her eyes fluttered open briefly before she scrunched them tight against the daylight and shuffled back down under the skins.

“Too bright,” she moaned.

“Brew’ll be ready in five. And I need you up. Got to pack up.”

Another groan was the only response. Freya rose and retrieved the scroll. Settling cross legged on her skins she carefully unravelled the parchment. She needed to decide what to do and fast; it would take most of the morning to break camp. Wherever they headed they would need a good start.

NB. The idea of waking up to the village being gone was an image I saw as soon as Eldo posted this challenge. In a way, thats what it felt like. What's happening with the dragon ? I don't know First I thought I might write it as a dragon, then thought it could be the girl with the dragon tattoo, but both felt a bit heavy handed, so stuck with the description as is, but seems the inner dragon will out

Not sure how much I'll do, although I do have a few ideas, and the original spark did go till founding forumshire.. we'll see

it took me a while to figure it out, me not being a long time citizen of Forumshire, but then I realized Dark Planet type take over, scales, Dragon, duh! of course! I like the way it crept up on me and wasnt obvious, its interesting the viewpoint of the characters, and its mysterious. i hope you continue with the story, its great.

This is one of the most original versions of Forumshire I've seen in the Creative Corner and I love it! I'm curious to know more about Freya's draconic nature. I'm with Mrs Figg, I hope you continue writing this! {{{ And I hope they find the rest of the village! }}}

I like where this is going writing wise Kafria- nice style. Keep it up!

I have been home with the kids today, so I sat down and thought of all the nice stories and spin-offs that has come about here and figured: what the heck, why don't I just open a page and see if I can think of something that ambassador Amarië might do on an average day in Needlehole. And this is what came out, so... well... here it is, whatever it is. Poor grammar and all. Random is a key word, and I'll probably suffer from fic posters remorse in the morning.

(Sorry for interupting Kafria's story.)

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The main street of Needlehole were buzzing with people as usual. Amarië hummed a old Fjordlandian walking tune while trying not to get run down by carts overloaded with cabbage and potatoes.

She held firmly onto her take-away bag from the Fjordlandia Bar & Coffee House down the street. She was a regular there as they made the best (and only) coffee in town and had killer chocolate chip muffins. Of course they didn't know they had killer muffins, but as a good spy she had located and removed, well... purchased, them without anyone getting hurt. It was a win-win situation really, the Dark Planet was always the first to be accused when bad things happened and she was helping the local economy in the process.

Rounding the corner by the embassy, she noticed Petty Tyrant across the street perched rather wobbly on a empty Buckie barrel, complaining loudly over the price of fish and how Polly Ticks was to blame. Farmer Dave, who was a distant relative of Polly felt this was rather unfair, and that the accusations were taken out of context. Amarië nodded to herself, because she knew Dave was at least partially right. Context was one of the many newspapers she subscribed to.

The hobbit girl at the reception quickly hid a book away and pretended to be working. Amarië pretended she had not noticed. She unbuttoned her long swishy coat and folded it over her arm, covering the killer muffins but not the take-away coffee mug, which looked like a old fashioned meed mug with a lid shaped like a helmet with horns. If you weren't careful you would be could poke an eye out when trying to take a sip. Very impractical.

“Good morning, Lily! Have my newspapers arrived?” “Yes, miss ma'am lady sir! Usually as on your desk.”
Amarië looked at the girl and squinted her eyes a little. “Lily, did the extended edition of the Needelhole Mysteries I ordered arrive today?” The girls eyes widened. “No, not today.” “Strange, I was expecting it yesterday.” The girl said nothing. Amarië struggled to keep her face neutral. “Well, that's the mail service for you. Leave it on my desk when it arrives, will you. You know I like the library to be fully up to date. I will be in the office.”

The Forumshire Administry had deemed that particular edition unsuitable for hobbits under the age of 33. 753 years according to the Banks Respectability Council. Lily was still technically one year, or 723 years, too young. And probably already halfway through chapter 3 by now.

Well inside her office, she hung her long coat on the hook by the door. She marched through the very official looking official office. She walked behind the large desk with her fancy looking ornate chair and put the coffee mug and muffin bag next to the large stack of newspapers. She turned and took a good look at the large shield with the Dark Planet emblem which hung on the wall behind the desk, and the she grabbed hold of it and pulled it off the wall.

She made sure it she had a secure and correct grip, and swished around dramatically. The dress was especially tailored to swish just right during dramatic turns and also to flow in a cool manner when she marched with purpose towards something. Like now, when the dramatic turn was followed by a goal oriented walk towards the door leading into her private study, large shield in one hand, killer muffins in the other. Of course there were no one around to see any of this, but she still thought it was great fun and it made the sometimes rather tedious ambassador chores a bit more humorous.

After closing the door firmly behind her, she moved to the fireplace. There she carefully put the killer muffin bag on the floor and reached for the fire poker. After gently hooking the bag on the poker, she crouched down holding the shield protectively in front of her before placing the bag into the fire. She threw the poker a side and quickly moved the shield over the opening of the fire place. It fitted almost perfectly, as she knew it would. Amarië bowed her head and closed her eyes and prepared for impact.

Suddenly the muffins exploded with a big FOOOOOM! A wave of hot air pressed pass the shield and into the room. Some papers flew of the ambassadors private desk and the newspaper clippings on the D.I. Eldo and Sgt. Herring fan wall threatened to blow away.

With a small cough she freed her hand from the shield and put it on the floor, emblem up. There were ashes and chocolate chips all over it. She gave her shield arm a bit of a shake, before she sat down by the desk and took out some unmarked paper, bought in Bree-land. She wrote for a minute or two, then folded the paper in two and went to find her cloak of sneakiness.

Later that day a letter signed Mr Underhill would be found at the Police station next door, voicing a concern that the wanted criminal Spammy “cookie grabber” Botson might be at work adding explosives to Needlehole's cookies and cakes. By that time the shield was cleaned and returned to it's place on the wall. Lily would have reached chapter 7 with a blush on her cheeks, blissfully unaware of what has taken place, and Amarië would be on flipping through newspaper nr. 5 while drinking her coffee, humming an old walking tune from Fjordlandia.

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Tee Hee

Now do I have to apply to the embasy or is it possible to aquire a cloak of sneakiness as a diplomatic present to the mayor?

I will direct your inquiry through the proper channels and see if I can find an clear answer.

Though I think any cloak can be a cloak of sneakiness as long as you have the right attitude.

Killer muffins? The Dark Planet will stoop to anything, won't it? I loved reading this though, Amarie! I'd be interested to seen an Ambassador Amarie spin-off if you were so inclined. And I'm curious to know what was to inappropriate about the Extended Edition of The Needlehole Mysteries.