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A New Arrival
Posted: 17 Dec 2005 10:45 AM |
"Fate works in mysterious ways", a cliche quoted by bards throughout the ages, scrawled in the hand of the dying hero bested by his unlikely quarry or whispered softly in the footsteps of the hapless lovers as they walk hand in hand. But there is much truth in the statement, as many have discovered. There is misery and failure where there should not be, and tyrants who terrorize the innocent and defenseless without persecution. But there comes a time when a hero is born - a single man with the guts, determination and vigor to stand up and fight for what is just. An inspiration to all. An Adonis. An individual fated for great things.
Hoppy however, along with several million others born into the world, was not such an individual. In fact, in the great scheme of things, he didn't so much pick the short straw as forgot the straw picking was on Thursday and instead spent the day trying to work out why he couldn't reach the clouds, even on tiptoes.
Hoppy grew up in the Brandibuck Vale and to this day has lived a relatively uneventful, quiet life. He wasn't the smartest of halflings, even by halfling standards, but he had the common sense and decency of his father (though he lacked his fathers bravery and is terrified of moths). His father would work in the fields by day whilst his mother baked her delicious pies, ready for supper. The pies were certainly to his liking, so much so that he began to help her in the kitchen (much to the displeasure of his father, who would have preferred to help in the fields). The slow pace of life at home, however, soon began to lose its appeal. There was a world out there to see, and though he liked nothing more than putting his feet up by the fire and tucking into a toasted crumpet, he packed his things and left on the road to Port Royale (though he did hope very much he'd find a bakery there to his liking).
The road was harsh for Hoppy. He wasn't a galant knight, able to fight off the creatures that lurked in the dark folds of the forests, nor was he particularly good at hiding. Sure, he had been gifted with a natural ability to use magic (god knows where he got that from!) but it was more a hinderance than anything. It had gotten him into more trouble than it was worth. Memories would flood back of the time he was at his uncle's birthday party, and his wrinkled demented grandmother came lumbering towards him, her hair-rimmed lips puckered and ready to plant a wet kiss on his plump, rosey cheek. In his fright, he muttered a cantrip under his breath, touched his head and went out like a light. He came round several days later, his worried parents at the side of his bed. It was his uncle's tattered green socks that had finally roused him from his slumber (though the unbearable stench had turned his face nearly as green as the socks themselves). This, however, was not an isolated incident. He had failed to learn each time that perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to meddle with powers he barely understood. Still, he had an aversion to using magic, and now would only do so in desperity (or should it seem the wisest course of action).
Now having reached Port Royale, Hoppy looks forward to a nice warm bed and perhaps a pie or two before rest. He walks carefully down its cobbled streets, trying not to stand out amongst the crowds and hoping not to get into any trouble, heading for a sign in the distance, illuminated in the dusk by the warm glow of the fireplace inside. |
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Re: A New Arrival
Posted: 17 Dec 2005 01:14 PM |
((for those present at my first few moments here ))
"By th' 'airs on m' chin, if I ever see that bloomin' bird again al give it a right talkin' to a will!".
Hoppy kicks against the bottom of the table as he exclaims, then quickly withdraws his leg, rubbing it sorely and grumbling to himself. Whilst his left hand cradles his now bruised shin, the right forages amongst his wiry moustache, picking the odd flake of piecrust from its moorings, his face wracked with concentration. He lifts his hand from his leg and retrieves a quill and parchment from his satchel, setting them on the table in front of him. As he holds the quill he continues to fidget, his face clearly pondering over something.
"Av got ter come up wit' somethin'. If there’s one thin' am not standin' for its bein' upstaged by a bird. Its just not right!". He grumbles and begins to lightly tap the end of the quill against his lips, seemingly unaware of the ink splatters now forming round his mouth. He then lowers the pen to the paper and dictates as he writes.
"At least am smart enough not ter eat worms...". He pauses for a moment, considering the sentence with a look of satisfaction, but quickly draws a line through it, grumbling. - If I were a bird worms might taste really nice - He thought to himself.
"Yer so smelly......yer smell like dung....." He grumbles, frustrated. "Somethin' about dung....". His frustration peaks and he scribbles over his ramblings, then adds a note to the side of the mess.
"Smells like dung"
He moves on further down the page to continue. After several minutes of strained thought his face lights up and he dives back into his writing, dictating with renewed vigor.
"Yer were born from an egg, an' I eat eggs fer breakfast, sometimes al 'ave 2, maybe even 3, an' sometimes a put 'em on toast or all mashed up an' such, though a try not ter eat too many else a might get a belly like ol' Uncle George who were a sorry mess when he couldn't even get through 'is own door wit'out a tub o' grease at 'and...". He pauses to reread, then grumbles, crossing the story out. He sighs with defeat, then almost carves with block capital letters into the bottom of the page -
I EAT EGGS FOR BREAKFAST.
With a sigh of relief he replaces the quill next to the paper and leans back, visibly drained by the ordeal. He grins a little, as if running through his confrontation with the bird in his head and how the bird will be not only dreadfully offended but also impressed at his cognitive abilities. His smile widens revealing a row of ink-blackened teeth, and he rests his feet on the stool beside his, relaxing on his first night in Port Royale. |
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