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Author Topic: Told by the Roadside  (Read 3405 times)

Bofur

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Told by the Roadside
« on: December 20, 2014, 01:03:00 AM »

 Mirkwood was fast becoming Bofur's least favourite place in the entire world. The very thought that it had ever been called the Greenwood was utterly ridiculous - it was dank, and rotting, and every colour but green in all the wrong places. And dark. Which the miner wasn't terribly fond of. And then there was the way it seemed to leech off you, sucking your energy with every breath of stuffy air. More like a giant parasite than a wood.

 Everyone else seemed to be feeling the same way as they settled in for the night (well, they thought it was night; the darkness hadn't deepened very much but they had been walking for long enough that even Thorin agreed it was time to stop). They hadn't made a fire - they'd have needed one already lit in order to dry out wood to burn, which was something of a problem. Wood everywhere and no fire. There was irony in that.

 The road had grown walls again, tumbledown and slimy with moss. The tree roots snaking over them were more comfortable to sit on, so most of the dwarves had done that. They still stayed on or near the worn cobbles, though. No one quite trusted these trees and they gravitated to stone instead. Seeing Bilbo sitting to his left - who had sat down first was a mystery to his foggy mind - he nodded in something like a greeting and smiled out of habit. Maker, everything felt so muffled. Like they'd been lifted out of the real world and were moving through some darkened imitation. A story, maybe - that's what this quest would be, in a while (hopefully the kind with a happy ending), it was just happening now instead. Somewhere, someone was speaking them into being. What a fragile existence.

 That made no sense. They really needed to liven up and get out of here.

 “Bilbo.” Oh right, that was his voice. What had he been saying? Well, nothing, but… Stories. Hobbits  probably didn't have the same ones. And they made good distractions. Even if the one he was about didn’t have a particularly good ending. Ah well, he could change it. “Have you ever heard the story of Gaovnu?”

((OOC: Hope this works~ Sorry it’s a little short. Bofur’s story is going to be made up (I was going to repurpose an Irish myth but then realised that 1. I don’t know that many and 2. They’re all depressing and don’t really fit dwarves) but may be swayed by the audience; i.e. he’s tweaking it as he goes.  Speaking of, this is also open to all members of the Company.))


(#612800)

Bilbo Baggins

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Told by the Roadside
« Reply #1 on: December 21, 2014, 10:49:00 PM »
More than once, Bilbo shook his head with the oddest of feelings. He was doing better than these Dwarves at any rate, seemed to be keeping a bit more of coherency, or else, didn't feel he was as hazy as everyone else looked when he glanced about.

The path just...wasn't straight, or it seemed hard to keep one's feet to it or know if you were. Still, they made on, confident in Thorin's leadership. Maybe not the best plan when the King seemed just as befuddled as the rest, but then Bilbo wasn't going to lead.

Just stick around, and keep an eye out, the thought came to him.

For what, the Hobbit didn't know. Still, they made it to about halfway through the woods. Was it halfway? Felt like it, but then the roots and branches seemed about the same everywhere Bilbo glanced. And he was not a stranger to vegetation and plant life! If these Dwarves were confused on such matters, they could be forgiven having lived underground with stone overhead.

Thorin called for a halt and stop, for however long was a bit unsure. Bilbo plopped down upon a tree root, wiping a hand over his face, feeling weary but probably just from the walking, though he'd been doing his fair share of that since leaving the Shire and since the loss of their ponies.

“Bilbo.”, Bofur's voice drifted over to him, it sounded a bit off but the Hobbit wasn't sure if that was due to Bofur's speech or his hearing or just the air of the place. He still turned mostly with normal facilities.
 
“Have you ever heard the story of Gaovnu?”

The Dwarf went on. Bilbo's curious frown at the addressing deepened and his head shook. "Gaovnu? N-No, who's he?". Bilbo turned about on his root to fully face Bofur, figuring letting the Dwarf tell anything he wished may do them both good of distractions and pep even perhaps.

Weren't travelers told to speak over campfires to keep away the darkness?

