THE NORD OF THE BINGS
By Herobob
In times long past of magic, dungeons, dragons and turnips; in the land that we today call Englband, there was the Mire.
And, in this Mire, there dwelled a strange, smelly creature. These creatures were known in the Common Speech as 'Moppits'. Now, these Moppits were a small, hairy breed. They were unwanted and unwashed. This explained why they lived in a swamp, in complete isolation from civilised folk.
Of course when they named it the Mire it wasn't because of its large dung beetle population, or because of the rare tropical fruits that grew there, or even because of the odour of old socks that hung over the Mire as a thick green fog. They called it the Mire because that is what it was - a mire.
Yes, the Moppits were quite dim witted. Because of this, they tended to call anything new they discovered by the most boring name possible, what it actually was. For instance, a couple of furry little Moppits would come across a boulder lying in a field and the first one would say
"Well would'ya look at that Alf! There's a rock in my field!" And the other would reply
"Yes, Ted, I do think you're right. There is a rock in your field!" The first Moppit would wonder
"I wonder what we should call the rock?" And the second would answer
"Why! I've got just the name! Hows about 'The Rock-in-the-Field'?"
"Yes! Or 'Large grey Rock'!"
"Brilliant! But maybe 'The Tuesday Rock', 'cus today's a Tuesday and this is the day we found it!"
The conversation would carry on like this for a good half an hour before they would agree on a name, usually either one of the above or something like 'Big Grey Stone'.
So the Moppits lived out their meaningless lives. They were a small and stupid folk who lived in holes under the ground, and so they were left pretty much alone by the outside world. Men, the dominant race of Middle Turf (the great extensive land in the northwest corner of which lay the Mire) had not been near the mire for many an age, and the two races had grown so apart and concerned with their own affairs, that in the lands of men myths had grown of small animals who secreted poison from underneath their toenails, and in the Mire Moppit housewives told tales of giants who ate each other with beans and sprouts as side dishes in deadly feasts.
As it happens, men would have done well to keep their contacts with the Mire, for the day would soon come when Moppits would rule the fate of them all...dun dun duuun!!!
There was, however, one who did venture from time to time into the land of the Moppits. He was a wizard, and his name was Spamdalf. He was a dirty old man with some limited magical skill who had taken a liking to the young, innocent looking little Moppits when he had first seen them. He often traveled to the Mire and entered Fag End, dwelling of his favourite little Moppit, and stayed there for long periods of time. During these times, folk said that strange moaning noises came from the house, but that was just a rumour.
The little Moppit in question was called Dodo son of Pogo Bobbins, and he was kindly, good-natured, young Moppit who smelled faintly of fish. One fine day, Dodo was quietly humming to himself while reading a pornographic book, when suddenly he heard the roar of a twin diesel engine. Frodo was puzzled- Moppits got about by horse and cart (when they weren't walking). Who could be coming through the woods of Talcumpowder making such a racket? His question was answered when he peered from behind a tree to see Spamdalf revving up a cart that had been supped up with ten rear spoilers, triple exhaust pipes, tinted windows and, of course, a twin diesel engine. Spamdalf was coughing in the huge clouds of poisonous exhaust but soon regained his posture and drove on slowly (but not at all quietly) down the lane. Dodo couldn't believe it; his best and most exciting friend was back in the Mire! He stepped forward and said to Spamdalf "You're gay." Which was wholly true. The wizard turned slowly to him and answered "A wizard is never gay, Dodo Bobbins, nor is he secretly a woman. He is just exactly in between." There was a pause. Spamdalf began to smile his strange smile, and then Dodo randomly began to laugh heartily. He leapt from the bank he was standing on and crashed into Spamdalf, giving him a nosebleed and almost knocking him off his cart. But Spamdalf didn't mind, he loved it when little Moppits rolled around on top of him. "Have you any stories or news from the big wide world Spamdalf?" asked Dodo after he had wriggled out of the wizard's iron grip of lust. "Well now, maybe. But it is a story that I would not like to tell you, for it may prove that you are in great danger." "Do you mean...?" began Dodo, but Spamdalf interrupted "No I don't mean the lunatic killer Moppit that's rampaging round the Mire. I mean, ah, I cannot utter his name here!"
And with that Spamdalf stepped on the gas and the cart shot off up the lane, running over Rosie Cotton, and pulling up outside Fag End. He didn't know it, but by the time he next left there, Dodo's life would be changed forever!!!
