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The Quest for the
Missing Walking Stick A Walk In The Afternoon |
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Franko Bolger was a typical Hobbit. 5
meals a day would barely keep him satisfied and drinking a pint of ale in his
local public house was naturally a favorite pass-time of his. Of course, it
need not be said that Franko’s favorite way of keep
those extra pounds down, was rambling across the countryside of his beloved
Shire. This one day Franko
decided to go for a walk, after having lunch in the
Green Dragon. It was a
beautiful sunny day, one where the
Shire gleams in |
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all it’s
green pastured pleasantness. Franko was in good spirits, literally as it happens,
after drinking perhaps one pint too many for lunch. He was determined to walk it off though,
and set out at a brisk pace across the fields, headed north towards Bindbale woods. It was quite a trek to undertake but he had
no intentions of returning home that day.
A cousin, twice removed, lived up there and tomorrow was his birthday.
Also, the man had a wine cellar worthy of the Old Took and Franko hadn’t seen him for at least three moons. Over the fields and along the ditches he
tramped. Through kissing gates and up
and down stiles he went. Jumping over
streams and meandering along pleasant vales. Upon a while he would whistle
his favorite tune or hum one of his many walking songs, as he called them,
and always by his side, his trusty walking stick. The one his Grandfather had left him. The one which always seemed to help him
ramble sprightly along for hours without care. Without consciously realizing
it, his favorite walking stick had in fact become his best companion. He went everywhere with it, even to the
weekly market. His neighbors had noticed
this and thought it weird behavior for a Bolger. Unaware of their prying, Franko always seemed happy with his stick. Time wound on and soon enough it was closer
to four in the afternoon than three. Franko had bought a flagon of ale and a block of cake
with him and, feeling a little peckish he looked
for a suitable place to take a short rest. On a slight rise to the right he
spied a tree offering a little shade. Finding the ground around it to be
suitably dry he hooked his walking stick in a low hanging branch and made
himself comfortable. The afternoon was dragging on, but after eating some
cake and a swig of ale, he felt a strange tiredness overcome him. Closing his eyes, he fell into a long and
deep sleep. Elves On The Move |
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In the meantime, a group of Elves were making
their way from Rivendell to the Grey Havens, on the
far western coast. It was a group
calling themselves the Elves of Imladris. Thingol was their
cool leader, and with Lotheani and Gilenath, he led their Swoon of Elves across Eriador. They had
just arrived in the Shire, near the |
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“Hey,” mused Thingol. “Isn’t this the Two of the Elves looked at each other and nodded, agreeding that this was
in fact, the Thingol giggled. The two Elves looked at
him confused. “Get it!” cried Thingol,
with a gleam in his eye. “Brandy and Wine… al-co-hol!” The two Elves, edged slowly away from Thingol, asking if all was okay with him. In that moment Thingol
cupped some water in his hands and drank deeply. It may be said that the waters of Lothlorien are indeed sweet and energizing to the
drinker, but Hobbits have poor sanitation and like most rivers in the Shire,
the Brambles In The Dark |
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Unaware of the fate of Thingol,
and shortly after dusk, Franko awoke with a
start. “Late! So Late!” he cried. Throwing his things together he headed off at
a trot towards his cousin’s home. Oh my dear, he thought to himself. How
could I have slept so long! I have still at least an hour to go before I get
there. Without a thought for his favorite
walking stick, still hanging in
a lower branch of the tree, he |
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made his
way as quickly as possible to his cousin’s hole. Whitbur Bolger’s reputation for one of
the best wine cellars in the northern Shire was no understatement. Bilbo’s halls may be famed for being
stuffed with treasure, but Whitbur’s cellars held a
treasure of another kind. Wines of all farthings and all ages could be found
there. Some of the oldest wines still around were on stock and many from the
best years. As Franko arrived
at his Cousin’s door, all out of breath, Whitbur
was entertaining a few select guests.
He wasn’t all to pleased to have his Cousin Franko at the door, worrying about his stocks of wine,
but he could see Franko was in some distress. “My dear Franko!
Out at this late hour indeed. Come in, come in will you.” Franko bustled into the hall all a bluster. “Oh my dear Cousin Whitbur!