{OOC: Blue, it and you are awesome in Dwarf matters as well as with birds ;) We shall go with whatever you and Bofur give us and give ideas only if you wish but it shall probably be grand! ~ and mine's a bit on the short side as well}


(mediumblue)

Bofur

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Told by the Roadside
« Reply #2 on: January 19, 2015, 04:07:00 PM »
Oddly, the story felt as bright and real as the forest around them. Calling it to mind was a task that required effort, but it seemed to wake Bofur up at the same time. Which made him realise that out of all the stories he could have plucked from the air, that of Gaovnu – the original version, anyway – was one of the worst. Well done, Bofur. He would try to change it but his usually overactive imagination was coming up blank, and all the previous times he had modified this particular tale it was to make it worse, so those remembered variations would do no good.

 “Gaovnu? N-No, who's he?” Bilbo seemed more alert than the rest of them, listening intently as he turned to face the miner. Bofur wondered vaguely whether it was a Hobbit trait or just a Bilbo one.

 “He was a bladesmith. Forged swords and daggers and axes, everything with sharp edges and a taste for blood. Very good at what he did, though he wasn’t the best of his era.” Bofur’s hands made small movements as though lifting the story, spreading it out on the air. His voice became a little clearer, expressions more animated. Thinking still felt like wading through treacle but the story was undoubtedly helping a little bit. Giving him something to focus on other than the mindless business of putting one foot in front of the other or staring at the path. But Gaovnu found that unsatisfactory – he wanted to be the undisputed best, assured of his superiority over all lesser smiths. Bit of a lulkhul-” Bofur cut himself off, realising too late that he’d used Khuzdul and not particularly caring about the moral implications of translating a word of the secret language – “An arrogant eejit, really.”

((OOC: Ahh sorry, this is short! Tell me if anything needs changed. Also: lulkhul = foolish, he was going to add more. Though I don’t actually know if Khuzdul puts nouns before or after adjectives… >.> *Needs to learn more*))


(#612800)

Ori

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Told by the Roadside
« Reply #3 on: January 19, 2015, 07:26:00 PM »
There was something about Mirkwood that made Ori more afraid than Goblintown. In Goblintown one could see and attack the danger, fight back with all your might, but not in Mirkwood. In Mirkwood, the very air seemed too thick and foggy even if there was nothing wrong with it; a traveller’s senses would be clouded; and there was always a branch or a root to trip with in your path. Perhaps most unnerving was the lack of light. Knowing the time of the day was as simple as knowing which way was up and which way was down. Yet when Thorin called them to rest for the night, he might as well have been speaking Orcish. He had to be coaxed to stop, mostly because being told that it was night already was almost ridiculous.

Maiklif, zarsthuhru!* he thought angrily towards the entire wood. While most of the other dwarves seemed entranced and wearied by the voyage, there was something that made Ori not more active, but feistier than he was out of the wood. He felt the need to fight back from the dizziness, and the dark, and the helplessness he felt when they tread through the wood. So when a hand--most likely Nori’s--patted his shoulder, Ori shrugged it off defiantly, and he settled not far from the other dwarves, but certainly not very close to them. Not very likely; he was not in the mood to listen to Dori’s grumblings, or some lie Fíli or Kíli would occasionally spit out to cheer up their Burglar.

The young dwarf lay down and stared up into the immense branches of the forest, almost searching for any sign of light--a star, the moon, maybe even the sun if they were wrong and it was actually day. But just after that desperate glance upward, some bird must have rustled above the branches, and a small shoot fell right into his eye, along with a little dust. This made him groan aloud, and then turn on his side to ignore whatever was up there,

But then Bofur began talking to the Hobbit, distracting him with the tale of some...Gaovnu? Some part of him recognized the name, but not the fussy, cranky part that had taken over during his time in Mirkwood. If anything, that other part of him reminded this Ori that he couldn’t even try to sketch to lift his mood, because there was no proper light! “But Gaovnu found that unsatisfactory – he wanted to be the undisputed best, assured of his superiority over all lesser smiths. Bit of a lulkhul-” To which Ori snorted to himself, now recalling the details to the story.

"An arrogant eejit, really" While he was tempted to lash out to Bofur on impulse, he bit down his irritation and merely turned around to listen to the story better. If anything, he made himself think the words he was going to say next--it was very hard to do so in the confines of this Elven wood! “Wait. Why...why are you bringing up the tale of Gaovnu?”

[*Curse you, forest]
« Last Edit: January 21, 2017, 06:33:07 AM by Ori »

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Bilbo Baggins

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Told by the Roadside
« Reply #4 on: January 21, 2015, 03:00:00 AM »
{Lovely to see Ori join in, hehe, oh I'm loving it ~}

Bilbo turned upon his log even more so, more attention going to Master Bofur and the tale he told. In part because it was interesting and partly because it kept at bay the odd feel even Bilbo picked up on of this forest. For him it was a forbidding sense deeper now within the shadowy boughs of the path than the Hobbit had picked up on even outside. One that seemed to not let him give in to the foggy-ness descending over the Company.

Bofur too seemed more alert( his hands moving as great narrators all seemed to do) so best let the tale go on, genuine interest aside.

Were all Dwarves not blade-smiths?

It seemed they all knew their weapons at least as Hobbits did their gardens and what grew best when.

Another unfamiliar word, lulkhul, though Bofur went on to explain it. Bilbo smiled a bit, for a time his attention taken to the amusing antics of a fool-hardy Dwarf (at least he assumed somehow Gaovnu was a Dwarf, maybe he should clarify and ask) over those he now traveled with and the deadly forest about.

"And, let me guess, did something foolish due to it?", the question came before Bilbo could stop it! "Sorry, rude to interrupt a story, I mean, so what next?". Why Bilbo was so captivated by a Dwarven tale he couldn't say but he awaited and listened as Bofur went on.

Ori turned to them just then. “Wait. Why...why are you talking about the tale of Gaovnu?”. Well, if he'd needed proof that it was a Dwarven tale and not picked up somewhere else! So Gaovnu probably was a Dwarf, but at any rate!

Bilbo's brow creased. Why would Ori asked? Was something...amiss with the tale? Well but a distraction was a distraction.

"Y-you...is it a well known Dwarven tale? Like a bedding down story?" he glanced between the two. It sounded a bit intense, but then who knew what Dwarves told their no doubt hearty children at night.


(mediumblue)

Bofur

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Told by the Roadside
« Reply #5 on: February 03, 2015, 10:57:00 PM »
“And, let me guess, did something foolish due to it?” Bofur grinned wryly – no good story ever went its way without a bit of foolishness – and waved off the next interruption as it was made: “Sorry, rude to interrupt a story, I mean, so what next?”

 “Interruptions make stories.” What was the point of listening if you couldn’t join in, couldn’t prod into the corners and watch the teller scramble the world together? There was a limit, of course, but the audience of every story made it unique in how they listened. That way nothing ever got stale, and tales lived and breathed and grew and changed, every bit as alive as their listeners. If something was better off written in stone then someone could go and carve in the hardest granite they could find, but the spoken word was meant for fluctuations and transience, for constant adaption.

 Ori’s question was unexpected, the sluggish start bringing brown eyes to him with a surprised blink. He had almost forgotten about the rest of the Company, but he accepted the doubling of listeners easily, voice raising a little to carry. One eyebrow raised and he grinned again, mirthful. “Because Bilbo has been deprived of the joys of Dwarf stories for his entire life, which I think is a sad thing indeed.” Resentment entered his tone, and he glanced around uneasily. “And also because if ever there was a place worth forgetting about for a while, it’s this forest.”

 Bilbo followed with another question, almost suspicious. Wary. Another storyteller might have begun to reconsider his stance on interruptions, but he didn’t particularly mind. If anything, the enquiry made him laugh.  “Well known, yes. Bedtime story… Occasionally.” If the teller was particularly bad with children, then certainly, Bofur was sure it had been used a few times to send dwarflings to sleep. The standard ending of the death of the protagonist wasn’t the most reassuring thing for them to hear before they dreamed. He leaned down, returning to storyteller stance with his hands splayed together for a moment, dark eyes moving between Ori and Bilbo. “Anyway, yes. Angry at those more skilled than him, Gaovnu gradually spent more and more time watching them work – looking for some magical secret or shortcut that would enable him to match and surpass them. But he could find nothing – nothing, at least, that they would let him see before they threw him out to go back to his own anvil. As he spent more time spying on the craft of others, his own declined with lack of practice. Which didn’t exactly please the prideful smith.”


