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Ealasaid · 06-09-2003, 12:10 PM

Old Bill Cummerbund got up early the morning after the storm and set off for his usual hangout by the ford with a spring in his step. His joints creaked a bit and his back hurt from sleeping on his lumpy mattress, but he was in a good mood, eager to see what the storm waters had washed up. The pride of his existence, his rusty sword Thunderill, clanked against his shins as he walked. He began to whistle under his breath. It was a low, wheezy sound, but happy.

When he got to the bend in the road, he decided that rather than go the long way around, he would cut through the woods, reducing the time it would take to get to the river by half. He'd done it lots of times before, so he never gave it a second thought, just lit his pipe, took a few deep puffs and plunged into the undergrowth. He was just walking along, daydreaming about the things he might find at the river -- one time he had actually salvaged a nearly full keg of pretty decent ale -- when suddenly something grabbed his foot. Thinking it was a root, he gave his foot a mighty jerk. The wire dug into his ankle. Turning around a couple of times in the attempt to find the source of the wire, Old Bill soon found himself and Thunderill thoroughly entangled. Panicking, he struggled a little bit and dropped his pipe. It lay smouldering just out of his reach.

"By Thunder!" roared Old Bill, his temper getting the better of him. "When I get out of this wire, I'll catch the dirty little beggars that set it! They'll taste the wrath of Thunderill!" He trailed off, grumbling bitterly.

It was then that he heard the voice of the young girl behind him: "Hi, my name is Rosie and this is my friend Falco. You seem to be caught up in our snare that we were trying to catch a coney or something in. May we help you get loose from it?"

Old Bill whipped around and scowled at the two hobbits. Hobbits! Of course. His scowl deepened. "Do I look like a coney to you?!" he demanded. "Get me out of this thing!" He trailed off again into grumbles: "Laying traps across the path. Could've killed me. Rotten children. Rotten hobbits. Trying to kill an old man..."

[ June 09, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaid ]

06-09-2003, 12:10 PM	#55
Ealasaid Wight Join Date: May 2003 Location: under a large pile of dirt & gravel Posts: 193	Old Bill Cummerbund got up early the morning after the storm and set off for his usual hangout by the ford with a spring in his step. His joints creaked a bit and his back hurt from sleeping on his lumpy mattress, but he was in a good mood, eager to see what the storm waters had washed up. The pride of his existence, his rusty sword Thunderill, clanked against his shins as he walked. He began to whistle under his breath. It was a low, wheezy sound, but happy. When he got to the bend in the road, he decided that rather than go the long way around, he would cut through the woods, reducing the time it would take to get to the river by half. He'd done it lots of times before, so he never gave it a second thought, just lit his pipe, took a few deep puffs and plunged into the undergrowth. He was just walking along, daydreaming about the things he might find at the river -- one time he had actually salvaged a nearly full keg of pretty decent ale -- when suddenly something grabbed his foot. Thinking it was a root, he gave his foot a mighty jerk. The wire dug into his ankle. Turning around a couple of times in the attempt to find the source of the wire, Old Bill soon found himself and Thunderill thoroughly entangled. Panicking, he struggled a little bit and dropped his pipe. It lay smouldering just out of his reach. "By Thunder!" roared Old Bill, his temper getting the better of him. "When I get out of this wire, I'll catch the dirty little beggars that set it! They'll taste the wrath of Thunderill!" He trailed off, grumbling bitterly. It was then that he heard the voice of the young girl behind him: "Hi, my name is Rosie and this is my friend Falco. You seem to be caught up in our snare that we were trying to catch a coney or something in. May we help you get loose from it?" Old Bill whipped around and scowled at the two hobbits. Hobbits! Of course. His scowl deepened. "Do I look like a coney to you?!" he demanded. "Get me out of this thing!" He trailed off again into grumbles: "Laying traps across the path. Could've killed me. Rotten children. Rotten hobbits. Trying to kill an old man..." [ June 09, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaid ]