The Barrow Downs Newspaper

[Lhunardawen]

The interviewer reminds me a lot of davem, Alien sounds exactly like I imagined, Phantom sounds nothing like I imagined, and the visual quality of the cartoon is quite endearing - I especially love how the characters glide. Excellent job, Hookbill.

[Oddwen]

A wonderful animation Hooky - well worth waiting for.

[TheGreatElvenWarrior]

Yay! That was a great Phantom and Alien! That was a cool film...
And I haven't been on recently so umm...
Those were awesome stories for the past few Downers, they made me laugh so much!

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Originally Posted by Lhunardawen

The interviewer reminds me a lot of davem, Alien sounds exactly like I imagined, Phantom sounds nothing like I imagined, and the visual quality of the cartoon is quite endearing - I especially love how the characters glide. Excellent job, Hookbill.

The Interviwer is called 'Mr. Bloke'
Yes, well, my brother did most of the work. He's the animation guy round here. Phantom 'glides' because he's a ghost and Alien is... A big... slimy... thing.
How did you imagine The Phantom to speak? I've always picture him with a British accent, but then again, I'm probably just bias. (I do know that the phantom isn't British, however)

Coming soon:

The John Fillis Action figure. All the Kids will want one.

[The Might]

LOL, great stuff at the end

[the phantom]

Quite right- I'm not British.

But oddly enough I've had a British accent since birth. My first word was "Wimbledon". It was quite a shock to my parents, but they soon grew accustomed to it.

And did you have to make me exit via the window, Hookbill? It really hurt.

Fantastic cartoon though!

[Valesse]

Hilarious as usual, Hookbill, glad to see you back!

[Lhunardawen]

Originally Posted by Hookbill the Goomba

Phantom 'glides' because he's a ghost and Alien is... A big... slimy... thing.

It would probably be wonderful if he trails slime as he glides slimily.

How did you imagine The Phantom to speak? I've always picture him with a British accent, but then again, I'm probably just bias. (I do know that the phantom isn't British, however)

I have nothing against the British accent, I think it's cool. But I don't know, maybe I imagined a bit deeper voice or something.

[TheGreatElvenWarrior]

Hookbill,
If The Phantom is a ghost, then why did he break the glass in the window? And why didn't he fly out through another exit... I know the window was the obvious choice, but he's from a comic strip...

I will be done with my rant now...

[Hookbill the Goomba]

It's Monday again, (here in Blighty anyway).
Thanks to some ghostly chap in a blue cloak for the mini headlines.



Based on an idea by mr phantom.

[Kath]

Conspiracy? Link with Faceless Evil? Me?! Well dang it, you've discovered my evil plan.

[Thinlómien]

All too funny - all of it. But I must say that the McCaber article amused me the most.

And as I was asked, well, hadn't she confessed, I wouldn't have believed there to be a connection between Kath and the Faceless Evil...

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

This was really great, but what amused ME the most was the Nogrod mini-headline And I only just had chance to look at the video, too. It is amazing

[THE Ka]

Lovely article on McCaber, btw. The picture, is priceless. I'm going to have to give an aesthetic award for this Downer press photo: He's shown so clear and noble... He's bad, but he's been shamed. So I like it.

~ Reference in reference Ka

[Hookbill the Goomba]

With week #100 just three weeks away, I'm still accepting articles and whatnot for the extra special edition! If you want to be a part of this unpopular abomination to literature, then please, PM your stuff to me at some point or other. Even if you just have a fun picture you'd like included, or an advertisement.

Remember the good old film reviews? Well, I have a challenge to go with week 100. If you fancy yourself as a film critic, drop me a PM and I'll send you a film poster. Give me your review and it'll be in the paper! How does that sound? Plugging my own work? Why, yes I am!

[Nogrod]

Originally Posted by Legate of Amon Lanc

This was really great, but what amused ME the most was the Nogrod mini-headline

Now who's being leaking out the secret?

[Hookbill the Goomba]

This week, a true disaster has struck!



The Phantom soon realises that things never work out the way you expect them to with Alien...



I'm still accepting articles and things for week 100.

Moreover, if you write an article or something for the Oxonmoot paper, I will make you a spceial Downer Press Pass and laminate it (if you're going to the moot, of course). It will look something like this (only better)...

[Hookbill the Goomba]

I think it's high time I let everyone know how lucky they are to have The Downer Newspaper to read. Look at the rave reviews:

"Certainly printed on paper!"
- The guardian

"Not as bad as a smack in the face"
- Sir Humphrey

"Terrible"
- The Daily Liar

I mean, it's not like the competition is up to much...