I fell asleep in the shade of a tree on my way up here and awoke way too late
in the evening. I’ve very nearly run for an hour to get here and now I’m all
bruised and my clothes are torn from brambles in the dark.” “Now, now, Franko,”
admonished Whitbur. “Take it easy and calm down.
You go and take those dirty clothes off and have a scrub down. You can borrow some spare clothes of mine
and then join us in the dining room.
We have just started the 3rd course. You do know I have
guests today don’t you?.” “Oh yes, of course, and happy birthday to you
my cousin. I will do as you say and be
right with you.” At the mention of a 3rd course Franko’s spirits rose considerably. Getting changed into
fresh clothes he joined the party in the dining room. There was Janko Proudfoot and his wife Berby, Mipp Bolger, also a
distant relation, and others. Everyone raised their glasses upon his entrance
and cheered after hearing about his ordeals. The party went on into the late hours of the
night and soon Franko forgot all about his
misadventure. In the morning he awoke
with a slight headache and stiff bones.
His painful muscles reminded him again of the previous days adventure and it was with a shock that he realized in
that moment that he had left his walking stick hanging in the tree. Thingol’s Regret In the meantime Thingol
was lying on his stomach. Sporadic
coughing fits shook his body. Elves
stood around in groups trying conspicuously to ignore the sounds coming from
his direction. Eventually Lotheani had had enough
and stormed off. Gilenath shuffled his feet
awkwardly and tried to look at something else. Dejectedly the other Elves
tried to make light conversation. This
doesn’t come easy to immortals which are hundreds of years old. One Elf
started off with a reference to how things were better in Gondolin.
The cold stares grew colder. The Lost Walking Stick |
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Franko quickly gave his respects and
rushed out of the house in search of his stick. He knew exactly where he had taken his
afternoon nap. Even though he had made
his way to his cousin’s home by night, he knew this countryside like his own
back yard and headed down the path in relatively good humor. It was a bright morning although a slight
late Spring chill hung in the air. Summer was coming and Franko
was looking forward to spending many days in
his garden. Last |
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years potato harvest had been
particularly good and he looked forward to setting the spuds again. With these thoughts in his mind and an idea
that the day would end up in the Green Dragon he pranced quite merrily along. About an hour and a half passed before he
reached the place he thought he’d had his nap. There was a slight rise, and
on the ground he could even see some remains of his hastily gathered meal.
What was confounding him though, and what was the cause for the bemused look
on his face was the fact that the tree had simply disappeared. It was
gone. There wasn’t even a whole in the
ground or the remains of the trunk. The earth around looked like it had been
disturbed but of the tree, and of course, the walking stick, there was no
sign. The Quest Begins Much later in the day Franko
sat, looking rather glum, in the Green Dragon. In front of him his ale was hardly
touched. His friends had tried to console
him but nothing could raise his spirits. Eventually Barbo
Hardfellow, one of Franko’s
closer friends, sat down next to him. “Listen Franko,
we’ll go out tomorrow and look for it.
It has to be somewhere around. Tree’s don’t just disappear, I’m sure it’s simply a case
of finding the right spot. We’ll get your stick back. I know how much it meant to you.” “No you don’t understand!” said Franko. “It was the right spot, and I don’t think the two
of us will be able to find it. Not two
of us or one hundred of us.” Franko was obviously inconsolable but Barbo had an idea. “Maybe that’s what you should do!
Offer a reward and I’m sure you’ll get lots of people out looking for it.
