ATM II RPG - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

Hookbill the Goomba · 11-09-2006, 12:16 PM

Humphrey the troll sat on a large boulder chewing an old shoe for no particular reason that he could think of. He was just about to get up and do something constructive, 'probably build a house for those ducks' he thought glancing over at a pond full of dead ducks. He breathed deep the mouldy and polluted air and coughed from the very depths of his heart. All of a sudden, a small bundle of clothes, flesh, bone and beard fell from the sky and landed on Humphrey's head.

Smilog's head swam, and, he soon realised, the rest of his body would probably benefit from the same action. The swamp water with its deceased birds floating everywhere, smelt like small room full of fat sweaty men and rotten haddock with no air conditioning. The dwarf gave a panicked cry as soon as his head popped over the surface of the swamp. Humphrey sat on the bank with his head in his hands, sulking.

"Now they're throwing dwarves at me," he muttered, "I don't like this place. First a mountain runs over my house, then a flaming bird lands in my hair," he scratched his burnt head*, "and now this! Makes you sick!" Smilog dragged himself out of the water, coughing and spluttering in an attempt to get his breath back. The troll looked at him vaguely but seemed to interested in his own affairs.

Smilog cautiously approached and said, "Excuse me?"

"What d' you want?" grunted Humphrey, "can't you see I'm busy?"

"Not really, no." admitted the Dwarf, taking a beak out of his beard, "I'm just wondering if you can tell me how to get to the Mountain." he pointed away towards Mount Zoom, its smouldering top belching forth more black smog than a thousand steam trains.

Humphrey sighed and stood up. "I suppose so." he groaned and then took hold of Smilog by the waste and began carrying him at an inhuman speed. Understandable, seeing as he was a troll, not a human.

"Let me go!" cried Smilog in terror, "Oh good grief!"

***

Andvarri led the Barrow Wight and Tollin through several passages in Mount Zoom, insisting that he knew exactly where he was going. Yet The Barrow Wight was not so sure, "We've been here five times in the last half an hour," he said as they passed Roggie's office. Tollin nodded in agreement.

The Barrow Wight pushed the door open curiously, saying, "I wonder if he has any drink left..." slowly he peered in and saw that it was temporarily empty. Grinning and letting some rotten face skin fall down to the floor, The Barrow Wight wandered in, clicking his heels with glee. With a smile that would curdle good mik, he set about relieving Roggie of as much wine as he could. "Blast it," he said at length, "I need a bottle opener."

"Will you hurry up-sss!" cried Tollin, "We're near thhe labyrintttthhhh! You knowsss what thatss doesss to me-sss!" The Barrow Wight waved him off and search on Roggies desk for anything that could help. A paper weight in the shape of a rhino head seemed like the idea ting. Placing the horn in the cork, he pulled it loose and began to drink heartily, although some of it seeped through his stomach and fell to the ground.

Staggering out, The Barrow Wight hiccupped and patted Tollin on the back and waved the paper weight in the air, saying, "I love you, rhino!" He then hit it deep in his robes and began to follow Andvarri down the corridor.

*It is a common misconception among many people that Trolls cannot grow hair. They can, but under Sauron they were not encouraged to as it weighed them down and he needed them to march quickly.

Diamond18 · 11-10-2006, 10:54 PM

Skittles watched Anakron flee. She felt a strong sense of satisfaction, for it meant (she had no doubt) that he was fleeing from her vast and impressive store of arcane Tolkien knowledge. Surely, he was intimidated by her and could not hold up under the pressure of her academically marvellous presence!

"So who's Tolkien?" asked Hissyfit.

"Who is Tolkien!" Skittles cried, alarmed that her companion knew so little of such a great subject. "Why, he is the man who created Middle-earth!"

"You mean, this Middle-earth?"

"Yes, this very Earth upon which we stand!"

"A man created the world?"

"Well, not exactly. See, it's a sub-creation."

"I don't understand. How does a man create or sub-create the Earth?"

Skittles shook her head, still apalled at Hissyfit's ignorance. "He wrote it in a story, or rather, a series of stories. Or rather, he invented the world and then wrote stories about it. Or something like that. It's been a while since I read them. I'm mainly bluffing my way through this."

Hissyfit looked at her with extreme skeptism. "So, we're in a story? How can we be in a story and also be able to read the story?"

"Well..." Skittles paused, furrowing her brow. She decided that she had no idea how to answer that question, and so dodged the point. "We're not actually in Tolkien's story, we're in a fanfiction."

"What's fanfiction?"

