Hagrid Quest

Where go?

Depends.

What leads us to fighting with Andie Murphy?

 

[X] Spidah get
[X] "Urgh. 'Ow much did I drink las' night?" Give the yelling man a death glare. "Speak propa' english, would ya? Can't undestand nuffin you're sayin, you daft bugger."

My phonetic accent is apparently all over the place.

 

[X] Spidah get
[X] "Urgh. 'Ow much did I drink las' night?" Give the yelling man a death glare. "Speak propa' english, would ya? Can't undestand nuffin you're sayin, you daft bugger."

Seems to have more swearing than Hagrid normally uses, but at least this sounds more like Hagrid.

Also, for that spider, if we find Hagrid a better home suited for Aragog, Aragog can become the boogey man for the Nazi's. And Hagrid a near-druidic figure for knowing how to handle Aragog and all the safe passages.

Hell, Aragog may become a local hero! And I can't possibly pass that irony.

Also, will there be a wall to climb during basic training? Please tell me there will be a wall. I'm imagining the stereotypical boot camp big wall to climb over and have an idea for Hagrid to make a splash amongst his fellows.

 

So is Hagrid.

Why I decided to write a quest protagonist with the most annoying accent in fiction, I don't know.

 

[X] Spidah get
[X] "Urgh. 'Ow much did I drink las' night?" Give the yelling man a death glare. "Speak propa' english, would ya? Can't undestand nuffin you're sayin, you daft bugger."


Seriously, Spider will make Best wingman during the war. Oh yes he will, oh Yes he will.

 

good thing his time in the legion is likly to change that accent.

 

Meh, there's always just writing things normally and leaving it to the reader to insert the accent themselves, if it's too much trouble. Wouldn't really mind that.

 

That just add a bad french accent to the mix.

 

[X] Spidah get
[X] "Urgh. 'Ow much did I drink las' night?" Give the yelling man a death glare. "Speak propa' english, would ya? Can't undestand nuffin you're sayin, you daft bugger."

 

[X]Calm down Gorram it and we can talk like gentlemen.

I think we got fleeced by a hag

 

[X] Acquire Giant Spider
[X] "You stole my stuff, right? Give it back and I won't punch you." If he ignores you, do just that and take your stuff back.

That guy is a mugger, it is so obvious. About where we are going...

About where to go, I think the 13th Legion sounds interesting, what with Rommel as an leader on the other side. He was one of the few somewhat respectable guys on their side.

Can we go and assassinate Hitler with Magic after of Hearing of what Kind of bastard he is????

 

Grindewald, the dark lord prior to Voldemort, basically puppets or at least directs Hitler. Trying to assassinate him will end in fail.

 

It would be hilarious if, while going to assassinate Hitler, we shoot everyone around him, thinking that they're nobodies, and accidentally kill Grindelwald.

 

Was that ever mentioned? I cannot find anything on Gellert actually interacting with the Nazi Party in any way. Maybe he just used the war as a smoke-Screen for his Actions from the muggles....

 

Actually now that I think of it...
I guess it's a part of fanon that almost everyone uses... I must have mixed up. Sorry.

 

[X] Spidah get
[X] "Urgh. 'Ow much did I drink las' night?" Give the yelling man a death glare. "Speak propa' english, would ya? Can't undestand nuffin you're sayin, you daft bugger."
[X]Facing Rommel

Is Hagrid Giant enough to counter the Desert Fox? Find out next time!

 

Less fanon, more implied in canon. Grindelwald was defeated in 1945, Nazi Germany was defeated in 1945, the Nazis had the swastika, Grindelwald had the Hallows, etc.

 

[X] Spidah get
[X] "Urgh. 'Ow much did I drink las' night?" Give the yelling man a death glare. "Speak propa' english, would ya? Can't undestand nuffin you're sayin, you daft bugger."
[X]Facing Rommel

 

Your tormenter is a tall man – he comes up to your breastbone - and is as thin as a reed. He’s wearing a stiffly starched white cap, brown shorts that end below knees that make their knobby nature known even through the crisp fabric, navy blue sash and khaki shirt open to his waist. Which is only sensible, because it is bloody sweltering out here. His kit is similarly mismatched, with all kinds of little pouches and belts and bandoleers and things festooned all over him to pad out his otherwise spare frame and one of the big metal things you’re seeing everywhere around here slung over one shoulder. He looks like he’s mugged at least three different people and stolen their uniforms – if it weren’t for the muggle cut of his clothes, he’d probably be the height of wizard fashion.

"Saoul au milieu de la journée, tax de merde? Où est ta solidaritée? Si tu as à boire, partager est la moindre des choses."

“Pipe down, ye daft bugger,” you moan. “An’ speak English – no, better ‘n tha’, please stop talkin’ would yeh?” Tha’s a good muggle...” It is at this point, that your treacherous brain, clearly not sufficiently pickled the night before, reminds you that you’re never going to be a wizard, not if your homeland has anything to say about it. You might as well be a muggle yourself. Naturally, in the face of such an unpleasant recollection, you articulate your displeasure as eloquently as possible. “Nyye-aaaurrrgh…”

"T'as vraiment enroller sans connaître un mot, huh? Ca suit les traditions de la legion, je suppose." He hops down from his perch on some kinda boxes and moves closer. You gradually realize that he isn’t shouting at you, that’s just your head pounding. You find it difficult to forgive him, all the same. He lightly taps you on the elbow with his hand – as high as he can comfortably reach – and makes a clear gesture for you to follow him when you prove as responsive as a boulder.

You swipe at him with a wobbly hand, wanting him to leave you to your misery. Or he could get angry and kill you, that would also be nice - just so long as you don't need to put up with this bloody headache anymore. He neatly ducks your clumsy swing, and you accidentally knock over that stack of crates he was leaning on with a thunderous crash. Damnably flimsy, that. Lots of metal things spill out, and you're pretty sure you hear something snap-that's not good, that's NEVER good. You wince, and only partially from the noise. You’ve always found the world to be far, far too breakable, so naturally you'd be reminded of that fact the moment you wake.

The man stares at the accidental destruction and... he's not saying anything. His eyebrows have disappeared under the starched brim of his cap - is that good? Given your experience, probably not, but at least he's not shouting. If you're lucky maybe he'll leave you be and you could-

"Il est temps de continuer." He pats your back and puts some muscle into it, giving you a push. Obligingly, you sling your oak walking stick over your shoulder and move. You don’t want to be around when people investigate that, either, so off you go.

You wonder briefly how you kept the stick from last night and not your pants.

He keeps chattering away in what you think might be French. Or maybe Spanish. They all sound kind of the same to you, by which you mean entirely incomprehensible. He might as well be speaking Gobbledygook, except a goblin you know taught you a few words of Gobbledygook. So on the plus side, you’re sure no one’s calling you a penniless waste of flesh… in Gobbledygook. That’s some proper silver lining, right?

Your attention is caught and held briefly by a trio of dark-skinned men in turbans and thick jackets, sitting on rolled blankets and playing cards. Their camels are grazing nearby on what thin scrub grass isn't trampled in the middle of a big camp like this. Handsome beasts, those, all thin knobby knees and dual heavy humps. Egyptian, you suspect, and well cared for.

"Quel est ton unitée, grand gaillard?"
“I. Can’t. Understand. Yer.” You speak slowly and carefully, thinking that maybe speaking slower will help somehow.
"Pionners probablement, avec cette barbe. Je demanderai. Nan, pas besoin de me remercier; Bien que tu sois Anglais et moi Français, aider les plus pauvre a fait parti de mon education."

He just doesn’t stop talking. He push-guides you through a veritable sea of white and tan tents with the occasional stockpile of … stuff. Boxes of muggle things, you don’t know. Tin cans and little shiny metal things and black powder and dried food. You stay well clear of those, just in case. It’s dry and hot enough to be bloody unpleasant, your lack of clothing or no, and there’s enough people tromping around that the dust is getting kicked up something fierce. At this rate, you’ll have to wash out your beard tonight, unless you want something taking root-isn’t that just fantastic.

The people wear a mish-mash of different things in colors ranging from brown to white with some navy blue mixed in, but everyone has those flat topped white hats. They are good enough to mostly get out of your way when you get steered in their direction so you don’t have to watch where you’re going too closely. There’s a little staring and some quiet comments – and at least one low, quiet whistle – but you can’t understand them. Probably something nice, you try to tell yourself.

There're a good few dogs around, nosing into things and sneaking scraps. Mutts, mostly. Mixes of pointers, basset hounds and pointing griffons - which had excited you when you first heard about them, but the reality was a little disappointing. Silly muggles, calling a dog a griffon.

You kinda wonder what all these muggles are doing, anyway. Not that asking works, since this bloke shoving you along doesn't speak a word of proper English.

You mostly just get steered around and try not to step on anything or knock anything over.

Should you… should you do something about this?


[X] He probably knows what he’s doing? More than you do, anyway. Stick with him. Lettin’ smarter folk figure stuff out usually works, so...
[X] You’ve had enough of going starkers. Surely they have something in your size around here somewhere… probably. Maybe. You're sure you could find something.
[X] What’s that sound? No, not the Frenchman. It almost sounds like… tapping?
[X] Enough of this silliness, time to go home. No, you're not sure where home is from here. So what? You'll figure it out.
[X] Write-in

 

[X] Enough of this silliness, time to go home. No, you're not sure where home is from here. So what? You'll figure it out.

 

[X] He probably knows what he’s doing? More than you do, anyway. Stick with him.

 

Let's not get stranded in the middle of a War Zone.

[X] He probably knows what he’s doing? More than you do, anyway. Stick with him.

 

Google offers the following translations

"Saoul au milieu de la journée, tax de merde? Où est ta solidaritée? Si tu as à boire, partager est la moindre des choses."

"Saul in the middle of the day, tax shit Where is your solidarity? If you drink, sharing is the lesser things."

"T'as vraiment enroller sans connaître un mot, huh? Ca suit les traditions de la legion, je suppose."

"You really enrolled without knowing a word, huh? It follows the traditions of the legion, I guess."

"Il est temps de continuer.

"It is time to continue.

"Quel est ton unitée, grand gaillard?"

"What is your unit, big guy?"

"Pionners probablement, avec cette barbe. Je demanderai. Nan, pas besoin de me remercier; Bien que tu sois Anglais et moi Français, aider les plus pauvre a fait parti de mon education."

" Pioneers probably with the beard I ask Nan, no need to thank me. Though you English and French me, help the poor was part of my education."

 

Saoul is 'Drunk'.

 

[X] He probably knows what he’s doing? More than you do, anyway. Stick with him.
[X] You’ve had enough of going starkers. Surely they have something in your size around here somewhere… probably. Maybe. You're sure you could find something.
[X] It's not a proper robe but this 'Trench' Coat will do while the rest is fine ... or at least it fits. Either way it is fine.

As a wizard should have a robe or something close to one.

 

You're not entirely naked!

You have a coat. And a stick.

 

Still not proper garb for a wizard. Just a coat and a stick is far too unimpressive for a wizard.

 

[X] What’s that sound? No, not the Frenchman. It almost sounds like… tapping?

 

[X] He probably knows what he’s doing? More than you do, anyway. Stick with him.