And their comic strip is just... well... judge for yourselves...

[Rune Son of Bjarne]

Thanks Hookbill you have opened my eyes to how lucky we all are to have The Downer as our main source of information.

I just realise that I have not turned off my computer all week (is very ashamed) since the web-browser where i initially read this weeks downer is still open. . .it is because I simply did not know how to react, my mind simply could not cope with being in the downer twice in one week.

All I can say is that it really was a mistake, it was supposed to be my famouse 9-poison beef. . .

[Oddwen]

Hmm...first pass I read that headline as "A Day With Out Legate"...dangit.

[Groin Redbeard]

A day with Legate! How do I sign up?

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Oh Hookbill, really, you did well to make us aware of the qualities of the Downer.
Groin, surely you don't believe The Barrow! They know just what's the best to make the newspaper sell well but...

Originally Posted by Oddwen

Hmm...first pass I read that headline as "A Day With Out Legate"...dangit.

Am I to take this personally?!

[Eönwë]

Originally Posted by Legate of Amon Lanc

Am I to take this personally?!

Maybe it should be read as "A day out with Legate- We're all going to die!"
Why Legate, why? How could you do this to us? Will somebody please think of the children! (And other Downers)

edit: Until now, I didn't realsie what Oddwen said. I even read what she said as "A day out with Legate".

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Yes, we are but a week away from the unexpected, unbelievable, uninteresting and unwanted 100th edition of The Downer Newspaper!

But will The Downer survive the next week? Strange things are afoot. Keep watching this thread for the exciting adventure leading up to next Monday!



This week, The Phantom give us the lowdown...



So, if you have an article, puzzle, poem, film review (pokes Gwathagor and The Elf-Warrior), send them to me before Sunday (that's when I'll be putting the final touches to it). Remember, The Downer was invented with the intention that everyone could join in with news. Post a story on the thread or PM me if you want it on the front page (or inner pages, depending on how much space I have).

[Gwathagor]

Ow.

[Groin Redbeard]

How did ya’ll know I’m a fanatic about change?! I swear, Hookbill, not only are you an excellent reporter but you’re also a Psychic! Oh, thanks for the tip about Bread Beard, I’ll teach him to mess with my money grubbing ways!

It looks like The Barrow Wight has really gotten himself into a pickle. I can barely wait to see how it all turns out!

Good luck on your story, Gwathagor, I can’t wait to read it all!

[Oddwen]

Thaaaaat picture scares me...I'ma go hide in my mausoleum now.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Hookbill opened his eyes and mumbled to himself. Pulling his duvet closer he crawled out from under his desk, wiping the moldy tea stains off his chair before sitting down. Staring at the door he bobbed his head at every tick of the clock until it struck nine o'clock. There was a knock on the door-window; the backwards (from Hookbill's perspective) 'Editor' sign was chipped away a little by a hand wearing a gauntlet.
"Come in," sighed the Goomba, "What is it, Workm'n?"
A skinny Wight with green skin and red hair hobbled in. His left leg was bleeding quite badly, probably due to the spike sticking out of it. Hookbill raised an eyebrow.
"It's the latest style, sir," Workm'n assured him with heavy intakes of breath, "It's fine- REALLY- it's fine..." He was sweating more than normal, but the Editor lent back and blew an unnecessarily long raspberry.
"What have you got for me?"
"Well sir," Workm'n pulled a folder out from under his jacket and rifled through the pages before pulling one out; "Dog discovered having affair with Elven chiefs?" Hookbill nodded.
"Okay, print it up. Have the full story on my desk by Friday. I won't read it, I just like having things on my desk." Workm'n bowed and trotted out of the office.

