SimonDoom
Kink Lord
- Joined
- Apr 9, 2015
- Posts
- 17,185
I am, but your mind went somewhere that hadn't even occurred to me. Kudos.
Writing exercise 8: fairy tales
- Thread starter StillStunned
- Start date
I am, but your mind went somewhere that hadn't even occurred to me. Kudos.
StillStunned
Writing...
- Joined
- Jun 4, 2023
- Posts
- 6,019
Here's the start of a story I started a while ago, but I doubt I'll ever get round to finishing it.
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“Stay away from Riverbend Glade.” Every gnome in the Forest knew the rule. “Stay away from Riverbend Glade, on peril of life and soul.”
No-one knew why this was. The Forest was full of dangers. Trolls lurked under the steep banks of the streams and brooks. Anyone wandering alone might be caught by dwarves to work the smoking mines, or by elves to be herded on board a flying ship and never seen again. Pixies and sprites could mesmerise a gnome to feed to their Life Trees.
And then there were the wolves, the bears, the boars, the great wildcats, the giant owls and eagles, and the rapids in the River and the swampy marshlands that in the summer stank of death and decay, where stingflies swarmed and great toads lurked in the mud, waiting to snatch an unsuspecting wanderer with their tongues.
So whatever made Riverbend Glade particular dangerous, the warning was taken to heart. No gnome from Low Hill or Round Top or Long Rise had ventured there in generations. Fishing boats always took the bend in the River along the far bank, and the area inside the bend was easy enough to avoid from the land side.
“Stay away from Riverbend Glade.” It was as much a fact of life as the sun rising in the east every morning and setting in the west, as the turning of the seasons from spring to summer and autumn and winter. “Stay away from Riverbend Glade, on peril of life and soul.”
===
“Stay away from Riverbend Glade.” Every gnome in the Forest knew the rule. “Stay away from Riverbend Glade, on peril of life and soul.”
No-one knew why this was. The Forest was full of dangers. Trolls lurked under the steep banks of the streams and brooks. Anyone wandering alone might be caught by dwarves to work the smoking mines, or by elves to be herded on board a flying ship and never seen again. Pixies and sprites could mesmerise a gnome to feed to their Life Trees.
And then there were the wolves, the bears, the boars, the great wildcats, the giant owls and eagles, and the rapids in the River and the swampy marshlands that in the summer stank of death and decay, where stingflies swarmed and great toads lurked in the mud, waiting to snatch an unsuspecting wanderer with their tongues.
So whatever made Riverbend Glade particular dangerous, the warning was taken to heart. No gnome from Low Hill or Round Top or Long Rise had ventured there in generations. Fishing boats always took the bend in the River along the far bank, and the area inside the bend was easy enough to avoid from the land side.
“Stay away from Riverbend Glade.” It was as much a fact of life as the sun rising in the east every morning and setting in the west, as the turning of the seasons from spring to summer and autumn and winter. “Stay away from Riverbend Glade, on peril of life and soul.”
