The Great Grand Tale of Epicness

[matril]

Twistle the Knobbut, round-faced and wide-eyed, watched in wonder as the noble figure approached his humble doorstep. Surely it could not be the High Druim himself, Aladore of Merlinia? Yet it could be none other. There was no mistaking his mighty stave of power and his flowing robes of deepest truest periwinkle blue. Twistle dropped his bag of lucky pebbles and stumbled to his feet.

"Aladore!" he squealed, waving a frantic stubby hand.

"Ah, Twistle," the Druim greeted him, peering down with his ancient, wise and sober eyes. "The shadow of the future hangs before you, while the shades of the past press against your back. The present, I fear, is naught but a whispered cry in the darkness."

"It's good to see you too, Aladore," Twistle said with a happy nod. "What brings you to our humble little village of Knobbuttondown-on-the-river?"

"Nothing good, alas, nothing good." Aladore, gripping his stave tightly, began pacing before the doorstep. "Evil is rising, good is sinking. A foul wind is picking up from the west. The south mourns the passing of fair days. Thunderstorms in the north, scattered showers in the east. Twistle, our land is doomed."

"Doomed?" Twistle said, his wide eyes widening ever further. "Aladore, whatever shall you do?"

"I?" Aladore looked down upon the trembling Knobbut with a dire frown on his heavy face. "My dear Twistle, I can do nothing at all. My power is constrained by the things which bind my strength and those circumstances which engulf my magical capabilities."

Twistle scratched his head. "Your power is...wait, what was that second part?"

"It matters not," Aladore said briskly. "It is you, and you alone, who must do what needs to be done."

"Oh, no, sir, surely not." Twistle shook his head, trembling. "You cannot mean me. I am but a lowly Knobbut, whose only skill is finding pebbles in the riverbed."

Aladore's face was weighed with sorrow and sadness. "You have no idea of your great and grand role in this land's impending doom, my brave friend." He spread his arms wide. "Let me tell you the tale of millenia past, of kings and successions and epic wars, of glorious triumphs and devastating defeats. Now then. When the All-Encompassing One cast his peerless gaze across the unformed vastness -"

"Begging your pardon, Aladore, sir," Twistle said meekly, "but are you intending to cover all seven millenia right now?"

"Oh, yes, dear Twistle. Only then will you see the ponderous march of time that has brought us to this point, at this moment of crisis."

"Yes, sir," Twistle nodded. "Just pardon me for one moment, if it's all right." He darted inside and paid a quick visit to the chamber appointed for just such urgent needs. When he emerged, feeling far better prepared, he nodded at Aladore. "Go on, sir."

"Thank you." Aladore cleared his throat. "When the All-Encompassing One..."

Comments

[sonetka.livejournal.com]

*Snerk*. I love it. You just know that when Bilbo Baggins was pining for his hobbit hole, bacon and eggs, and the sound of the kettle beginning to sing, he was also pretty darn nostalgic for indoor plumbing. (Of course hobbits had indoor plumbing! They're comfort-loving!)

[matril.livejournal.com]

It's pretty much a running gag that references to the equivalents of bathrooms are few and far between in fantasy. Of course, I'm not saying I'd like explicit descriptions either. ;P

[sonetka.livejournal.com]

Yes, I've heard jokes about it before. I think the problem is that while it would be more realistic to mention bathroom options, it's not going to do much to advance the plot unless something in it ends up hinging on a bathroom event, and I can't think of too many writers - fantasy or otherwise - who want to go there (so to speak). Though now I'm wondering how Elves do it - it doesn't seem like they should, really :). (Well, maybe once every hundred years or so, with a lovely ethereal song to distract them).