Hookbill's office smelled. Not badly, really, just strange; uncanny, some said. It was something to do with the two year old jaffa cakes lodged in the walls, the old cat food on the ceiling, the fact that Hookbill had never had a cat and the lingering scent of rotten milk. The piles of empty tea cups on and around his desk had built up a complex social-economic system of bacteria and flies who now had well established trade routs with the bins.
Tapping a well chewed pencil against his forehead, the Editor grumbled something about 'wasps in the pipes'. He threw the pencil in the general direction of the bins and pressed the 'a' key on his typewriter. It was a cold, dark, tangled contraption. There was not the regular 'click-click' sound when he began typing. It was more of a 'squelch'.
He stopped and sniffed. A rich yet musty smell was emerging from behind the door. Like the mixture of strange plants, warmed or burning in a pipe or bong. There was a scream. Sighing, he picked up his intercom (an empty soup tin with a piece of string attached to it).
"Spawn, let Mr Davem into my office."
"I'm not your bleeding secretary!" she replied. A second later, the other soup tin was resting on Hookbill's office floor surrounded by the glass of the door-window. Davem popped his head through and shook his long silver hair, getting it tangled in the glass shards.
"Hey dude," he said with his eyes obviously seeing things that weren't there, "did you see that? Man! It was all like; wooaaahhh! Man, I could, like, feel the glass, man!"
"I see," Hookbill picked up another pencil and began chewing, "what can I do for you, officer?"
"I was just sent here to, like, urm..." he stopped and pushed the door open. Stumbling forward, he brushed down his flower patterned waist coat and torn up jeans. The dandelions in his pockets fell out and bounced off his bare feet. "What's the word?" he pondered, "begins with, like, a 'D'..."
"Defecate?"
"No, man, I did that in your car."
"What? Since when do I have a c- never mind... Delouse?"
"It's 'Des'... 'Destram'? 'Distr- Distul- Distract! That was it! Distract you!"
Hookbill's mouth opened, but before he could put together the right motor functions to speak, a flash of light filled the room.

Stumbling through the smoke, the Goomba coughed and cursed. The wooden beams once holding up the ceiling were now cast across his desk, splitting it open to reveal a complex ant colony. Scrambling forward on all fours, Hoobill blinked as a figure loomed over him. It was carrying a baton and grinning. The orange hair flickered in the flames as Lalwende raised her weapon and brought it down on the Editor's helm-less head.

There was a lot of grass. Grass, and cows. He knew there were cows. One was licking his face. Rolling over, Hookbill found his face falling into some dung. Swearing, he lurched up and headbutted the cow. It moaned and fell over, almost crushing his legs. With a yelp, he jumped to his feet and blinked. The field was flat, wide and lacking in hills.
"This isn't The Barrow Downs," he observed, "where on Middle Earth am I?"
"Safe," said a voice, like a well trained British actor who had gotten a little drunk, "for now at least. I have the finest wines available to humanity! Do you want some?" He emptied the last of it into his invisible mouth. "Blast. Look at me! I'm in a field and I'm practically dead... Wait..." he waved the bottle and examined the few drops. He threw it away. "there wasn't much in it, there's nothing left for you."
The Phantom waved his bottle in the air. His dark blue robes were covered in dirt and blood. He bore a bandage on one arm and one of his glowing white eyes was dimmer than the other. He fished in his pocket and flung a newspaper at Hookbill.
"What's this?" he asked,
"Something has to be done!" He staggered to his feet, "We can't go on like this! I'm a trained actor, reduced to the states of a bum! Nothing that 'reasonable members of society' demand as their rights! No houses, no food, no palantirs! Much more of this and I'll apply to meals on wheels!"
"What happened to your cartoon serise?"
"That's what I want to know! What happened to my agent? The idiot must have died!"
As Phantom ranted and raved, Hookbill opened the paper and gasped. He had never seen a headline like it. Reading on, he began to see what had happened to The Phantom. Though some questions were still unanswered...



Tune in Tomorrow for the continuing story!

[Eönwë]

All worship the master... Hey!Stop!Get off!I'm innocent, I say, innocent!

[Groin Redbeard]

I must say things have taken a turn for the worse here in the Downs, if that can even be possible.:; Don't worry Hookbill you have our support, we are all behind you (way behind you).

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The Phantom smashed his wine bottle against the tree and stomped up and down in front of it, crunching the shards with his large boots. The birds settled in the branches above his head and began chattering; Phantom swore at them and waved his arms until they flew away. He muttered something about ‘spies’ and then sat down.
Hookbill put the paper down and rubbed his eyes. He suddenly noticed he had been wearing different clothes. It was the itching of the cotton shirt that first alerted him; it was grey and full of holes, covered in dust and specs of blood. On the sleeve it bore a number ‘124616’ followed by a frowning face.
“What are we doing out here?” Hookbill stared at The Phantom, “What the heck is going on?”
“Bad things,” The Phantom got up and groaned, “very bad things are happening. You see-” he stopped and looked behind the Goomba, “Ah! You took your time you lazy idiot.” A slimy green creature slid across the plain; it had a long head with two blue eyes, wide and shallow, not much of a body, just a long neck like continuation going all the way to the ground where there was nothing but a splat of slime.
Alien was carrying a box tied up with ribbon. He had no arms, but the box seemed to float in front of him as if being levitated. The creature hummed to itself and laughed occasionally. Phantom rolled his eyes and pushed past Hookbill.
“What did you get?” he asked, “Did you get more wine?”
“I gots us some magic beans!” said Alien triumphantly, “They tastes like oranges!” Opening the box he revealed six tangerines, a bit of string and four rocks that looked a little bit like Alien’s head. The Phantom growled and stamped up and down in front of Alien, ranting and raving some more.
“Look,” said Hookbill at last, “can you just explain to me what on Middle Earth is going on. What happened to my office? What happened to my clothes? What about my ants?”
“Oh, they went boom!” Alien grinned, “I saw it myself!”
“Come on, let’s find somewhere less conspicuous.” Said The Phantom.

The Dead Face Inn had no walls. The ceiling was upheld by four poles, one in each corner, but the wood was quite damp, woodworm infested every square inch. The Phantom sat down in a large armchair near the centre of the parlour, raising his feet on a stool and signalling to the waiter. Alien pottered around stealing money from unsuspecting men and Hobbits.
From their seats they could see the first hills of the Barrow Downs on the horizon to the north. Dark, heavy clouds hovered over the land like a fat bat ready to burst and annoy everyone. The damp air stung their skin as the cold wind whistled through the Inn. Hookbill shivered and settled down next to the fire Alien had started using the money he had stolen. The few men who complained were soon eaten or frightened off.
“Macalaure took over the Downs,” began The Phantom, “but, it wasn’t Macalaure, not anymore, anyway.”
“Pardon?” Hookbill nearly knocked over the waiter as he brought their drinks, “I’m used to crazy stories, but try and make sense.”
“Do you remember the headline for week eighteen?”
Hookbill thought for a moment and then said, “No.”
Phantom fished in his pockets again and then flung another Newspaper at the Goomba. ‘Millions Suffer from Fake Epidemic’ was the headline. He nodded and peered back at his companion as his eyes flashed brighter for a second.
“Gimli’s Chin,” Phantom hummed, “turns out it wasn’t fake after all. At least, not in some cases. You see, the bacteria that caused the condition only attacked Bearded Wights.”
“That explains the Beard tax.”
“Indeed. You see, throughout the last ninety nine weeks you have accidentally uncovered a great conspiracy! It all began when Littlemanpoet took over the world; he was where the virus originated.”
“I thought it was a bacterium.”
“Shut up!” Phantom thumped the side of his chair and snatched a mug of ale from the waiter, “Listen, LMP caught Gimli’s chin and then became a megalomaniac. After it left him it took another host, but the result wasn’t quite as it had expected. The subject died, the coffin was left on a hedge in the Downs. The corpse was taken by the police for examination and that’s where it took its next host.”
“Davem?”
“Indeed. Fortunately, the megalomania didn’t take hold; the bizarre blend of illegal and dangerous substances in his system already prevented him from being too dangerous. But we think that The Saucepan Man knew something of it. That’s why he introduced the Beard tax. That knocked that virus back a bit until it some how got into parliament and infected… The Barrow Wight Himself.”
“But, he never had a beard!”
“That was the great advantage, and it probably saved us great troubles. The virus left the BWH when he was kidnapped in week thirty. That’s where we lose track of it, until now. Macalaure has Gimli’s chin. While he has the virus in him, he’ll have the power to control the Barrow Downs so much so that he will plunge us back into the Dark Times.”
Hookbill lent back in his chair and took a sip of the drink which had suddenly appeared at his elbow. The Inn was deadly quiet except for the crackling of the fire and the laughs of Alien as he drained all the Beer Barrels into a baby’s mouth. Looking at the Frowner Newspaper, Hookbill stroked his nonexistent stubble. He flicked through to the latter pages and examined the cartoon.



“What I don’t understand is why they attacked my Newspaper,” Hookbill mumbled, “It’s not like I have a problem working for tyrannical leaders.”
“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Phantom stood up and threw his empty mug at Alien, “come on, stupid, we’ve got work to do.”
Just then, a knife shot through the air and stuck into Phantom’s chair. A thin Wight with dark hair and dressed in a blood stained tuxedo stood grinning at the ‘door’ to the Inn. In his hand was a drenched carving knife. Wiping his glasses, Anguriel stepped into the Inn and laughed.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I can’t allow you back in the Downs.”