Such a thing maybe a little adventurous for us Hobbits but it’s about time something
interesting happened.” At the mention of a reward the room went
quite. Hobbits may not be the most
adventurous of folk but they enjoy a walk in the sunshine and with the
promise of a reward, which quite possibly might include a meal or two, this
was sounding interesting. In the back of the room a couple of strangers
where also taking interest in the conversation. Uber
and z0r! were down on their luck, and down on their
money. The idea of earning a reward
sounded quite appealing. Before Franko could
do or say anything he had a crowd around him. Without consultation it was
decided that the reward would be a free meal and a crate of wine chosen from
his cousin’s wine cellar. The details of what had befallen poor Franko and his lost walking stick were gone over many
times that night. In the morning the
hunt would begin. Camp In The Woods By this time Thingol
had recovered his composure and the swoon of Elves was again on the
road. They didn’t travel far that day,
and upon reaching Bindbale forest they decided to
take a longer rest this time round. In
the forest they found a brightly lit glade and made themselves
comfortable. Seemingly out of
no-where, tables and plates of food appeared and music filled the air. A small cocktail bar was set up at one end
and reclining chairs were placed around the tree stumps. “Ahhhh, this is
civilized,” sighed Thingol, as he sat down on a
squirrel which had already made it’s self at home in the reclining chair. With a screech like a toasted cat the
squirrel went ballistic and with a cry Thingol
jumped up. Somehow the squirrel had managed to scramble inside Thingol’s tunic. It is uncanny how squirrels know just
exactly where to find the nuts. Sword In The Stone |
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The following morning Uber
and z0r! headed out in search for the lost walking
stick. With them started about another
30 or so Hobbits. It was quite a commotion and local
villagers came out to see the search party head off. As the day wore on the large group split up
into smaller teams and eventually Uber and z0r! were left alone. The had a pretty
decent map of the Shire with them and had taken notes from Franko about exactly where he thought he had been. The day was |
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slightly over cast and the two half-orcs made good progress.
Their current Hobbit disguise was working very well indeed, but Uber had to keep his fangs filed down which was becoming
quite a painful process. The following morning Uber
and z0r! headed out in search for the lost walking
stick. With them started about another
30 or so Hobbits. It was quite a commotion and local
villagers came out to see the search party head off. As the day wore on the large group split up
into smaller teams and eventually Uber and z0r! were left alone. The had a pretty
decent map of the Shire with them and had taken notes from Franko about exactly where he thought he had been. The day was slightly over cast and the two
half-orcs made good progress. Their current Hobbit disguise was working
very well indeed, but Uber had to keep his fangs
filed down which was becoming quite a painful process. At around midday they reached the spot on
their map marked X, the place where Franko said
he’d left his stick, and where the tree should be. There was indeed no tree
to be seen, but Uber noticed that the earth around
had been trampled quite a bit. “Probably just from others who came here
before us.” Said z0r!, “I
tell you, over there is a forest, I bet you he fell asleep against one of the
trees on the edge. Lets go over there.” So off they went in the direction of what was
Bindbale forest. On the way there they came upon a
large polished stone. In the middle of
the stone was sword. It glowed ever so
slightly. “WoW!” Said z0r!, “Take a look at that.”
He stepped up to the sword and pulled as hard as he could. Initially nothing happened, so Uber gave it a try and pulled with all his might. Again
nothing happened and they couldn’t pull it out. “I heard you have to be level 60 to start
this quest.” Said z0r! So they carried on towards the forest. Franko Meets The Elves |
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In the meantime Franko
had also come to the conclusion that he had been closer to the forest than he
originally thought. In fact he headed straight
there in the hope of finding his walking stick before anyone else did. He wasn’t happy about the arrangements
other people had made in his name. How
was he supposed to explain to his cousin that he needed a crate of wine? He’d
reached the outskirts of the forest by now and was
combing the edge checking outlying trees and looking around
to see if he recognized the |
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landscape
at all. Wandering into the forest a little he suddenly could smell something
cooking. Also, the sounds of running and swearing could be heard from deeper
in the forest. Slowly he edged closer to the smell and
noises. About 400 yards into the
forest he saw a sight he will never forget all his life long. In a glade, where the sun shone through the
trees there was a fire blazing.
