Back to Huinesoron’s Webplex

Well, well, well. This one was a bit of a fluke, really -- it's not often anyone's stupid enough to post an original 'fic on Still, it let the Newbies have a nice quick mission, for which I expect they're grateful. Was it a bad story? I don't know. It wasn't Silm-verse, though, and that's enough. ~Terri Ryan, DOGA Archivist


by RissesPieces

I looked at Lou, completely baffled. "It's set where?"

"Avalon," she told me. "The characters are Tuatha De Danannon, and they're using Dagda's cauldron."

"Tuatha Dé Danann?"

"No, Tuatha De Danannon."

I shook my head. "This stuff's all from Irish mythology."

Lou tilted her head, curious. "How would you know that?"

I shrugged. "My mother's mother was Irish. It's beside the point. The point is, why're we being assigned to myth stories?"

Lou grinned widely. "We're not."

"Then why are you telling me about it?"

"I'm not," she said again. "I'm telling you about a piece of Silmarillion fanfiction."

I was still baffled. "Like Noncoty all over again?"

"Not quite," my partner informed me. "The disclaimer is as follows: Ok so I put it down as one of Tolkeins work... but it's not.. it's the closet thing to my story as it is. This is MY story and the characters are MINE. It is about Avalon."

I winced at the vocalised bad spelling. And at the content. "You mean someone deliberately categorised an original 'fic as Silm-verse?"

"That's right," Lou confirmed. "And since there is an Avalon - or Avallónë - in the Silmarillion..."

I groaned. "We get landed with it as a Geographical Aberration. This isn't going to be fun, is it?"

"'course it is," Lou said with a grin, tapping a button on the console and opening the portal. "Come on, we've got work to do."


" My dear sister, I think it is time that we need to call upon the McConnell's oath."

"Ah, the McConnells of Valinor, that famous family," Lou murmured caustically, pencil already scratching on her notepad.

"Vanyarin, aren't they?" I asked innocently. Lou grinned and nodded.

"With a little Telerin blood way back. A rowdy bunch, but not too bad, unlike some Oath-makers I could mention."

"Please don't," I said hurriedly. "We're meant to be watching."

"Why bother? The story's utter nonsense - 'if Avalon falls the Mortal world will fall shortly after'? It's only an island."

"It's only a city," I corrected. "The island is Tol Eressëa."

Lou waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes. Where're they up to?"

I looked over at the characters. "Uh... have to call in the McConnell, King MacGreine is arrogant and won't ask for help to defeat the Fir Bolg. Looks like they're just drag-dropping mythology to fit. Oh, and MacGreine is the last of the High Kings."

"Another charge," Lou exclaimed delightedly. "Everyone knows Gil-Galad was the last High King."

"Him or Ingwë, yes," I agreed. "Or maybe Manwë."

"It goes on the list anyway," she said grimly, still scribbling. Then a black cauldron appeared in the setting, and she blinked.

"And by Dagda, tis his cauldron tis not?"

"That doesn't even make sense," Lou complained. Unfortunately - or, well, fortunately, really - she was loud enough that the two characters heard her. They looked up.

"Who are thou?" the one named Fodla asked.

"Oh, we're the PPC," Lou said cheerfully. "We've got a few charges for you."

"What, now?" I hissed. She glanced at me.

"Yes, now. You think you can kill them?"

I reached down instinctively to my sword. I'd had some practice with it, but... "Not if they try to fight back," I said, honestly enough.

"They won't," Lou informed me. "Just wander over behind them and wait until I finish." Then she turned back to the two characters who were watching her in bewilderment. "So sorry to have kept you. Let's see now... Fodla and Eriu of the Tuatha Dé Danann?"

"We are," Eriu agreed warily as I got behind the pair. They didn't even glance at me. "But what of <i>thee</i>?"

"I already told you," Lou said cheerfully, "I'm here to charge you with... let me see. Creating a mini-Balrog, to whit, Avalon. Abuse of spelling, punctuation, grammar, and archaic forms of speech. If thou canst not use it with full correctness," she added harshly, "thou shouldst not attempt to do so at all. This is wisdom!"

The two stared at her, and she grinned and continued. "Altering the city of Avallónë, and transporting it to somewhere in Modern Earth to create a geographical aberration and force us to come in and deal with you. Creating races and magical artefacts that do not exist within Arda, usurping the role of at least one of the High Kings, be he Gil-Galad, Ingwë or Manwë, and finally, talking and writing complete and utter rubbish. Your sentence is death. Narto!"

I swung my sword with a certain amount of trepidation, but it was unnecessary. The wind might not have dared touch them, but an elven blade had no trouble. The two fairy-folk seemed to be made of little more than the clothes they wore, presumably as a result of their lack of characterisation, and as the wisps fell away, Lou smiled. "I knew you could do it," she said, walking over to me. "Ready to go?"

I looked around. "Yes, I think so."

"Good. I'm not." Wandering across the room, she poked the Dagda's Cauldron. "What does this thing do?"

"Depends on which version you listen to," I said. "They were using it to look into, but the most common one is a bottomless source of food."

"Could be useful," Lou said, pushing at it critically. Then she flicked open a portal. "Come on, Nar," she said, gripping one side of the Cauldron, "help me through with this thing."