TO BE CONTINUED’ED

Every day until Monday you'll get another episode of The Story So Far! Be on the look out for clues, plot holes and guest appearances from surprise members!

[Groin Redbeard]

I'm really enjoying this whole story, and I am dieing to see you this all turns out. Great work Hookbill!

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The Plight of Trampbill the Goomba continues...



Tossing the knife in the air, Anguriel chuckled and grinned. He caught it again as it came down and stepped closer to The Phantom and Hookbill. Several tables were upturned as the other occupants of the Inn fled, tossing their drinks into the air. Phantom narrowed his eyes as the ale seeped into the ground. The floorboards creaked as their attacker approached, tossing the knife from hand to hand and bobbing his head.
With a swift turn, Phantom gripped Alien and pulled him in front as a barrier between him and Anguriel. The slimy creature had ice-cream all around his mouth as well as melted cheese and bits of soil. A small child wailed as Alien dropped him.
“Make yourself useful!” shouted Phantom, “Do something!” he pushed Alien forward. Shaking his head to relive himself of the ice-cream and cheese, Alien picked up a chair and slimed forwards. He lifted it up and then… he began to eat it.
Phantom slapped himself on the forehead and dragged his hand down his face. Shoving Hookbill out of the way he ran out of the Inn through one of the nonexistent walls. Anguriel swore and threw the knife after The Phantom, but he was already too far away.

Darting over the rocks and fallen trees lining the path towards the Barrow Downs, Hookbill panted and groaned. The shadow of The Phantom was already turning a corner into a valley between two hills. Turning his head Hookbill yelped. Anguriel was sprinting along at an alarming speed, sending dust up in front and behind. The Goomba turned around again only to run into the back of The Phantom.
Coughing, they got up off the ground. Before them was a net. It was badly disguised under a pile of leaves. They traced around it and continued to run. They went four steps before they heard a ‘snap’ followed by muffled cursing.
Anguriel’s knife clattered to the floor as he wriggled and writhed in the net. There was a rustling sound above and out of the bushes, a tall, slender Penguin appeared, dressed in bright blue robes and carrying a spear. She was accompanied by a smaller Penguin with green feathers and clothes. The first Penguin began poking Anguriel with the blunt end of her spear.
“Is this yours?” she asked,
“No,” replied Phantom, “I thought you were helping more Wights escape the concentration camps, Lommy.”
“I was,” she continued poking Anguriel, “but as soon as I heard you’d been spotted breaking Hookbill out of jail, I knew they’d send him after you.”
“I am here you know!” shouted Anguriel, “I do have a name!”
“Shut up,” The Phantom prodded him, “traitor!”
“Oh that’s nice!” he groaned, “I’d like to see you refuse the promise of your own clothes-”
“That doesn’t sound so special,” said Hookbill,
“Let me finish! Clothes made of GOLD!”
“Fair enough.”
Lommy and Greenie spoke in whispers for a moment before wandering to where the ropes suspending the net were attached to the ground. Taking out small, clean knives they cut them and Anguriel plummeted to the ground and landed with a thump. The dust covered him over for a moment and he lay groaning and fidgeting.
“Any news from The Doctor?” asked Lommy, staring into The Phantom’s bizarre eyes, “I’ve not seen him since Tuesday.”
“Me neither. I think he may be dead.”
“Where’s Alien?” Greenie looked around apprehensively, “I don’t want another trip to Bree Hospital!”
The Phantom shrugged and waved vaguely in the direction of the Inn. The two Penguins tied Anguriel’s hands and put another rope around his neck. Greenie made a remark about him looking like ‘a Gollum’. Hookbill sat on a rock and put his head in his hands. The sun was fading over the horizon and the storm clouds over the Downs were getting thicker. Thunder rolled and the sound of stereotypically evil laughter was carried along the freezing winds.
Lommy clambered up into the bushes above and rustled around for a moment before returning with two packs. She removed from one of them a pair of fish and set them down on a cloak Greenie had laid down. The Phantom grumbled as he was handed a tinder box. Just as he got a fire going, light rain began to drizzle down like a thin curtain. Shouting with rage, he stamped on the fire and sat down with folded arms. Lommy picked up the tinder box and began striking it onto the driest wood; hiding it under some further wood and dried grass proved enough to set it going. Huddling around it they sat in silence for some time, their eyes ever on the embers and flames as they licked higher and higher.
Once they had eaten some fish and had a short rest, they turned their attention to Anguriel. He was fumbling with the rope, but Lommy poked him again.
“What do we do with him?” asked Hookbill, “Will he really talk?”
“Eventually,” said Greenie with a wink, “Pengish people have ways of opening closed tongs… Literally.” Anguriel made a muffled shriek.
“Just tell us,” began Lommy, “where are they keeping The Saucepan Man?” Anguriel shook his head and tried to run away. The Phantom pulled on the rope and yanked him back by the neck.
“In a warehouse!” Anguriel coughed as he rubbed his sore neck, “But you’ll not get close! It’s guarded by… Well, you’ll find out.”
Hookbill was pulling some sticks together and attaching them with bits of string. Laying leaves on top of it he managed to make a crude umbrella. Trotting forward he stood near the others as they interrogated Anguriel. He was fretting and mumbling most of his answers, begging them not to take away his gold.
“Why do we need The Saucepan Man?” asked the Goomba,
“Not now!” shouted The Phantom, “I’ll explain later!”
At that moment, Anguriel leaped up and dived past them, landing on the little fire. His bonds (as well as his clothes) burst into flames. Screaming, he darted off up the hill, waving his arms in the air. Greenie gave chase, but her little Pengish legs could not keep up. She lent forwards and put her flippers on her hips, puffing and panting with annoyance.
“See what you did?” Phantom bellowed, gripping Hookbill by the shoulders, “He was about to break! Now we’ll never know what’s guarding the Warehouse!”
“Oh come along,” said Lommy, “we’ll find out sooner or later.”