Creeping closer he saw that there was some kind of cooking apparatus
set up over the fire and on long wooden spits were small fury creatures. Suddenly an Elf burst out of the undergrowth
chasing what had to be a very frightened squirrel. The Elf stumbled over Franko and fell face first onto the ground with an loud Umphf! Dusting himself off the poor Hobbit was in a
considerable state of shock. The Elf
took one look at him and scampered off towards the clearing. All the lights
would have gone off and the fire would have disappeared if they had been of Elven magic, but the fire in the glade was of a natural
kind and most of the Elves were too busy hunting squirrels. Thingol stood near the fire, tending to
his bandages. Noticing the commotion he saw Franko
staring at him. Forgetting the way he
looked, wearing only bandages, Thingol waved at Franko and urged him to come over. The Search Continues |
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Not all that far away from this, and
completely oblivious of Franko’s miss-fortune, Uber and z0r! were creeping
along the edge of the forest looking for the walking stick. All of a sudden, z0r! let
out a small shout and knelt down on one knee.
On the ground, half hidden by a fall of leaves, he found a small gold
ring. It was very beautiful and felt
strangely heavy in his hand. |
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Uber heard his friend cry out and
turned to see what was up. Seeing the
ring glittering in z0r!’s hand a feeling of greed
came over Uber.
Leaping, he bowled z0r! over and fought to
get the ring from his hand. “Give that to me z0r!,
you know it should be mine!” cried Uber. “Alright! Alright!” Said z0r!, “You can have it, just get off me you great oaf!” Triumphantly Uber
took the ring from z0r! and put it on his index
finger. A Plea For Help |
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Franko was sitting on a makeshift stool
at the Bar in the Glade. Thingol was next to him
and they were drinking Mango Margaritas. Thingol
was on his 4th and was beginning to feel the effects. “So you lost your stick did you?” He said
thoughtfully. “Sounds like Orc mischief to me.” |
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Thingol looked at Franko
suspiciously. “Are you sure you aren’t an Orc? I mean, it makes sense right? Let me find Gilenath, I’m sure he’s got a sword with the Mob Alert
spell on it.” “I’m NOT an Orc,
Mr. Elf, I’m a H. O. B. B. I. T., Hobbit. Small
furry creature, living in holes.” Thingol stared in disbelief at Franko. “That sounds way to much like a squirrel to me, this is getting out of hand.” Careful of his wounds, Thingol stood up and shouted for Gilenath. The Lord Gilenath
had heated some water over the fire and made himself a large soapy bubble
bath. Wallowing amongst the suds he looked over at Thingol. “What the devil is the problem dear Thingol? Squirrels
at you again?” There were subdued
giggles from around the camp. “Could I have your sword, this is serious. I
need to know if this creature here is an Orc or
not.” “Looks like a Hobbit to me, but what do I
know, here take it from my stuff over there.” Thingol went over to Gilenath’s
pile of equipement and pulled the sword out of it’s sheath. “Aha!” he cried, for the sword gave off a
slight glow. “This little creature is an Orc, or
worse, a squirrel!”, and with that he turned towards Franko,
staggering slightly. A Shortcut To Mushrooms |
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“I am the Dark Lord, phear
me!” said Uber. z0r! looked at him
sideways. “Har, har! I
can’t see any difference. Come on, lets go into the
forest and see if we can find any mushrooms while we are at this. Indeed, the ring made no difference to Uber at all, so he threw it away. Into the forest they went, forgetting for a
moment the walking stick, and concentrating on the ground, looking for
mushrooms. Presently Uber stood still, scratching
his head. |
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“Look at this z0r!” He said, pointing at the
ground, which showed strange markings, like at the place where Franko thought he’d lost his walking stick. “I think these are tracks, lets see if we can follow them.” He said. z0r! was skeptical
and told Uber to go ahead, he’d be right behind him
looking for mushrooms. On Uber went,
following the strange markings on the floor. Deeper and deeper into the
forest they went. Further away from the Elves and Franko,
who was now running as fast as he could from the clutches of the drunken Thingol. They came to a stream and the tracks seem to
follow it for quite a while. z0r! was busy looking
for his mushrooms and Uber had his nose towards the
ground, trying hard to follow the tracks. So it happened that they didn’t notice
that they were entering a glade, surrounded by ancient oaks. At the far end was a low cliff with a waterfall, and next to a pool was a garden. Garden’s are strange things to find in
woods, but this garden would have been quite amazing even if it was placed
outside the Major’s house in Michel Delving. Chrysanthemums, Standard Rose’s,
Fox Glove, Geranium’s and many other flowers decorated it’s
colorful and scented rows. A noise, like that of the wind blowing through
the tree tops, but somehow more human, and deeper, greeted the two
adventures. “Scharummm, Sharaaaa! What have we here?” said Helga Greatknolls, “Hobbit’s no doubt, come a wandering into my
home looking for mushrooms.” The pair stood still, rooted to the spot by
the sound of the creature before them.