To be continued...
In times long past of magic, dungeons, dragons and turnips; in the land that we today call Englband, there was the Mire.
And, in this Mire, there dwelled a strange, smelly creature. These creatures were known in the Common Speech as 'Moppits'. Now, these Moppits were a small, hairy breed. They were unwanted and unwashed. This explained why they lived in a swamp, in complete isolation from civilised folk.
Of course when they named it the Mire it wasn't because of its large dung beetle population, or because of the rare tropical fruits that grew there, or even because of the odour of old socks that hung over the Mire as a thick green fog. They called it the Mire because that is what it was - a mire.
Yes, the Moppits were quite dim witted. Because of this, they tended to call anything new they discovered by the most boring name possible, what it actually was. For instance, a couple of furry little Moppits would come across a boulder lying in a field and the first one would say
"Well would'ya look at that Alf! There's a rock in my field!" And the other would reply
"Yes, Ted, I do think you're right. There is a rock in your field!" The first Moppit would wonder
"I wonder what we should call the rock?" And the second would answer
"Why! I've got just the name! Hows about 'The Rock-in-the-Field'?"
"Yes! Or 'Large grey Rock'!"
"Brilliant! But maybe 'The Tuesday Rock', 'cus today's a Tuesday and this is the day we found it!"
The conversation would carry on like this for a good half an hour before they would agree on a name, usually either one of the above or something like 'Big Grey Stone'.
So the Moppits lived out their meaningless lives. They were a small and stupid folk who lived in holes under the ground, and so they were left pretty much alone by the outside world. Men, the dominant race of Middle Turf (the great extensive land in the northwest corner of which lay the Mire) had not been near the mire for many an age, and the two races had grown so apart and concerned with their own affairs, that in the lands of men myths had grown of small animals who secreted poison from underneath their toenails, and in the Mire Moppit housewives told tales of giants who ate each other with beans and sprouts as side dishes in deadly feasts.
As it happens, men would have done well to keep their contacts with the Mire, for the day would soon come when Moppits would rule the fate of them all...dun dun duuun!!!
There was, however, one who did venture from time to time into the land of the Moppits. He was a wizard, and his name was Spamdalf. He was a dirty old man with some limited magical skill who had taken a liking to the young, innocent looking little Moppits when he had first seen them. He often traveled to the Mire and entered Fag End, dwelling of his favourite little Moppit, and stayed there for long periods of time. During these times, folk said that strange moaning noises came from the house, but that was just a rumour.
The little Moppit in question was called Dodo son of Pogo Bobbins, and he was kindly, good-natured, young Moppit who smelled faintly of fish. One fine day, Dodo was quietly humming to himself while reading a pornographic book, when suddenly he heard the roar of a twin diesel engine. Frodo was puzzled- Moppits got about by horse and cart (when they weren't walking). Who could be coming through the woods of Talcumpowder making such a racket? His question was answered when he peered from behind a tree to see Spamdalf revving up a cart that had been supped up with ten rear spoilers, triple exhaust pipes, tinted windows and, of course, a twin diesel engine. Spamdalf was coughing in the huge clouds of poisonous exhaust but soon regained his posture and drove on slowly (but not at all quietly) down the lane. Dodo couldn't believe it; his best and most exciting friend was back in the Mire! He stepped forward and said to Spamdalf "You're gay." Which was wholly true. The wizard turned slowly to him and answered "A wizard is never gay, Dodo Bobbins, nor is he secretly a woman. He is just exactly in between." There was a pause. Spamdalf began to smile his strange smile, and then Dodo randomly began to laugh heartily. He leapt from the bank he was standing on and crashed into Spamdalf, giving him a nosebleed and almost knocking him off his cart. But Spamdalf didn't mind, he loved it when little Moppits rolled around on top of him. "Have you any stories or news from the big wide world Spamdalf?" asked Dodo after he had wriggled out of the wizard's iron grip of lust. "Well now, maybe. But it is a story that I would not like to tell you, for it may prove that you are in great danger." "Do you mean...?" began Dodo, but Spamdalf interrupted "No I don't mean the lunatic killer Moppit that's rampaging round the Mire. I mean, ah, I cannot utter his name here!"
And with that Spamdalf stepped on the gas and the cart shot off up the lane, running over Rosie Cotton, and pulling up outside Fag End. He didn't know it, but by the time he next left there, Dodo's life would be changed forever!!!
To be continued...