The rain was pounding on their heads like drops of led. The Phantom stuffed his hands deep into his pockets and hunched his shoulders while Lommy and Greenie plodded on in front. Hookbill’s umbrella was falling apart; the ferocity of the rain was tearing through the leaves and forcing large gaps to open up.
All of a sudden, Lommy signalled for them to get down on the ground. They crawled up the hill and peered down into the next valley; there, standing behind the thick rain curtain, was a wooden warehouse. It looked like a cottage, but larger and with a flatter roof. There were dark shapes moving around it. A flash of yellow eyes would occasionally startle them. Hookbill gulped and lowered his umbrella; the wet ground had already drenched him and he groaned a little as the rain began to hit his head. Lommy scowled.
They crept down, shuffling through the slippery grass, tall enough to conceal them for now, but the closer they got to the house, the shorter the blades became. The Phantom closed his eyes; their glow was sure to attract unwanted attention. Lommy stopped and turned her head back and forth.
“Something’s not right,” said a voice,
“Shh!” said Lommy, “we don’t want them to find us.”
“Who? Us?”
“Yes, us!”
“No, I mean, you don’t want us to find you.”
A long, hairy face poked out over the top of the grass. The bright yellow eyes flickered like candle flames. Hookbill quivered and turned to run away. He fell flat on his face in front of another large, hairy shape.
“Blast,” said The Phantom, “It wasn’t a Warehouse; it was a Were-house!”

TO BE CONTINUED’ED

Tune in tomorrow for the excitement, adventure and annoyance of... The Story So Far!

[Eönwë]

Wow! I'm hooked!

edit: no pun intended, seriously!

[Groin Redbeard]

That picture of you sure is life like, we have someone who looks like that hanging around the corners in town. Your a natural bum!

[Volo]

Originally Posted by Groin Redbeard

That picture of you sure is life like, we have someone who looks like that hanging on around the corners in town. Your a natural bum!

At least he's not cutting off Legate.

[Eönwë]

Originally Posted by Groin Redbeard

Your a natural bum!

Don't go 'round saying that to him, he's English, and we don't use it for tramp!

[the phantom]

Quite the tale you are spinning, Hook. I can't wait to see what happens next!