(#612800)

Ori

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Told by the Roadside
« Reply #6 on: February 22, 2015, 10:50:00 PM »
There must have been something other than just dark magic that sapped your strength, and twisted your mind, in this forest, Because when Bofur wasn’t nettled with his interrupting, the young Ori did not feel satisfied with Bofur’s usual cheerfulness. “Because Bilbo has been deprived of the joys of Dwarf stories for his entire life, which I think is a sad thing indeed.” And now, when we must all catch our breath from struggling in this land forsaken by the Vala, is when you have to tell stories? Ori turned on his side away from the two speakers, but he still heard Bofur’s aside, “And also because if ever there was a place worth forgetting about for a while, it’s this forest.” The scribe had to bit down a retort that the best way to forget something was not stories, but sleep. And it was already difficult to come by it when this forest was determined to lead them astray, but it was even worse when the eternal optimist couldn’t keep his mouth shut at night!

There was more banter between Bilbo and Bofur. Though when he put his hands over his ears, the dialogue was muted, the pressure on his ears certainly did not help him rest - and he had to resign himself to turned around again to pay attention to the story in hopes that he would soon be weary enough to drift off in peace. That was, if they could at least lower their voices! “...Gaovnu gradually spent more and more time watching them work – looking for some magical secret or shortcut that would enable him to match and surpass them. But he could find nothing – nothing, at least, that they would let him see before they threw him out to go back to his own anvil. As he spent more time spying on the craft of others, his own declined with lack of practice. Which didn’t exactly please the prideful smith.”

The tale of Gaovnu did not hold a very special place in Ori’s heart, having been thrown this tale at him as a warning fable by one of his instructors when he envied them for being stronger and more daring than he. It seemed as there were reasons to feel bothered on every side - he couldn’t sleep, he was sure the forest had something to do with it, Bofur couldn’t shut up, the Hobbit was encouraging him, and on top of all, he was listening to the maxims he’d been thrown at as a child left and right! If he’d had a single breath of fresh air, he would have stopped to think before doing something stupid, but for some reason, he couldn’t think, only speak his mind. “And then he went and got advice from an Elf of all people, who told him he would craft the greatest weapon from an ore the Elf gave him, and then he went off and created just some blade, who he put on a rack to show off, but because he was too clumsy, the thing went and fell on his head. Yes, thank you very much for that fable. Just the gruesome one we want to think of in this pit of all places.”
« Last Edit: January 21, 2017, 06:33:31 AM by Ori »

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Bilbo Baggins

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Told by the Roadside
« Reply #7 on: March 01, 2015, 10:52:00 PM »
Did anything phase Bofur? He waved off and aside so much personal insult. Of course, the story interrupting was a small thing; what sat mostly in Bilbo's memory and this just extended a small bit within was the miner's understanding when Bilbo was found to be sneaking off for his own gain and abandoning them back at the Goblin Cave they hadn't realized was thus occupied.

In a fluctuating of thought, but Bilbo was done fluctuating, as he'd stated back at the Carracks. That and the guarding in Rivendell from not all that dangerous Elves and talks of Eagles and the oddity that was flight by them...

If Bilbo found time (and means of survival!) to pen his own memoirs in addition to Young Master Ori's chronicle (for what true purpose he didn't know), there was much to commend much of the Company in his own recounting but he would do his best to scribe-paint Bofur the humble hero he was in his own rightly deserved right.

Bilbo smiled at the polite but not insincere dismissing. Speaking of Young Master Ori...he prompted an explanation from their story teller. One Bofur gave in his usual charming custom.

“Because Bilbo has been deprived of the joys of Dwarf stories for his entire life, which I think is a sad thing indeed...And also because if ever there was a place worth forgetting about for a while, it’s this forest.”

The Hobbit's own wry smile rather than any insult met these words. "Well as long as there's no describing of Dragons in them..., the words died before Bilbo could breath them into life, for...not in these woods...mention of the Dragon, even in a comrade-spirit such was it would be intended, would be so much worse than every time Smaug came up in thought and recollection of duties.

Bofur's story, which he couldn't give a straight answer about being a Bed-Time-Tale would be preferable to that even! Suspicious as the Hobbit was given reason to be as the two Dwarves went on...

And now, when we must all catch our breath from struggling in this land forsaken by the Vala, is when you have to tell stories?

Something was eating into the youngest member of their Company. Probably the wood and it should have been more strange and telling as to their situation, but the stupor seemed to hold even to Bilbo who noticed all this yet...as a participant who had no way of...changing any of it.

Ori turned back about agitated and Bofur soon got back to his role of story-teller, and he was rather good. Or else the wood again...

