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Old 01-11-2003, 01:15 AM   #10
Diamond18
Eidolon of a Took
 
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Vogonwë skipped across the Elven Farm and nimbly bounded up the flight of 99 steps that led up to the Bovine Garden. As he crested the rise, he saw fair Merisuwyniel standing tall and shapely in the sunlight, facing Lord Gormlessar and two strange (yet handsome) looking Men. But it was not the humanoid forms that drew his attention. There, standing to the side, was a jet-black steed of the deepest, richest, inkiest ebony hue.

“Forsooth!” he cried, and all four creatures turned to look at him. “Here must be the Horse That Was Whinnying!” He advanced upon the group and declared, “I was struck by inspiration a moment ago, and then I picked myself up off the ground and composed a poem:

“A tinny whinny whistled through the farm,
The whinny was not mini, but a biggie whinny.
A biggie tinny whinny it was—”


“That is quite enough!” Halfullion interrupted hastily.

Vogonwë was quite used to this kind of treatment, and he ceased speaking without ado. He approached the impressive looking black horse and greeted it with a whinny. “Breeeeheheeeee,” he said, and then proceeded to huff and snort, toss his head and paw at the ground.

Etceteron looked on with one manly black eyebrow arched in a manly fashion. He was a little befuddled as he watched the strange looking Elf consort merrily with his horse. Baklava likes 'im better than yo-ou, Wylkynsion taunted.

Vogonwë pirouetted and turned to Etceteron. “Do I have the pleasure of addressing the master of this noble, albeit rather grumpy, jet-black steed?”

Etceteron paused to arch his other manly eyebrow, and then replied, “I am the master to whom you speak. And you...thou strangely coifed Elf?”

Vogonwë adjusted his bow proudly and said, “I am Vogonwë Brownbark, son of Geppettuil of Workmud, third cousin thrice removed of Throngduil, King of Workmud.”

Etceteron started in surprise, and pointed a manly finger at Vogonwë. “You are the Log That Was Rotting!” he cried. “I have heard the tale of the log that Geppettuil carved into a little wooden boy, and of the little wooden boy who was brought to life by the Blue Faerie. Are you the Vogonwë Brownbark the legends speak of?”

Vogonwë drew a circle in the dirt on the stones with a slippered toe, and replied, “A’yup.”

“How extraordinary,” Etceteron marveled, walking in a circle around the wood-elf.

“He moves quite well for a piece of wood,” Merisuwyniel offered sweetly. “Vogonwë, you will have to show our guests your horse mounting skills.”

“Hmmm...” Etceteron was preoccupied. “I have acquired a bit of herbal knowledge in my time, and am quite good with brews, if you take my meaning. Let me endeavor to guess: she used a mix of toadstools (or puffballs perhaps), yarrow, fennel seed, aloe vera...something...and a pinch of fairy dust? I hear that mint is a good substitution for fairy dust.”

Orogon Two spoke up, “Whatever else, it must have included dill weed. Nothing packs the punch that dill weed does.”

Lord Gormlessar yawned.

Vogonwë, for perhaps the first time in his life, was speechless. Even his mouse looked uncomfortable (though the cat was unperturbed). Vogonwë cast his gaze about helplessly, and Merisuwyniel caught it with her lovely, pallid hand.

“Good sirs, have you yet seen Master Brownbark’s excellent horse? Vogonwë?”

Vogonwë split the air with a shrill whinny, which cause Orogorn Two and Etceteron to look at him as if he were foaming at the mouth. Vogonwë paused and thumped his chest a couple times, coughing uncomfortably. The fit passed, and then there was heard an answering whinny.

A tall, noble horse came trotting into the Bovine Garden, tossing its long, silky grey-brown mane joyously. Taut, well formed horsy muscles rippled underneath the smooth, grey-brown hide. Such a beast was Pasdedeux, Mare of the Mearas, second cousin twice removed of Arod. And as she came, Baklava perked up noticeably.

Pasdedeux stopped a goodly distance from Vogonwë, and turned her hindquarters to the company. Baklava snorted and shook his mane in a stallionly sort of way.

Vogonwë then proceeded to awe and bore the company, as he mounted his horse with an amazing series of three backward summersaults and, as if that weren’t enough, an inverted pas de chat up onto the horse’s back. “Voíla! And, if I had wanted her to start running the instant I landed upon her back, I would have whistled whilst doing the inverted pas de chat,” he said proudly.

Merisuwyniel clapped, Etceteron stroked his manly chin in a manly way, and Orogorn Two wondered if the wood-elf would know where his wallet was. Baklava wished to speak to the comely mare, but forebear such action in front of the lady's freakishly bilingual master.

Lord Gormlessar yawned.

At that very moment, fair and bonny Pimpiowyn of the red-gold curls entered the Garden, munching contentedly on an apple. Vogonwë flipped himself nimbly from Pasdedeux, and greeted her, “Pimpi, my love, you have just missed a most excellent mount on my part. It was the best one I have done in a week.”

Pimpi paused as she noticed the strange (yet handsome) newcomers. She took instant notice of Orogorn Two’s impressive hair and Etceteron’s manly eyebrows. “Who are they?” she asked bluntly.

“I haven’t the slightest idea, darling,” Vogonwë told her.

Merisuwyniel made the necessary introductions, and repeated the excellent news about the Council of Roneld. Vogonwë and Pimpi were about to react to the declaration, but Vogonwë suddenly became aware of a shadow passing before the sun.

“Ai, ai!” he exclaimed.

Etceteron arched his manly brows simultaneously, and Orogorn Two inquired, “What do your Elf eyes see, Vogonwë?”

[ February 12, 2003: Message edited by: Diamond18 ]
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