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Hookbill’s eyes flicked open. He closed them again immediately. The long, wrinkled face of a Werewolf bristled in front of him, blowing its foul breath into his face. The ropes around the Goomba’s hands were beginning to cut into his skin as was the filthy gag on his face; it was an old Clough covered in dust and dirt and a little sick.
“Would you care to explain what this is?” the voice was raspy and harsh. Hookbill opened one eye and held his mouth closed tight. The Werewolf was snarling and leaning closer to his face. With one swift slash of its claws, it removed the gag.
“It’s an umbrella!” Hookbill yelped at last, “At least, it was until your henchman sat on it!”
“Doesn’t look like a very good umbrella.”
“Yes, well, I’m not selling it.”
“Don’t tell them anything!” shouted Lommy from somewhere behind, “Fight the power! Don’t tell them anything!”
“I don’t know anything!”
The Werewolves sniggered and pointed at Hookbill. He frowned.
A Tall Werewolf with what looked like a long white beard wandered into the room with his thick hands behind his back. Sniffing the air, he peered at the captives and chuckled. The Phantom growled and began rocking in his chair.
“There must and shall be aspirin!” he shouted, “My head feels like a pit s-”
“Gentlemen,” said the new Werewolf, “and Penguins. Welcome to our house. I trust you will enjoy our hospitality. You will receive food, drink and sound advice before…” he hummed and tapped his head, “before we dispose of you.” The wolves chuckled. Kneeling down besides Lommy, the leader sniffed and spat, “Now, you were trying to find the heretic known as The Saucepan Man, weren’t you?”
“Would you like a drink?” said Phantom,
“Shut up you!” said another wolf, sneering close to Phantom’s invisible nose,
“I have a heart condition,” he said, “If you hit me, its murder!”
“I’ll murder the lot of you!”
“My wife is having a baby!” Phantom lied with faked tears, “listen, I don’t know what my fr- acquaintances have done to upset you, but it’s nothing to do with me. I suggest you all go outside and sort it out… in the street.”
There was a snap, followed by a cry from the head Werewolf. Lommy snapped her beak several times more and Greenie joined in. The Phantom continued rocking in his chair to the beat of their snapping. The Leader Wolf snarled and gripped one of his hench-wolves by the neck and thrust him forwards.
“Kill them!” he said, “Start with the Penguins!”
“Ah! Good evening,” said a voice, calm and homely, “nice to meet you.” A tall figure with long blond hair glided into the room. His tall red boots tapped the floor as he marched towards one of the Wolves, his immense multicoloured scarf flapping in amusing ways. He whipped around, sending his long dark red coat into a whirl of movement. He Shook hands with the wolves one by one, “I’m The Doctor,” he said, “how do you do?”
The head wolf stumbled backwards, his mouth jittering open as the intruder put his arms around one of the wolves and began talking pleasantly with him. Scratching his head, the white wolf shook all over, clenching one of his fists.
“I say,” continued The Doctor, “it is a lovely place you have here, wouldn’t you say it was lovely, Thinlómien?”
“Oh yes,” she replied, “very lovely. Homely, almost.”
“Yes! And you have guests, I see! But this is no way to treat guests.”
The wolves were paralysed with shock as The Doctor untied the others with a silver device with a round red circle at the top. The Sonic Screwdriver whirred as it cut through the ropes and let The Phantom free. Hookbill rubbed his hands and leaned close to Lommy, whispering,
“Why is Volo dressed like that?”
“Shh!” she replied, “just go with it!”
He nodded and rubbed his eyes. The Doctor continued to move in and out of the group of Werewolves, talking all the time, commenting on the decorations and the structure of the cottage. The log fire in the corner seemed to attract a lot of his attention. The others shuffled closer to the exit.
“It seems to me,” Volo continued, “that if, and I emphasise the ‘if’, if this place were hiding fugitives, and dangerous ones at that.”
“Oh, very dangerous,” confirmed Lommy.
“There, you see? Very dangerous. Anyway, were it holding dangerous fugitives, then they would have to find a way of keeping them away from any rescue attempt, isn’t that right?” some of the wolves nodded, “Excellent! Oh!” The head Wolf was approaching, knife raised and teeth spitting, “Hello! I do hope that knife has been properly sterilised! You can catch all sorts of things from a dirty knife, lockjaw, tetanus not to mention log-”
“Stop your words old fool!” The wolf leaped at The Doctor, but he moved out of the way at the last second.
“Now, Now! My, what large teeth you h- Never mind. Look, as I was saying, if I were hiding a dangerous fugitive and, if I know the typical prison, and, fortunately I do, then I would have to say…” he leaped up on a table, grasped the chandeliered that dangled down and swung over to the fire place, “that this was the area you were keeping me furthest away from and therefore!” he pulled on of the loose stones and the whole wall moved to the side to reveal another room.
“Kill HIM!” shouted the wolf, “Kill them all!”
“Which one first?” asked a smaller one, “Only, we don’t want to get in trouble for killing the wrong one first, I mean what if-”
“Just kill something!”