Bilbo's focus bent that way yet again, becoming drawn more and more to the tale.

“Anyway, yes. Angry at those more skilled than him, Gaovnu gradually spent more and more time watching them work – looking for some magical secret or shortcut that would enable him to match and surpass them. But he could find nothing – nothing, at least, that they would let him see before they threw him out to go back to his own anvil. As he spent more time spying on the craft of others, his own declined with lack of practice. Which didn’t exactly please the prideful smith...”

Maybe it was the wood, maybe just Bofur's craft at yet another side thing to his mining. The Hobbit rested his hands and settled forward a bit on the log, seeing in his mind's eye as if in the trees beyond the scene played out and immensely interested in this Gaovnu.

They regained Ori's attention at this it seemed. Though the young Dwarf didn't spin about or move from his spot (?), his words carried almost as if aided by the woods for their potential ill effect, as if anything none-cheery was carried and aided to drown out distractions. And it was so unlike Master Ori to be used as the vessel as well...

“And then he went and got advice from an Elf of all people, who told him he would craft the greatest weapon from an ore the Elf gave him, and then he went off and created just some blade, who he put on a rack to show off, but because he was too clumsy, the thing went and fell on his head. Yes, thank you very much for that fable. Just the gruesome one we want to think of in this pit of all places.”

Bilbo's eyes widened and he stared at the young Dwarf's spot since he was still turned about, the ease of seeing of the tale now not such a good thing...

He didn't move, he didn't speak, he didn't faint...

It...could be worse; was up to Bofur if he was offended the cutting in. The story telling set up for whatever ending Bofur would have given was ruined, the build up given a sharp stab of too much info too quick and so the suspense fell flat.

Bilbo couldn't wonder at Gaovnu's wisdom, nor try and tell him even in his mind not to do this or that as tales at times brought out and were no doubt suppose to. Instead it was all plopped at his feet and thus worked through.

And the gaps were very gap filled...

Thus Bilbo's questions could hardly find a form themselves...

"W-I-I--Did the Elf know? Did he make the blade? Was he ignorant of the---why was the shelf so high? I--", Bilbo glanced back to Bofur, it seeming a bit unfair to ask the Dwarf to fix the mess the story was left in now, but a bit left at a loss all the same and even if given the gist of the tale.

"Ah...well, that's...". Interesting wasn't the right word...


(mediumblue)

Bofur

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« Reply #8 on: April 17, 2015, 03:55:00 PM »
Mirkwood’s sickly air was still wrapped thick around Bofur’s mind, the act of recalling the story helping a little but not enough to grant him the brainpower necessary to figure out that Ori’s rolling over and clapping his hands over his ears meant that he should lower his voice. His thoughts moved so slowly, trickling thick and soupy and missing the narrower channels of logic. Ori had rolled over, yes, but the obvious implication that he wanted to sleep sailed right over Bofur’s floppy hat.

 Perhaps it didn’t help that a large portion of his mind was still focused on the story itself, still searching sluggishly for a way to fix the ending. He noticed that Bilbo was still listening, and listening well – the hobbit was the sharpest among them by now, the most resistant to the forest’s heavy atmosphere.

 Ori’s voice interrupted his next thought, dour and frustrated. For a moment Bofur’s brows knitted together in confusion – ah yes, this was the story, more or less, but wasn’t he the one telling it? Wait, that’s not how that is- Why had Ori finished it, and slaughtered it so brutally?

 Thankfully for the young scribe, Bofur’s emotional momentum was slow to change and he was using far too much energy trying to think, the story suddenly needing thrice the adjustment it had, to get truly angry. A vague frown was directed towards Ori with a half-hearted glare that looked through him rather than at him, absent as his usually quick mind ticked slowly over the problems. No. There was more of an explanation to go with the single insistent denial, but the words were slow to line up in his head. Vaguely frustrated, the miner pushed back his hat to scratch his head.

 “W-I-I-Did the Elf know? Did he make the blade? Was he ignorant of the – why was the shelf so high? I… Ah… well, that's…” Poor Bilbo. That probably hadn’t made a great first impression for dwarf stories.

 “Indeed.” The dry observation was accompanied by raised eyebrows, and suddenly thinking became a little easier. His voice dropped back a little in volume, the backlog of things to process clearing ever so slightly. Ori wanted to sleep. A part of him was tempted to talk louder for sheer badness, but he didn’t bother. If the scribe wanted to ruin the story, fine. Bofur would still tell the burglar a better version. “Well, that is one way to tell it. But the rendition I was going with was a little less… Abrupt.”

 Another moment was spent trying to remember which details he now had to correct – the elf hadn’t been an elf, thank you very much, though most versions hinted obviously at that conclusion. Bofur’s tellings were usually a little less definite, though most would still assume elf as soon as they heard tall in the context of metalworking. A dwarf accepting advice from an elf was disgraceful, but most grudgingly admitted that some elves knew vaguely what they were doing with metal. A dwarf accepting advice from a human was simply ridiculous. But it didn’t matter – it would take more effort to go back and try and fix those things than it was worth. Bofur would have to work with the stunted tale as it was. He shook his head as though to clear it, tugged his hat down securely and grinned. He hoped he looked surer of himself than he felt. But hey, he could hardly make the story worse.

 “Alright! Moving on from there. The sword did not in fact kill him. As you’ve rightfully pointed out, t’would have been a wee bit stupid for the rack to be so high. But as it fell, the monster of smoke and metal – this was no ordinary sword, by the way, it looked like a twisted thing out of a broken mirror that never seemed to accept that it should have cooled from when it was forged – as it fell it took on a life of its own and swung for Gaovnu’s throat.” Bofur made a subdued slicing movement with one hand, resettling himself once again in a thousandth vain attempt to fully wake himself up. “Thankfully the old dwarf had stepped back in a panic, and it missed. But the edge, hissing angrily like it had never been quenched, sliced straight through his sizeable beard like a knife through butter.” But did Bilbo know how important beards were to dwarves? Had anyone explained to him the significance most of their kin put into cutting hair? Bofur spent a few seconds trying to remember if he had ever tried to convey it, or heard anyone else attempt it. The distraction did not help the story, and a perplexed mutter escaped under his breath. “… Where are we, even.” Thankfully the absent-mindedness lasted only a moment and then he remembered his place.

 “Ah yes! Which for Gaovnu, was nearly as bad. Dwarves place a lot of importance in their beards.” There was an understatement. Ah well, someone would explain at some point. He would, later, if he remembered. “At the time, though, he was just shocked to be alive. In the interests of remaining so, he then snatched up the closest thing to hand – a hammer.”

((OOC: Hope this works, if there isn’t enough to respond to just say! Also, apologies, didn’t intend for it to get so long, feel no pressure to match the length. Bofur gets rambly when Mirkwood is sapping his intelligence.))


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Ori

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Re: Told by the Roadside
« Reply #9 on: January 21, 2017, 06:32:24 AM »
Slaughtering the story so quickly only brought more questions from his companions. Bilbo began stuttering some more questions to Bofur. Ori covered his ears and grunted before Bofur could get to it, as if the questions had been addressed to him. Can’t you see this isn’t the time for stories, Mr. Bilbo? complained Ori - but only in his mind. It was too much of an effort to open his mouth to retort instead of gnashing his teeth in frustration. Even the thought of turning from his side to glare at both Mr. Bilbo and Bofur annoyed him. If only he’d had a pillow to muffle out the sound of their incessant babbling! His anger had not even reached its peak when Bofur broke the silence.

“Well, that is one way to tell it. But the rendition I was going with was a little less… Abrupt.”

“Do you, now.” The thought slipped past Ori’s mind, but it was crushed in his mouth before he could loudly provoke Bofur into silence. It was a little reply that no one except perhaps Mr. Bilbo heard - but one that only fueled Ori’s anger even more.

“Alright! Moving on from there. The sword did not in fact kill him. As you’ve rightfully pointed out, t’would have been a wee bit stupid for the rack to be so high.” For a moment, the magic of the forest broke apart at one particular point over Ori - as a laugh started in his chest, the complaint being one he had so foolishly given to an instructor that had told him the tale. (He was slapped in the face for his impudence.) His lips twitched at the corners for an instant. “But as it fell, the monster of smoke and metal – this was no ordinary sword, by the way, it looked like a twisted thing out of a broken mirror that never seemed to accept that it should have cooled from when it was forged – as it fell it took on a life of its own and swung for Gaovnu’s throat.”

Now Ori turned from his side, arching his neck backwards to narrow his eyes at Bofur; more in confusion than in irritation. “Thankfully the old dwarf had stepped back in a panic, and it missed. But the edge, hissing angrily like it had never been quenched, sliced straight through his sizeable beard like a knife through butter.” Bofur became lost in his own story, as the gravity of the final sentence seemed to unsettle him. “… Where are we, even.” Ori glared at Bofur; his neck was bothering him for having paid attention to Bofur’s silly plot twist but he couldn’t even manage to keep his own story coherent!

“Ah yes! Which for Gaovnu, was nearly as bad. Dwarves place a lot of importance in their beards.” Ori gave a little exasperated gasp - Oh, a lot! Like you might value some fine china! This is exactly why you don’t tell stories about Dwarfs to halflings! Before Ori could protest, Bofur continued. “At the time, though, he was just shocked to be alive. In the interests of remaining so, he then snatched up the closest thing to hand – a hammer.”

Wouldn’t I like to hammer you!

“Oh, give it up, already, Bofur! The forest is doing an excellent job trying to suffocate us, you don’t need to bore us to death, too! And with bad storytelling, no less!” With this, Ori stood up and stamped away to the farther edge of their group. Hopefully the distance would help tune out the miner’s incoherent tales.
« Last Edit: January 21, 2017, 06:34:27 AM by Ori »

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Bilbo Baggins

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Re: Told by the Roadside
« Reply #10 on: February 10, 2017, 04:27:49 PM »
It took a while for Master Bofur to gather his thoughts and the lost thread of the tale. Bilbo was unsure if it was good and fair to allow him to go on or not. On the one hand it was proving effective and keeping him from perhaps taking to the forest's affect too much, yet it may also tire him (and them!) for latter battles.

Maybe Ori was right.

Yet Bilbo was curious. Bofur's dry wit and smile returned, and he seemed to have found his stride once more.

“Well, that is one way to tell it. But the rendition I was going with was a little less… Abrupt.”

Another scrambling moment, before Bofur went on, trying to fix the points of confusion. “Do you, now.”, Bilbo heard the young Dwarf mutter something, probably this,  and gave him another glance of almost guilt, but then he was drawn back to Bofur's story, even his suggestion of being more quiet maybe dimming with the air and this concentration.

Ah, an Enchanted Sword, right that made more sense, Bilbo appreciatively leaned back at the words and slicing movement, trying to imagine and yet not wishing to. This forest just seemed to help any and all horrid thoughts stay and gave them aided clarity. But only in so much as to aid Bofur's story telling, the Hobbit was right back, leading forward interestedly as the story-teller went on again.

“Thankfully the old dwarf had stepped back in a panic, and it missed. But the edge, hissing angrily like it had never been quenched, sliced straight through his sizeable beard like a knife through butter.”

Bilbo frowned, just in thought, and was about to go on Ah, then he got off lucky yet Bofur went on to try to explain something of their cultural significance on beards.

 “Ah yes! Which for Gaovnu, was nearly as bad. Dwarves place a lot of importance in their beards.”

"Oh, I see", Bilbo didn't, but he tried to.

Someone tramped all over your garden, for you Hobbits
Not really, close maybe.
Ruined all your mother's dishes
It threatened a wry smile, recalling back home in Bagend when the Dwarves had come through.

“At the time, though, he was just shocked to be alive. In the interests of remaining so, he then snatched up the closest thing to hand – a hammer.”

Bilbo nodded, fully engrossed in this tale, despite the distraction of trying to understand a Dwarves importance in their beards. Oh, well then did the young princes...well but maybe that was normal for their ages. Speak of young Dwarves...

“Oh, give it up, already, Bofur! The forest is doing an excellent job trying to suffocate us, you don’t need to bore us to death, too! And with bad storytelling, no less!”.

Bilbo watched Ori stomp off, frowned again half guiltily, then turned back to Bofur, "Well, but I'd say a fine job keeping a story coherent in this...mess", he waved a hand at the forest about them. Then, standing and stretching, to aid shaking off the forest's affect, he smiled to Bofur again, 'I should, at some other time perhaps, ask after other things Dwarves find pr--treasured...", with his secret in his pocket still and Gollum's riddles too close in his ear still, he couldn't used the word precious, something...twinged within him to do so..."...beyond just gold".

He didn't mean it badly, hopefully it wasn't taken badly, he'd put his foot into his mouth enough times around Bofur.


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