Looking up, and up, they saw a tree.
It was obviously alive and had the deepest, brownest eye’s they had
ever seen. Scared, Uber asked, ”What are you? Don’t eat us please!”. “Sharhaaa haaa haaa haaa”,
laughed Helga. “I wouldn’t eat you little Hobbit, I am an Entwife
and I love all living creatures on this earth, you have no need to fear me.” “Occasionally little Hobbit’s wander into my
home by mistake. What brings you here, so far from your homes?” z0r! had recovered
slightly and thinking quickly he asked, “We are looking for a walking stick,
it belongs to a, er, friend of ours and he misses
it very much.” “A walking stick you say?” mused
Helga “Sharummm Sharaa I
believe I have one yes indeed, found it only yesterday, hooked into my
branches while I slept in the afternoon sun. “Here is your friend’s walking stick, little
Hobbits.” She gave them the stick and then without warning picked them both
up in her huge hands. “I’ll take you to the forest edge and by the time you
get there you will have forgotten that you ever met me. There are also strange happenings in the
forest today and I’d have it that you got out safely.” Franko’s Escape Franko could tell when things were
turning bad. As Thingol
went to get the sword he made a run for it. Luckily for him Thingol was feeling the effects of the Margaritas and
fell over a tricky root. The other Elves were busy playing cards or carving
miniature wooden Gondorian soldiers. Thingol cried out, “It’s an Orc! Get him my men, er,
Elves!” Franko sprinted off into the forest,
into the gathering gloom. The Elves
roused themselves and standing behind Thingol
started to argue amongst themselves. “You go first Thingol,
he’s your find.” Said one of the Elves. “Listen, I’m your leader and when I say
charge you do it right, we’ve discussed this so often now. Please, this time,
for me, go get him! For Gilthoniel’s sake.” The last words were shouted in frenzy and
with that he stormed after Franko. Franko had a good start on them and
could run like a fox when pressed. Weaving in and out of the trees he headed
back to the Green Dragon. He ran on and on, and all the time he could
hear the cries of the Elves getting closer and closer. Eventually, in the
distance he could see the lights of the Green Dragon, glittering in the
night. The Hero’s Return Helga Greatknolls
had brought Uber and z0r! right
to the southern edge of the forest. On
the way Helga had given them both a sleeping drink which also removed any memories
of the past few hours. Putting them
down by a tree, and leaning the walking stick next to it, she made off
hastily back to her home and garden in the forest. Ten minutes later Uber
awoke with a start. Looking around he saw z0r! and
shook him awake.
“Look! That must be it, the missing walking
stick!” Uber took it and stashed it in his
backpack. “Lets get back to the Green Dragon. Come
on z0r! We’ve got the walking stick.” They headed back as quickly as they could and
came early evening back into the Ale house. Franko
and the others weren’t back yet, so to pass the time they ordered a couple of
pints and something to eat. A mysterious ranger sat in the corner,
completely ignoring them. They were just finishing off some stew when
suddenly the door burst open and in fell Franko
Bolger. Uber and z0r! stood
up and cheered. “Hey Franko, we’ve
found your walking stick!” they cried together. Franko looked at them wildly. Suddenly he grinned. Taking the stick he wielded it like a
sword. “There’s something I haven’t told you about this
simple walking stick, gentlemen.” And as he said this in burst the Elves of Imladris, lead by Thingol. “This, my friends is an uber
walking stick of thrashing.” And with that he cried z0r! and
beat back Thingol and all the Elves of Imladris out of the Ale house and back onto the street. “Begone with you,
you fiends!” He cried “I am no Orc Skum!, I am a Hobbit of good
standing and you are a bunch of drunken lords!” And with that he gave Thingol
one last thrash and the Elves of Imladris fled. The END
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