The Phantom ran on ahead, reaching the top of the hill as the others still stumbled on their way. Hookbill and The Doctor carried a short man with pots and pans strapped all over him and one great pot on his head. He mumbled and muttered something about ‘bins’ and then drooped his head down. Lommy and Greenie waddled on towards Phantom as he surveyed the surrounding lands.
The darkness was deepening, yet a pail red light flickered in the North West. The howling winds whipped around them, causing the usual flapping noises of capes and robes. The rain had stopped, but the ground still squelched underfoot, the two Penguins shook their feathers in frustration.
Once they were all at the top, The Phantom rushed on ahead again, reaching the bottom in a matter of moments. Greenie dived forward and slid down the hill Pengish style. Lommy waited for The Doctor and Hookbill to revive The Saucepan Man. He was still breathing, but his face carried bruises and cuts, not to mention the dents in his pans. They splashed some water on his face and he gasped loudly. Spluttering he turned his head this way and that, blabbering.
“Where am I?” he managed, “What’s the time?”
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” said Lommy,
“Yes we are,” he lifted his head, “there aren’t any trees for miles.”
“That’s not what I- Never mind, can you walk?”
The Saucepan Man stumbled forward, wobbling, but just about staying upright. They plodded on as fast as they could, slipping through the grass and stopping just as they reached The Phantom. He was sniffing the air and humming.
“We had some good luck back there,” mused Hookbill, “It was a little bizarre seeing that little Wolf killing all the other ones. ‘Just obeying orders!’ Brilliant!”
A crow squawked overhead. The travellers bent down and watched it float out of sight. The clouds were moving fast, against the wind and rumbling more than ever. Lommy stepped forward and peered out down the valley. Waving she signalled to the others to follow as she darted along the dirt path way. The Saucepan Man, still being partially supported by The Doctor, stumbled on behind.
Hookbill trotted on forward until he was next to The Phantom. He had his hands in his pockets again and was mumbling, his glowing eyes were flickering from white to blue as he spoke. The Goomba tapped him on the shoulder,
“What do we need The Saucepan Man for?” he asked, “He looks in a bad way and no mistake.”
“He knows something about Gimli’s Chin,” Phantom explained, “we think he knows where the cure is, that’s why they had him locked up. They wanted to get hold of the cure and destroy it. We, on the other hand, want to use it against the virus. Perhaps he can answer a few more questions; like why your newspaper was attacked and why Rikae has vanished.”
“Where are we going, though?”
“Legate’s Barrow. He’s not been corrupted, yet. But I’m learning not to trust anyone at the moment, not after Groin tried to strangle me with his beard.”
“That,” said Lommy, “was because you had been stealing his biscuits!”
“Lies! Lies and slander!”

There were wasps on Legate’s floor; a layer, three inches thick of wasps. The travellers crunched through them with apprehension. The Doctor strode on ahead and made his way into the living room. Legate had just put a teapot on top of his half. He pulled his dressing gown tight around his chest as the cold wind drafted through from the open door.
He struggled to his feet and lent against the wall underneath a picture of himself leaning against a wall under a picture of himself underneath a picture of his dog. Greenie closed the door; a large slab of stone with a handle on either side.
Once they had all settled down in arm chairs, Legate closed the curtains and then stood silent for a moment. The kettle began to whistle and he picked it up.
“Tea?” he suggested, “or perhaps something a little stronger- Where is The Phantom? I’m sure I saw him come in…” There was a loud bang from another room, followed by laughter. The Phantom stumbled out, holding two bottles of wine.
“Cake and tea,” he said, “and fine wine!” He fell onto the floor and groaned.
Lommy sipped her tea with her sharp eyes glaring at The Saucepan Man. He was nodding his head and sinking deep into the chair. There was a crash of thunder and he leaped up with a yelp. He was sweating and breathed heavily as he looked at each of them in the face.
“What happened?” asked Greenie, “How did they get to you?”
“I think,” he gasped, “I think they’d been monitoring me. As soon as I knew Macalaure had Gimli’s Chin, I knew I had to get to the cure before it was too late, but on my way there, they caught me. They tried to get it out of me, but I don’t think they got beyond the location.”
“They know where the cure is?” Said Lommy,
“Yes, but they don’t know what it is. And they’re not going to find out.”
“Where is it?”
“Haven’t you guessed? It’s at the offices of The Downer Newspaper.”

TO BE CONTINUED’ED

[Groin Redbeard]

Another nail biting thriller from Hookbill. I was wondering when Legate would come into the story, and his role is perfect just how I imagine him to be. I was laughing the whole way through, especially at The Docter part and the wolf killing wolf killing the other wolves, ‘Just obeying orders!’

P.S. Tell the Phantom that I'm sorry about strangling him. I'd never intentionally kill him, I love his comics too much.