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  1. #1

    [Daydreams, thoughts, daily life]

    [For the little stories. Let's hear a brief moment of your character's life.]

    And so it was that a frog landed on Bonkadoc's face. Typically Froggy slept outside in a pond of water lilies,
    but alarmed he sought for security. There was nothing compared to him.

    In a burrow, a hobbit wrinkles his nose, snoring louder.

  2. #2
    ---
    Last edited by Bonkadoc; Jul 15 2018 at 04:23 AM.

  3. #3
    Delving in his vegetable patch, Flinders is struck by a frission of excitement. Remembering what Pansy Tunnelly said about Golfimbul, his hands tremble as he examines a pointy rock. Of course this can't be that self-same invader's tooth (it lay too far from the Greenfields), but could it be the tooth of a lesser Goblin? Maybe a long-dead Goblin scout?

    In a violent movement that is both a start and a stop, Flinders restrains himself in order to think a moment. Surely Rue Goodbody was jesting when he overheard her say, "If that Flinders Peachtree brings one more piece of "antiquarian" refuse into this Mathom House, I'll bar his entry."
    Last edited by StoatMandible; Jul 14 2018 at 06:55 PM.

  4. #4
    Water was warm. So warm, in the Bywater pond.

    It was the best summer. Bonkadoc is in the pond, floating about to his hearts' content.

    Not many hobbits were around. In fact, none. It was not usual for hobbits to swim here. Or anywhere.

    As Bonkadoc lets out a few bubbles, something flutters about him. He absentmindedly takes his hand out from the water, and he cant help his sharp reflexes as they take hold onto a paper.

    It says Harnkegger VII.

  5. #5
    Jodrell Bankhead stoops for a stone.

    “Really,” she thinks, “this is too handsome to hurl. It would make a nice boss on that old shield Flinders has asked me to tinker on.”

    She places the stone in the pouch at her waist, where it joins an obsidian marble, a counterfeit gold coin, and the spigot from a liberated cask of Gunderic’s Ale.

  6. #6
    "Shoo"

    "Get off!", a small hand tries to grab a squirrel.

    It runs away. It had been like that all day.

    Annoyed, Bonkadoc tries to focus on a sheet of paper, grabbing all his writing instruments and keeping them close to his chest.

    He should come up with something to say for his traditional Yuletide speech, but his mind was elsewhere.

    Because you see, there was this lass he had met in Hobbiton, part of the same group of hobbitlings, when they were young.
    They had studied their letters and numbers under the tree. Bonkadoc and she, even had lead roles in a play, arranged by their mistress.
    But then she had moved at an early age to Bree, because of her parents.

    Wholly heartbroken, he had looked up to his grand-uncle and his farm. For twenty years he took care of the turnips, and grew to love them, and they grew to love him.

    He then sent her a letter. There was a reply, she did remember him, it said. But while thanking him of the letter, she could not see much in common with a turnip farmer.
    Last edited by Bonkadoc; Nov 03 2018 at 12:37 AM.

  7. #7
    Flaxen grips the fence rail and leans over conspiratorially.

    “I tell you, it’s true. He was actually floating there, just like a log. I was about to run and tell the Bounder to fetch a billhook when suddenly he moved. Not a darn thing wrong with him that I could see. Well, apart from the obvious.”

    Flaxen seems suddenly to remember the satchel resting on her hip. “Well, this post isn’t going to deliver itself”, she says with a wink, and continues down the lane.

 

 

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