"Argh!" cried Skittles. She had a feeling this was going to be a very long conversation.

littlemanpoet · 11-11-2006, 02:36 PM

Anakron chuckled to himself. He was really feeling pretty good. He'd finally gotten Skittle with a good one. And what an act he'd put on. He was surprised some kind of dweomerlike shepherd's hook hadn't appeared out of nowhere and hooked him around the middle and dragged him off stage, wherever that might be.

A shepherd's hook suddenly appeared around his waist and dragged him off stage. He hadn't realized that he had been on stage. And really he wasn't, but it sounded good and fit the description if not the reality. Dragged by a hook with an unknown dragger on the other end of it, Anakron watched the world go by, with all of its SchISMatic orcs, trolls, humans, and dwarves. Lûndûn's black taxis never looked so .... black. Not to mention beyond reach.

There went Lola sauntering down the sidewalk, Dracomir and another fascinated boy positively drooling, vying for her attention. Beyond reach. Anakron suddenly knew that he was being dragged somewhere .... beyond reach! Horrors! Where would he be taken to? He could do nothing but get dragged on his ..... but maybe he could do something to stop it! Call down a konveyance! Raise his staff and twirl it like a baton! Hiss at it! Bite Sylvester in the tail! He was beginning to feel a little pained in the ..... as the plot would have it, he suddenly came to a stop. The hook came away from his waist. He never did see who it had been, dragging him all the way from nowhere to herewhere. Wherever here was! Lûndûn somewhere, he presumed. Funny. That sounded positively English. He practiced it. "Lûndûn, I presume?" He grinned stupidly. A passing student sniggered at him. He rounded on her and yelled, "Konvay!" She turned into a PrISM. He grinned. How interesting.

"ImprISMed in your own PrISM, my dear. Do you like it in there?"

She was silent. Of course. She could not move. Could not breathe. PrISMs don't breathe, they just reflect light and scatter it in all colors of the rainbow. Except that there was no rainbow because it was constantly overcast in Lûndûn.

"I daresay I'm becoming evil," Anakron said in a sudden moment of interior navel-gazing. "It rather becomes you, my dear fellow. As does this city."

He started walking, leaving the new PrISM behind, lifeless. When (and I do mean when) anyone looked at him wrong he konveyed, causing all manner of uncomfortable ISMs: sollipsism; fanaticism; fetishism ... the list was endless in content and variety. What fun.

11-10-2006, 10:54 PM	#2
Diamond18 Eidolon of a Took Join Date: Sep 2002 Location: my own private fantasy world Posts: 3,460	Skittles watched Anakron flee. She felt a strong sense of satisfaction, for it meant (she had no doubt) that he was fleeing from her vast and impressive store of arcane Tolkien knowledge. Surely, he was intimidated by her and could not hold up under the pressure of her academically marvellous presence! "So who's Tolkien?" asked Hissyfit. "Who is Tolkien!" Skittles cried, alarmed that her companion knew so little of such a great subject. "Why, he is the man who created Middle-earth!" "You mean, this Middle-earth?" "Yes, this very Earth upon which we stand!" "A man created the world?" "Well, not exactly. See, it's a sub-creation." "I don't understand. How does a man create or sub-create the Earth?" Skittles shook her head, still apalled at Hissyfit's ignorance. "He wrote it in a story, or rather, a series of stories. Or rather, he invented the world and then wrote stories about it. Or something like that. It's been a while since I read them. I'm mainly bluffing my way through this." Hissyfit looked at her with extreme skeptism. "So, we're in a story? How can we be in a story and also be able to read the story?" "Well..." Skittles paused, furrowing her brow. She decided that she had no idea how to answer that question, and so dodged the point. "We're not actually in Tolkien's story, we're in a fanfiction." "What's fanfiction?" "Argh!" cried Skittles. She had a feeling this was going to be a very long conversation. Last edited by Diamond18; 11-10-2006 at 10:58 PM.

11-09-2006, 12:16 PM	#1
Hookbill the Goomba Alive without breath Join Date: Jan 2003 Location: On A Cold Wind To Valhalla Posts: 5,912	Humphrey the troll sat on a large boulder chewing an old shoe for no particular reason that he could think of. He was just about to get up and do something constructive, 'probably build a house for those ducks' he thought glancing over at a pond full of dead ducks. He breathed deep the mouldy and polluted air and coughed from the very depths of his heart. All of a sudden, a small bundle of clothes, flesh, bone and beard fell from the sky and landed on Humphrey's head. Smilog's head swam, and, he soon realised, the rest of his body would probably benefit from the same action. The swamp water with its deceased birds floating everywhere, smelt like small room full of fat sweaty men and rotten haddock with no air conditioning. The dwarf gave a panicked cry as soon as his head popped over the surface of the swamp. Humphrey sat on the bank with his head in his hands, sulking. "Now they're throwing dwarves at me," he muttered, "I don't like this place. First a mountain runs over my house, then a flaming bird lands in my hair," he scratched his burnt head, "and now this! Makes you sick!" Smilog dragged himself out of the water, coughing and spluttering in an attempt to get his breath back. The troll looked at him vaguely but seemed to interested in his own affairs. Smilog cautiously approached and said, "Excuse me?" "What d' you want?" grunted Humphrey, "can't you see I'm busy?" "Not really, no." admitted the Dwarf, taking a beak out of his beard, "I'm just wondering if you can tell me how to get to the Mountain." he pointed away towards Mount Zoom, its smouldering top belching forth more black smog than a thousand steam trains. Humphrey sighed and stood up. "I suppose so." he groaned and then took hold of Smilog by the waste and began carrying him at an inhuman speed. Understandable, seeing as he was a troll, not a human. "Let me go!" cried Smilog in terror, "Oh good grief!" ** Andvarri led the Barrow Wight and Tollin through several passages in Mount Zoom, insisting that he knew exactly where he was going. Yet The Barrow Wight was not so sure, "We've been here five times in the last half an hour," he said as they passed Roggie's office. Tollin nodded in agreement. The Barrow Wight pushed the door open curiously, saying, "I wonder if he has any drink left..." slowly he peered in and saw that it was temporarily empty. Grinning and letting some rotten face skin fall down to the floor, The Barrow Wight wandered in, clicking his heels with glee. With a smile that would curdle good mik, he set about relieving Roggie of as much wine as he could. "Blast it," he said at length, "I need a bottle opener." "Will you hurry up-sss!" cried Tollin, "We're near thhe labyrintttthhhh! You knowsss what thatss doesss to me-sss!" The Barrow Wight waved him off and search on Roggies desk for anything that could help. A paper weight in the shape of a rhino head seemed like the idea ting. Placing the horn in the cork, he pulled it loose and began to drink heartily, although some of it seeped through his stomach and fell to the ground. Staggering out, The Barrow Wight hiccupped and patted Tollin on the back and waved the paper weight in the air, saying, "I love you, rhino!" He then hit it deep in his robes and began to follow Andvarri down the corridor. *It is a common misconception among many people that Trolls cannot grow hair. They can, but under Sauron they were not encouraged to as it weighed them down and he needed them to march quickly.

11-11-2006, 02:36 PM	#3
littlemanpoet Itinerant Songster Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: The Edge of Faerie Posts: 7,066	Anakron chuckled to himself. He was really feeling pretty good. He'd finally gotten Skittle with a good one. And what an act he'd put on. He was surprised some kind of dweomerlike shepherd's hook hadn't appeared out of nowhere and hooked him around the middle and dragged him off stage, wherever that might be. A shepherd's hook suddenly appeared around his waist and dragged him off stage. He hadn't realized that he had been on stage. And really he wasn't, but it sounded good and fit the description if not the reality. Dragged by a hook with an unknown dragger on the other end of it, Anakron watched the world go by, with all of its SchISMatic orcs, trolls, humans, and dwarves. Lûndûn's black taxis never looked so .... black. Not to mention beyond reach. There went Lola sauntering down the sidewalk, Dracomir and another fascinated boy positively drooling, vying for her attention. Beyond reach. Anakron suddenly knew that he was being dragged somewhere .... beyond reach! Horrors! Where would he be taken to? He could do nothing but get dragged on his ..... but maybe he could do something to stop it! Call down a konveyance! Raise his staff and twirl it like a baton! Hiss at it! Bite Sylvester in the tail! He was beginning to feel a little pained in the ..... as the plot would have it, he suddenly came to a stop. The hook came away from his waist. He never did see who it had been, dragging him all the way from nowhere to herewhere. Wherever here was! Lûndûn somewhere, he presumed. Funny. That sounded positively English. He practiced it. "Lûndûn, I presume?" He grinned stupidly. A passing student sniggered at him. He rounded on her and yelled, "Konvay!" She turned into a PrISM. He grinned. How interesting. "ImprISMed in your own PrISM, my dear. Do you like it in there?" She was silent. Of course. She could not move. Could not breathe. PrISMs don't breathe, they just reflect light and scatter it in all colors of the rainbow. Except that there was no rainbow because it was constantly overcast in Lûndûn. "I daresay I'm becoming evil," Anakron said in a sudden moment of interior navel-gazing. "It rather becomes you, my dear fellow. As does this city." He started walking, leaving the new PrISM behind, lifeless. When (and I do mean when) anyone looked at him wrong he konveyed, causing all manner of uncomfortable ISMs: sollipsism; fanaticism; fetishism ... the list was endless in content and variety. What fun.